Today, MM went down.
People logging onto the site saw this message;
Well, this is what I saw from the backend…
So, I believe that either the site is being overwhelmed, or that there is a problem with the hosting servers; Bluehost.
Ok. It’s 10:30pm at night and I am back from a heavy banquet with lots of drinking on hard alcohol. I’m getting ready to turn in. My bed looks comfy. And I am drained.
Brush the teeth, and then turn in. I’m tapped tonight.
I’ll check on things in the morning and deal accordingly.
…
These things seem to come in batches. Just today my automotive information screen reset itself and caused me all sorts of discomfort. No Bluetooth, no nav sat data, nor rear backup video. No GPS saved data. Ugh.
So this must have to do with something of a larger nature.
I would surmise.
…
Don’t worry about it. I’m not. I’m turning in.
See you all in the daylight.
That being said. Here is something interesting from an influencer…
> Just an fyi, MM. As Metallicman, you've disappeared completely from Google and Mozilla browsers here in South Korea since this morning. Total search engine wipe-- the first I've noticed since early 2020 and the beginning of the Covid stuff. You disappeared from EU browsers for most of that year, too. Looks like someone is getting annoyed by your Classic Indexes. Or maybe Sir Whiskerton and Sedgwick are telling too much truth, 😂. > To access you must type in the full website address. No search info available. > Elsewhere, looks like Donny DumbDumb is about to own the former ukrainian shit show by escalating again. They must be getting desperate Stateside as Epstein moans from his early grave. > Oh dear. But you did try and warn them, eh? > Too late now. > Best~
Today…
Is it accurate to say that China has the most powerful military in the world just because it has the largest standing army and navy?
Oh boy, here we go again.
China only has the largest standing army and navy if you go by head/hull count. But that’s a really dumb way to measure military power.
Want a concrete example? The world’s largest submarine fleet by hull count. Who has it?
Not the USA.
Not Russia.
Not China.
It’s the DPRK. No, that’s not a joke- feel free to fact check it.
Of course, a bunch of them look like this:
This is a Ghadir class midget submarine in service with the Iranian Navy. It’s a copy of a North Korean Yono class, large numbers of which are in service with the DPRK fleet.
Would you say the North Koreans have the most powerful submarine fleet based on the above?
Macaroni and Cheese Soup
Ingredients
- 2 1/2 cups water
- 1 (10 ounce) package frozen peas and carrots, thawed
- 1 package macaroni and cheese mix
- 4 cups milk
- 1 cup shredded sharp Cheddar cheese
- 1 1/2 teaspoons salt
- 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
Instructions
- In a soup pot, bring water to boil over high heat. Stir in peas and carrots and macaroni, reserving the cheese packet. Cover and boil for 5 minutes; do not drain.
- Add the remaining ingredients, including reserved cheese packet. Reduce heat to medium, cover and simmer 10 minutes, or until hot and creamy, stirring occasionally.
Woman DESTROYS Room Full Of Delusional Women
What made you lose respect for a celebrity you once admired?
Chevy Chase.
Four years ago, my dad and I went to a screening of Christmas Vacation at the Fabulous Fox Theatre in Atlanta followed by a live interview and Q&A with Chevy Chase.
The movie screening was surreal. I’ve seen dozens of concerts at the Fox over the decades, but I’ve never experienced the closeness and camaraderie with the entire audience like there was during the movie.
To try to put it into perspective, I always thought that singing along with the rest of the crowd to Piano Man during a Billy Joel concert was the coolest I would ever feel.
However, singing “we’re all in the mood for a melody, and you’ve got us feeling alright” in unison paled in comparison to shouting together, with hundreds of other die hard Christmas Vacation fans, those immortal words:
“Merry Christmas. Shitter was full.”
Getting to watch one of my favorite movies in one of my favorite venues (with one of my favorite people) was worth the pricey price of admission. I wish I had left then.
Chevy Chase and his wife came on stage to thunderous applause. The host began talking to Chevy. And within ten minutes I’d lost any respect, admiration, or any other positive feelings I may have had for him.
And I was a big Chevy Chase fan.
My wife finally watched Fletch and Fletch Lives because she said she wanted to see if so many of the inane quotes I use really exist (“I probably foolishly squandered it on food and heat” being a staple at our house).
He berated the crowd.
He berated his wife.
He acted like it was a massive inconvenience for him to have to come out on stage and talk to all these people who bought tickets that he sold them so that they could hear him talk.
This was no antihumor/dark humor/inside joke type punch line. The crowd went from nervous laughter, to mild shock, to feeling pity for his wife and utter disdain for him.
The longer he talked, the worse it got.
His wife and the host desperately tried to intervene, to cut him off, and to “interpret” what he meant when he said something offensive.
The questions from the crowd brought out an even worse side of him.
The host mercifully ended it and let us leave.
Nobody called for an encore.
Everyone I spoke with afterwards had the same complaints. And these were people predisposed to liking him. We all bought tickets, many dressed up, several like myself drove 2+ hours to Atlanta, all to hear the star of one of our favorite films.
Until I wrote this answer, I didn’t realize that I haven’t watched Christmas Vacation since then. Or Fletch. Or referred to the origin of a name as “Comanche Indian.”
Is it true that the Chinese people are living better than they have in the last hundred years?
Over the past 40 years, China has lifted 800 million people out of poverty. That is an achievement unmatched in the history of the world.
I’ve seen quite a lot of it. Here are some pictures from my first visit to Beijing in 1983:
The air was black with coal smoke. The street you see in the picture immediately above is now packed, mostly with made-in-China EV’s. The quality of the food has improved immeasurably, and while street stalls still exist, they’re sanitary and delicious. There are gleaming office blocks, 5-star hotels, a thriving art district, beautiful parks… hard to believe it’s the same place.
The western press takes great delight in reporting on the frustrations of the young, who have never known the China I saw. They are, understandably, frustrated that the seemingly unlimited possibility they knew as children didn’t turn out quite as well as they’d hoped.
But I often look at the old people in the park and wonder what they must think about the miracle they witnessed, and wonder if they realize there’s never been anything like it.
The Economy Is So Bad That…
Sound and Fury, Signifying Nothing
Submitted into Contest #210 in response to: Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.… view prompt
Marty B
Lois had taken to just switching between her two waitress uniforms each day, as she didn’t have time to get it washed. The spots of coffee, pie and other spills were turning the dark green to a greasy black. She had just taken the order from table 10 and added a strawberry jelly stain to her uniform when Joe appeared in front of her, his protruding greasy apron stopping her short.
“Lois- I need to speak with you.” Joe held an opened envelope in his hand, an ominous sign of trouble, even if she didn’t know exactly what it meant.
She turned away, looking out into the Diner. She did not want to talk to Joe. Every table was full, with customers waving at her, and even more people waiting at the front. She remembered before, when just the regulars came in, the old farmers in the back booth, or Ms. Betty and the church ladies, recruiting her to their Protestant faith. Chaos ruled the Diner now, constant demand for breakfast, lunch, or just a place to sit inside, away from the noise and smell. The media, and the military officials have been the real invaders of the town, destroying the peace.
At first the government had assumed the alien ship landed in Idaho to target the Idaho National Laboratory, the huge nuclear testing site only 50 miles away. That fear had brought the military, with huge tanks and equipment to surround the spaceship and wait. But other than the constant blaring message, nothing had happened. Local residents, excited at first at the attention, lost all enthusiasm, many having left town entirely, renting out their homes to the visitors.
“Is it important Joe? I mean-” Lois gestured broadly to the Diner.
“Later is fine. But I’m going to need to talk today, I have to submit payroll and I don’t understand this letter.” Joe waved it once more, then dropped his hands as he cleared his throat. Lois grabbed her order book in both hands and waited, resigned to listen. Joe called the staff ‘his family’ and tried to show it through his long monologues.
“I’m sorry I have to ask you to work again tomorrow Lois, but you know how it is. I couldn’t get anyone to answer the Help Wanted ad before this mess started, and now…” Joe gave a sorrowful smile.
“The kids today just want to sit behind computers, not do real work. And now with everyone out at the alien site-”
“-I’ve been working 14 hour days Joe.” Standing still, Lois’ feet throbbed with a dull ache. “I haven’t had a day off since before this started.”
Joe’s sweaty palm reached out and rested on her shoulder, his grip holding her in her place.
“I hear you. As soon as I can find somebody to hire, I’ll get you a break. Did I already ask if you know anyone- family, or friends? I blame the millennials. No one wants to work anymore.” Joe shook his head.
Despite his protests, Lois knew Joe loved the attention, and the money coming in, even if the staff were stressed, and the supplies of food almost gone. Lois pushed past Joe to submit her order, and pour more coffee.
A stern man in a dark brown uniform walked into the Diner, out of place amongst the customers in tee-shirts and jeans. He stopped short, looking through the crowd until his eyes caught Lois’. He smiled.
Lois’s hand slipped, coffee spilled in a woman’s lap.
“So sorry!” She wiped the table with her waiter’s cloth, and then stood up, her hand raised high to the man to follow her. Lois pulled an industrial-sized box of paper cups off the last chair at the counter.
“I saved this for you, General Smith.”
Nodding, the man gingerly took the chair, then slowly his whole body slumped, elbows on the counter.
“I needed a chance to sit.” He rubbed his eyes with both hands, and yawned. “You know what I like,“ he said, “with the green sauce.” He pulled out a phone and concentrated on typing.
Lois put in the order and then moved to other customers. Once ready, she collected General Smith’s order and placed it in front of him.
“Enchiladas verde con pollo.” She said with a smile. “I taught the cooks the recipe.”
He stopped typing, and looked down, a grin forming on his face.
“This.” He looked up at Lois, his eyes bloodshot, “This is what we are trying to protect, America, our culture, our traditions.” He gestured to the room, his square jaw lifted up like the front of a tank.
“These- monsters- have come here to destroy it.” His clenched fist slammed on the counter rattling the dishes. Customers turned toward them, eyes following the noise. Lois’s smile and gentle wave eased them back to their plates.
Lois leaned in, “You should be quiet, not to scare people.” She leaned sideways on the counter, blocking the rest of the Diner’s view of General Smith. Her necklace fell out of her uniform.
“What is that?” General Smith pointed at the medallion. “That’s strange, the ship has markings just like that-”
“Have they translated the message?” She hid the necklace back in her uniform, holding her breath, hoping.
“No.” General Smith shook his head. “Now they are saying it is based on a human language, being repeated back. The translators think they are close, but they have been saying that for days, and nothing.” Lois breathed out. They could solve this without her!
“But what does it matter when, if they learn it says, ‘Surrender earthlings, or die?’ And today there was movement on the ship! Several of the projecting arms are starting to turn, looking a lot like gun barrels preparing to fire.” His face twisted into a sneer. “I don’t trust it.” General Smith kept speaking even as he shoveled the enchilada into his mouth, splattering salsa stains added to Lois’ uniform.
“Some of the President’s men are finally starting to listen to me though.” General Smith mumbled. “The scientists have identified several parts of the ship as potential weapons. Weapons that are far more advanced than anything we have.” He twisted his nose. “And god they smell. Do we really want anything to do with a species that stinks that bad?”
General Smith scraped his fork along the plate getting every last bite. “It might take some time, but we need to nuke ‘em. This situation has asymmetric risk. Maybe they are friendly, if so, what do we get, a new friend? But if they are our enemy, and I think they are, they will replace us- wipe us out. We need to solve this problem before it gets worse.”
Lois nodded along, but her stomach had fallen. She could stop this right now, explain what she knew and why. But could she trust this man? General Smith’s crystal blue eyes stopped her heart when he looked at her. She had never even been near someone so powerful, and with movie star looks.
Joe looked over to her, and jerked his head, signifying her to get back to work. Lois nodded, but only moved closer to General Smith. Joe wouldn’t say anything more as long as she kept the General happy. All the military men were on an expense account which Joe inflated with double and triple orders.
“The ship looks broken, with pieces off.” She repeated comments she had heard others say. She still had not seen it. “Do you think they crashed here?”
General Smith looked up sharply, his index finger stopping her.
“Looks broken?” How do we know what it is supposed to look like?” He leaned in and she felt his rage rise off him in waves.
“That ship is just waiting for our leaders to get close, or for us to show a sign of weakness- then Ka- boom!” He raised both his hands, waving his salsa verde covered fingers.
Lois carefully handed him a napkin.
“We can’t trust them!” He turned toward his phone as it rang. “I have to go. On the tab? Add in a good tip.” He stepped away, wiping his fingers, then tossing the napkin on the floor.
“Lois.” Joe called out, gesturing for her to follow him. She looked around for a plate to be cleared, a customer who needed her, anything to delay. But a lull had come over the Diner and no place for her to go.
She followed Joe through a maze of narrow hallways to his tiny office behind the store room. She wiped her hands on her uniform over and over again, the damp feeling in her palms would not go away.
“Lois- I have this letter, maybe you can help me understand it. It is from the state employment office. Your social security number doesn’t exist.”
Lois stared at the letter, as if it alone was her problem. “Maybe you put in the wrong number-”
“That is what I thought too-” Joe’s fat fingers pulled a paper from his desk and pointed to a line- the numbers she wrote just over a year ago on the employment application.
“Can you explain this?” Joe crossed his arms.
Lois looked down at the chipped paint on her nails, in green, verde.
“I do not have a social security number, that is the one I use, for taxes.” Lois felt herself shrinking, falling into the familiar hole of not being wanted, not being allowed.
“You don’t have one- you’re illegal?” Joe said, abruptly pulling away from Lois. “But you went to high school here, you speak English?”
“I was born in Guatemala.” Lois said, her accent growing stronger. “My parents-” She touched the medallion around her neck for strength.
“My parents passed when I was six. And after, I got on a bus with my cousin, and we traveled, forever, until we ended up at a tent camp. My aunt and uncle picked me up to wait out the immigration hearing, and then, we ended up here in Idaho. We were headed to Texas, but got off track and just crash landed here. We have been here ever since.” Lois
“We can make it work, right Joe-” Lois blinked away tears.
-I can’t believe you lied to me!” Joe’s face flushed red, his crossed arms squeezed himself even tighter.
“You stole this job. There are Americans who need work, and you stole it!”
Joe’s lips quivered. “Your kind is driving this country down the drain.”
Joe’s forearms flexed, veins popping out. “I believe in helping those who need it, but you have to follow the law! You have been cheating, stealing from God-fearing Americans.”
Joe’s arms were out now, raised above his head like the preacher at the church Ms. Betty took her to. And Lois felt the same fear now as she did then.
“Is your name even Lois?”
“Lourdes, my name is Lourdes.”
“Well Lord-es, get the hell out of my restaurant- you’re fired.” Joe’s face glowed red, spittle collected at the corner of his mouth.
Lourdes stood up, then turned back.
“Joe, what about my paycheck, you owe me for this last week.”
“You are illegal- don’t you get it? I don’t have to pay you anything. Get out of here before I have you arrested.”
Lois grabbed her purse and walked out, her head down as she ignored the cooks, and other customers. She stepped outside and began walking, scared to think of how she she would live. Her worst fear had come true, she was found out as undocumented. She was worthless, and without a job, soon to be homeless as she was country-less.
“Hey, waitress!” General Smith’s voice interrupted her thoughts. He leaned out of the front seat of a military jeep, the engine running. “You need a ride?” He smiled from ear to ear. “It’s going to be quite a show!”
His bright blue eyes and smile lifted her spirits. She decided to trust this man, and she had nothing else to lose. She ran up to the jeep, the door cold and hard. “General Smith, I know what the message is saying! It is in the language of the ancient Mayans.”
The words poured out of Lois, released finally.
“These aliens have visited the earth before, hundreds of years ago-” The General’s face turned from a smile into a grimace. She started again, speaking faster to get him to listen, to understand.
“-I know because I’m from Guatemala, my first language is K’iche, it’s very similar. At first it was hard to understand but now I have it, I know what they are saying-”
General Smith turned away.
“They followed a signal to come here, in Idaho, some important icon, I don’t know what…”
The jeep’s window began to close. “Tell the translators-”
Lourdes hit the window with her hand. “Wait! The message says…”
The tires spun before they caught, and Lourdes had to jump back as the jeep tore off down the road, pebbles flying around her.
Lourdes kept walking, her eyes not leaving her feet on the pavement. She kicked at a stone in front of her. She could only trust herself. She held the medallion in her hand, giving her strength. All she had of her Grand Mother and her true heritage, the heirloom had been in her family since since before memory.
She has to fight for herself, as no one else will. She will work with her Aunt and Uncle to start her own restaurant, making her Mexican and Guatemalan recipes. The General might fear her, but he likes her food. She will start the process to apply for citizenship.
Sometime later, a tremendous boom echoed through the streets, rattling the windows on the building near her. She looked north and saw a cloud of black smoke trailing up through the atmosphere.
“They did it- they blew up the aliens!” Someone shouted. “We’re safe!”
“God bless America!” Another voice cried out.
A new scent of dark and acrid smoke filled the air.
The sudden silence almost had its own sound, thick and menacing. Lourdes heard in it the drumbeat of fear and prejudice.
She repeated the message to herself, in K’iche;
“Friends, we have returned. We come in peace, we have the answers you seek…”
Shorpy
What are some of the distinct traits of Chechen Muslim culture compared to other Muslim cultures around the world?
One trait of most ethnic groups indigenous to the Caucasus is endogamy: the custom of women only marrying within the same ethnic group.
Chechens, Ingush, Ossetians, and many others practice endogamy.
The Chechens might be the most aggressive about it. Marrying a non-Chechen man puts a Chechen woman in physical danger from her family. As a result, fewer than 2% of Chechen women marry outside the ethnicity.
I’ve heard that Chechen women are even forbidden to marry Ingush men — despite the fact that Chechens and Ingush used to be a single ethnicity, live side by side, used to share the same autonomous republic, are both Muslim, and speak mutually intelligible languages.
I don’t find this custom cute or admirable. There are over 50 ethnic groups in the Caucasus, a region no bigger than Morocco. A strict ban on inter-ethnic marriage is incredibly stupid. It permanently isolates communities from one another and keeps ethnic tensions high. And indeed, ethnic tensions have always run dysfunctionally and occasionally bloodily high in the Caucasus.
Cousin marriage is generally forbidden in the Caucasus. Cousins are considered siblings. Nevertheless, due to most Caucasian ethnic groups being tiny in number (e.g. Ingush and Ossetians are each 700,000 in total), strict endogamy has still resulted in genetic illnesses like cystic fibrosis being much more common among Caucasians than among Russians in general.
Sir Whiskerton and the Arrival of Philo the Philosophical Penguin
Ah, dear reader, gather ‘round for another tale from the whimsical world of Sir Whiskerton’s farm—a place where mysteries are solved, friendships blossom, and even the most mundane moments become opportunities for enlightenment. Today’s story introduces a new character: Philo the Philosophical Penguin , a waddling wonder who stumbles onto the farm one crisp morning with profound musings tucked under his flippers. Prepare yourself for laughter, intellectual stimulation (yes, we’re going there), and a moral that will leave you pondering the deeper meaning of… well, grass.
A Penguin Out of Place
It all began on an unusually chilly morning. The sun was just peeking over the horizon when Sir Whiskerton noticed something peculiar near the pond—a small, black-and-white figure waddling awkwardly through the mud.
“By my whiskers,” Sir Whiskerton muttered, adjusting his monocle. “Is that… a penguin?”
“Penguin!” Echo chimed in, bouncing beside him. “But why is it here? Penguins live in Antarctica!”
“Clearly, this one doesn’t,” Sir Whiskerton replied dryly. “Let’s investigate.”
The penguin, upon noticing their approach, stopped mid-waddle and gave a polite bow. “Greetings, fellow creatures of existence,” he said in a deep, thoughtful voice. “I am Philo the Philosophical Penguin, seeker of truth and lover of discourse.”
“Discourse?” Sir Whiskerton echoed skeptically. “On a farm?”
“Why not?” Philo asked, tilting his head quizzically. “Every blade of grass holds a universe within it. Every moo or cluck carries the weight of eternity. Surely, you’ve considered these things?”
Sir Whiskerton blinked. “No. No, I haven’t.”
“Well then,” Philo said, smiling serenely, “we have much to discuss.”
Grass and the Meaning of Life
Philo’s first stop was Bessie the tie-dye cow, who was happily munching on a patch of clover while fondling her mood ring.
“Ah, the sacred act of grazing,” Philo mused, watching Bessie chew thoughtfully. “Tell me, noble bovine, what does grass mean to you?”
Bessie paused mid-chew, her big brown eyes widening. “Uh… it means food?”
“But is it merely sustenance?” Philo pressed. “Or is it a symbol of interconnectedness? Grass grows because of sunlight, rain, and soil—a perfect harmony of elements. When you eat it, you absorb its essence, becoming part of the cosmic cycle. Do you see? You are both consumer and consumed, creator and creation!”
Bessie stared at him blankly before shrugging. “Okay, sure. Can I go back to eating now?”
“Of course,” Philo said, nodding sagely. “For even in consumption lies wisdom.”
Sir Whiskerton, observing from a nearby fence post, rolled his eyes. “This guy’s going to drive us all mad.”
“Mad!” Echo giggled, twirling in circles.
Poetry, Ritual, and Beatnik Vibes
Next, Philo wandered into the barn, where Jazzpurr the Beatnik Cat was hosting yet another poetry reading. The air was thick with the scent of incense, and bongo drums echoed softly in the background.
“Ah, poetry!” Philo exclaimed, clapping his flippers together. “The language of the soul! Tell me, oh rhythmic feline, do you believe poetry is ritual, or ritual is poetry?”
Jazzpurr adjusted his beret and stroked his chin dramatically. “Man, like, poetry is ritual. It’s about vibin’, ya dig? You spill your guts onto paper, let the words flow like lava, and BOOM—ritual complete.”
“Fascinating,” Philo said, nodding slowly. “But consider this: rituals give structure to chaos, while poetry embraces chaos itself. Perhaps they are two sides of the same coin—a yin and yang, if you will.”
Jazzpurr blinked. “Whoa. Heavy, man. Like, super heavy.”
Echo, perched on a hay bale, tilted her head. “Yin and yang? Is that a type of cheese?”
“No,” Sir Whiskerton sighed. “Though I wish someone would invent it. Then maybe we’d get some peace around here.”
Eggs and the Cycle of Life
Later that afternoon, Philo found himself surrounded by Doris, Harriet, and Lillian, who were busy gossiping about Ferdinand’s latest attempt at opera.
“Ladies,” Philo began, holding up a flipper for attention. “Tell me, what do eggs represent to you?”
Doris squawked indignantly. “They represent breakfast, obviously!”
“But beyond that,” Philo continued, undeterred. “An egg contains potential—a promise of life. From shell to chick, it embodies transformation. And when cracked, it feeds others, completing the cycle. Is this not beautiful?”
Harriet gasped. “Wait… so every time I lay an egg, I’m contributing to the circle of life?”
“Precisely,” Philo said, beaming.
Lillian promptly fainted.
Bartholomew and the Wooden Discussion
As evening fell, Philo stumbled upon Bartholomew the piñata, hanging limply from a tree branch.
“Ah, Bartholomew,” Philo said, gazing up at the colorful figure. “You are made of wood, yet filled with sweetness. What does this duality teach us about existence?”
Bartholomew, who rarely spoke, seemed startled. “Um… I guess it means… life is tough on the outside but sweet on the inside?”
“Profound!” Philo exclaimed. “And yet, you remain silent until struck—a metaphor for resilience, perhaps? Or the idea that pain reveals beauty?”
Before Bartholomew could respond, the farmer appeared, scratching his head in confusion.
“What’s going on here?” the farmer asked, looking between Philo and the piñata.
“We’re discussing the meaning of life,” Philo explained cheerfully.
The farmer blinked. “Oh. Well, carry on, I guess.”
Echo, hiding behind a bush, whispered dramatically, “Life is strange. Like a noir film… but with more feathers.”
A New Friend on the Farm
By the end of the day, Philo had won over the entire farm—even Sir Whiskerton, who reluctantly admitted the penguin wasn’t entirely insufferable.
“I’ve decided to stay,” Philo announced during dinner. “This farm is a microcosm of the universe—a place where questions lead to answers, and answers lead to more questions. I feel at home here.”
“Home!” Echo cheered, batting at a stray feather.
“Very well,” Sir Whiskerton said, flicking his tail. “But if you start waxing poetic about worms, I’m drawing the line.”
The Moral of the Story
As the stars twinkled above the farm, Sir Whiskerton reflected on the day’s events.
“The moral of the story, dear reader, is simple yet profound: life is full of mysteries, big and small. Whether it’s the importance of grass, the beauty of poetry, or the symbolism of a piñata, there’s always something to learn—if only we take the time to look. And sometimes, the best lessons come wrapped in humor, absurdity, and a little bit of philosophy.”
With that, Sir Whiskerton settled onto his favorite sunbeam, Echo curled up beside him, purring contentedly. The farm was peaceful once more, its inhabitants reminded that even the simplest things hold infinite wonder.
Until next time, my friends.
The End.
When did you realize your parent was a total badass?
When did you realize your parent was a total badass?
July 2012. Sixty two years after the Chosin Reservoir campaign. Dad was almost 80 years old, and no longer trusted himself to drive the 2,000 mile round trip to the Chosin Few reunion in San Antinio. He hated flying and would avoid it if at all possible, so I volunteered to drive him.
I knew the history of the Korean War. I knew much about all the major campaigns and battles, and I knew Dads own oral history of the very tough things he had to do there as an underage enlisted medic with the 31st Infantry Regiment, 7th Division.
I knew he had landed at Inchon, fought up the peninsula and helped defeat the NKPA. After a week of combat, he dropped that “medic” shit and started getting his up to speed on his infantry skills by his section sergeant, its amazing what getting shot at all day will do for your willingness to shoot back. He was apparently a quick learner, he kept up his medic role, but was quite proactive in protecting his patients. I knew he dropped CCP bodies and stacked the frozen corpses to make ad hoc fighting positions the entire 80 miles of the fighting retreat from Kotori to Hamhung. I knew he was with the last 106 troops to make it back to the 3rd ID perimeter at Hamhung as the rear guard for the 1st Marine Division. I knew he would go on from that battle and have several more very rough ones for the remainder of 1951.
I knew all of that, and yea, I had, prior to that, thought he was a badass. But it was only surface level thought.
For the five days we were there, taking over most of a Holiday Inn in downtown San Antonio, every time we got on an elevator, someone would say “Doc! Hey! You patched me up at so and so…”. Every time we would walk into the bar, the same thing would happen, some random Marine or Soldier would come up and just thank Dad for patching them up 62 years ago. Literally everywhere I went with him, some guy he hadn’t seen since 1950 was shaking his hand and thanking him. That is when it really sunk in, not only had he fought through many of the worst campaigns the US military has ever been in, but the guys were with him still remembered and appreciated what he had done there. Thats when it really sank in.
Total badass.
Outposts.
Submitted into Contest #210 in response to: Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.… view prompt
Ken Cartisano
“In that you said, ‘Don’t wait up.”
“And you think, ‘Don’t wait up’ means ‘I’ll see you in a week?”
She had every reason to be livid, but she wasn’t. “I bought you a valentine,” she said, pointing at a heart-shaped box with the knife.
“Thanks, uh… can we talk?”
She was open enough to listen politely and asked pertinent questions like, ‘Were there any people?’ or ‘What kind of creatures live on Zudlillipudski?’
My answers? “I don’t know. I was in a rest area? A galactic depot. And Zudprillipud’s a galaxy, not a planet, so, technically nobody lives on it. Any other questions?” She shook her head. Even though I was the one who had been gone for a week, for some reason, I was the one who was annoyed. I would think if she was gone for a week I would’ve filed a missing persons report. Maybe she was in on it too.
*****
Enter one Stan Waters, Private Detective. “At your service,” he says.
He claimed he was ex-military and looked it. Acted like it. He was all business, but I hadn’t convinced him to work for me yet. “I just don’t see it as a problem,” he said. “What I wouldn’t give to take a week off and not be missed.”
“You’d freak out,” I said. “You’re confusing a vacation with an abduction. Don’t do that.” I explained how speed and time are connected, the faster I went, the less time I experienced. It seemed like ten minutes to me because it was ten minutes, to me, everyone else aged a week or more, everyone around here that is. This much was clear, because I’d already hired someone else to do the math.
But this guy was pretty shrewd because he said, “You did the math, huh? How’d you know how far it was to Zudsparilla?”
And to that kind of question, hypnosis seemed like the only answer.
I was convinced that all hypnotists were incompetent idiots as I rubbed my eyes and sat up. I was on a couch and my belief was reinforced when the hypnotist audibly murmured, ‘all finished.’ We hadn’t done a thing. I didn’t remember anything. I didn’t remember him, his office, walking in, laying down, or any recollection of Stan Waters for that matter. “Crap.” I barely knew my own name.
How do I know all this? I had a note in my shoe. I did a little research before rushing off to the mesmerist. It wasn’t that difficult to break the post-hypnotic suggestions. I kept a video log, reference material, receipts, and a post-hypnotic trigger phrase: ‘What do you have against opera houses?’ As soon as I read that phrase in my notebook, all of my memories came flooding back.
I was abducted again, somewhat more skillfully, and whisked off at near-light-speeds to another distant galaxy. A place with a name that sounded like ‘Paramecium.’ 13 minutes each way with a two-minute layover in what I now call ‘outposts.’ At the far end of a 28-minute interval, I was discreetly dumped back on planet earth three days later. I came to in my boat, on the river, the anchor so deeply embedded in the bottom that I had to cut it free, but the boat ran well, the car was in the marina parking lot and the keys were in my pocket.
When I burst through the front door Cathy greeted me cheerfully. “Hi, how were the fish?”
“The fish?”
“Yeah. The fish. How were they?”
“They, um, there—were no fish, I don’t think.”
“Aww, no luck, huh? That’s too bad.” She patted the couch and I went and sat down next to her. She seemed nicer, and softer than usual.
The following night, after sex, in the dark, I said, “I need a new anchor, you know…”
“It’s fixed,” she said.
“I’m not mad, I just…, what’d you say?”
“I fixed it.”
“You got me a new anchor?”
“Yeah.”
“Where is it?”
“I put it on.”
“On what?”
“The end of the anchor line, of course.”
*****
I got abducted again, it was different. And then again after that, and this time there was another person present. A human being, like me. I felt like part of a team, however marginal my contribution.
My ‘trips’ grew shorter, and the ‘returns’ neater and less awkward, as we fell into a routine. Cathy and I had the best sex ever, and, well, I knew it wasn’t her. It was a better Cathy than the one I’d had. I don’t know what they did with the original, but this was not her. She was too accommodating.
I admit, I was as happy as I’d ever been, happy to play along. I had no control over aliens whose technology was so advanced I couldn’t even remember it, let alone explain it, and, I felt like I was a part of something vast, some huge undertaking. We were far from being the only two people with huge gaps in their memory. I suspected they were abducting thousands of people each month, using them, like memory chips.
One night, I asked my duplicate Cathy, what is it that I do? And she said they use my brain because it has a hundred billion connections, and functions wirelessly.
“So why don’t I understand what we’re doing?” I remember asking.
And she said, “You don’t need to, or want to, you’re a node.” And that was it, that was all she would divulge about that subject, ever.
One night, Cathy entered the house looking dazed and stunned, walking around, looking at things curiously, picking things up. Then she looked at me as if I had changed overnight. I approached her tentatively, and gently embraced her. Her voice was muffled against my shoulder but I still heard her say, “How long was I gone?”
I held her at arm’s length. “About two years.” Valentine’s day was a week away.
“Two years? Oh my God. How can that be?”
I shrugged. “Physics?”
She went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. “Yeah, I was on some kind of starship. I know. It sounds crazy.” She drank one-third of the beer. “God that’s good.” She looked around. “You kept my stuff. How sweet. So…” she peered at me over the rim of the can, “how was my funeral? Pretty small affair?”
“Uh, no.” I cleared my throat. “No funeral. They gave me a substitute. So how long did you think you were gone?”
“About three months,” she said. “It was…” she shook her head, “grueling but rewarding. They were very happy with me, I think. A substitute? What’s a substitute? What does that mean? Did you even know I was gone?”
“Yes. I did. I mean, I figured it out. Eventually.”
“How? Where is she?” She began circling the apartment. Opening closets and pantries, slamming them shut.
“She’s gone,” I wailed, a touch too plaintively.
“I’m sleeping on the couch,” she announced. “No, you’re sleeping on the couch.”
Once I realized that she knew exactly what a substitute was, even before I told her, we worked things out, and waited anxiously for our next abduction, but it never came. I guess they fired us. We didn’t know what to do so we started a support group, Abducted Nodes Anonymous. We have over a million members and we’re still growing.
Roasted Red Pepper Soup
Yield: 4 servings
Ingredients
- 4 medium red sweet peppers
- 1 small yellow sweet pepper
- 1 to 2 small red serrano peppers
- 3 cloves garlic
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 1 (14 1/2 ounce) can chicken broth
- 1/2 cup whipping cream
- Fresh basil leaves
Instructions
- Heat oven to 425 degrees F.
- Remove stems, membranes and seeds from peppers. Place peppers, cut side down, on foil-lined baking sheet. Add garlic. Brush peppers and garlic with oil. Bake 20 to 25 minutes or until skins are bubbly. Wrap peppers in foil; let stand for 20 to 30 minutes or until just cool. Using a paring knife, pull skins off peppers.
- In a saucepan combine red and serrano peppers and broth. Bring to boiling; reduce heat. Simmer, uncovered, 7 minutes or until liquid is reduced by one-third. Cool slightly.
- Meanwhile, in blender container combine roasted yellow pepper and whipping cream. Blend until pureed. Transfer to small bowl. Cover; chill. Rinse container; dry.
- In same blender container blend half the cooked red pepper mixture at a time until smooth. Strain, if necessary. Place strained mixture in same saucepan. Stir in remaining cream. Cook and stir until heated through.
- Ladle into serving bowls. Swirl 2 tablespoons yellow pepper cream into each serving. Top with basil.
15 SHOCKING Reasons Why GOD Put a CAT in your life
What are some examples of rare natural disasters?
In 1986, thousands of people were killed in secret in their homes in the village of Nyos, Cameroon.
The disaster left every living thing for miles around, dead lying on the ground, without any signs—which left medical teams baffled when they surveyed the damage days later.
More than 1,700 people were killed along with thousands of animals in the surrounding area.
But what caused the deaths of so many people?
There was no evidence of bleeding, trauma, or suffering of any kind — it was as if the victims had simply collapsed and died without realizing it.
In that strange event, scientists came from all over the world to find out what really happened in Nyos.
Clue #1: Victim Range
After surveying the distribution of bodies in the area, it appears that all of the dead were within 12 miles of Lake Nyos — a lake formed in an extinct volcano.
In villages far from Nyos, there were more survivors, while in Nyos, less than 8 people survived.
Not only this is the biggest clue, the lake, which was previously blue, has turned dark red.
Clue #2: CO2 Levels
Scientists began taking samples from the lake. They learned that the red on top of the lake was dissolved iron, which usually settles at the bottom of the lake.
They also found high levels of CO2 in the water, causing samples taken from the lake to bubble like soda when lifted.
The deeper into the lake the samples come from, the greater the pressure they are under, causing the samples to explode and release all the gas contained within them.
Now, it is not surprising that Lake Nyos contains CO2, all lakes do, but what is different about this lake is that the gas never leaves and builds up in the lake continuously.
Clue #3: Location
CO2 usually leaves the lake water as the water continues to circulate, however, Lake Nyos is one of the calmest lakes in the world. High hills surround the lake on all sides, making it even more dangerous.
Because Cameroon is in a tropical climate, water temperatures do not change from season to season, causing CO2 to never leave the water and accumulate significantly.
Because there is so much CO2 contained in the water, when the bottom of the lake is saturated with the gas, the amount will continue to rise until it reaches the surface.
Any
disturbance
to the water will cause bubbles, which will cause a chain reaction where all the CO2 in the lake will be released hundreds of feet into the air.
And CO2 itself is not toxic, but it is a heavy gas and will fall back to the ground surface, causing natural disasters.
So, what really happened on August 22, 1986?
Villagers living on the hillside above Lake Nyos reported seeing the lake mysteriously overflow before a cloud of mist formed over the lake. Without warning, the lake ‘exploded’ sending enough CO2 into the air to fill 10 football stadiums.
CO2 is sent to heights of more than 300 feet before settling on hillsides — killing anything nearby.
For the people on the hillsides, they could survive by traveling to higher ground, but for the people in the valleys—like the people in Nyos—death was inevitable.
The gas cloud moved down the valley at 45 mph, poisoning and suffocating anyone within the CO2 ‘pockets’.
Some people were far enough away from the source of the disaster that being inside their homes with doors and windows closed saved them from untimely death.
Others, who were curious and investigated the source of the explosion or the smell of rotten eggs — indicating CO2 poisoning — were killed on their doorsteps.
Near the outskirts of the village, people sleeping on the ground had been killed, while those above the CO2 gas cloud survived, unaware of the disaster that had occurred until they tried to wake their loved ones.
There are only three lakes in the world—two in Cameroon, one in Rwanda—that can cause a “limnic eruption,” making it one of the rarest natural disasters ever to occur.
Scientists have been trying to find ways to remove the huge amounts of CO2 in the lake to prevent this from happening again.
Has anything unexplainable happened to you?
Yes, something unexplainable has happened to me.
As I walked out of my back door on a cold, wintery morning, the bright sun reflecting off of the white snow made me quickly shield my eyes and look down to avert the glare. At that very moment I noticed a small white Post-It note that was camoflaged in the snow. It was completely dry even though it was lying in the melting snow. I bent down and picked it up. It was a note from my ex-boyfriend Paul. We had parted on good terms a year prior and he had moved back to his hometown. The note said, “When you think of me, I’ll be thinking of you… Love, Paul.” This brought a smile to my face. I wondered how this little note had ended up outside my door. I thought maybe Paul was in town but, the ink was faded so I assumed he must have written it the year before. How odd, I thought, that it appeared outside of my back door on this cold morning. I put the note in my coat pocket and started off on my walk to the market.
While shopping for my groceries I noticed a familiar face. It was my friend Dave. He and I were introduced to each other a few years back by Paul. I couldn’t wait to tell him about the note I had found. Before I could get a word out Dave said in a hushed and somber tone, “Did you hear about Paul?” and I said. “What about Paul?” Dave went on to inform me that Paul had passed away the previous night in the hospital. He had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a month earlier and had become very sick very quickly. I was shocked and saddened.
I left my groceries in the cart and hurried out of the market. I was very upset and just wanted to get home. As I walked towards my house, tears were running down my face. I reached into my coat pocket for a tissue. Instead of a Kleenex to wipe away my tears I felt the Post-It note. I had forgotten about it after receiving the news of Paul’s passing. The little note was my shelter in an emotional storm. I took much comfort in that note. It’s still a mystery to me how it ended up outside of my door or when Paul had written it. I’m absolutely convinced it was Paul’s way of saying goodbye. I think of him often…
That’s a very interesting tidbit about the live “Q&A” with… Chevy frikking Chase? (cough! each to his own… I guess) above, Metallicman. Food for much deeper thought than would otherwise seem, indeed. As usual with all of these random stories you post.
In my experience, many Americans’– and increasingly so across US client states– particularly the English speaking ones– entire set of cultural reference points (and knowledge of current affairs) are based on mass produced television “programming” of all sorts, and moving pictures. I can tell you it makes deeper conversation outside of one’s trusted social circle an enormous challenge. But not surprising, really, given that nation’s early mastery and perfection of audiovisual technology and output. And, of course, the related art of mass-influence, to the point where much of their life and existential touchstones– even language and methods of thinking and expression, were implanted at a very early age without any critical screening whatsoever.
But each to his own, I guess that, too. Just an observation. Computer games and other kinds of digitalised screens are compounding the effect, I’m sure.
For me, the takeaway was a very interesting reminder of an old Metallicman classic piece of advice: when you set about constructing your reality– as is well within your power– (and the people who fund and create those movies and television programmes don’t really want you to know that)– especially so through a Prayer and Affirmation Campaign– be careful of designing your ultimate destination based on movies and TV shows. Because you’ll more than likely end up somewhere completely different. And very fortunate if >disappointment< is the only outcome, like the fan-hero of our few words of warning above.
Lesson surely learned for his sake, one hopes.
I'm still learning stuff every day, too, and it's scary how much I thought I knew– but turns out, I didn't– about pretty much the entire psychological and systemic structure within which I came of age. I think in the months and few years to come, I'll be re-learning some new versions of what I thought I'd already learned a whole lot more.
Yes. I have been telling this to some others recently. I’ll have to revisit these truths. -MM
Saturation programming and Propaganda Firehose, Metallicman. A cognitively lethal combination. Add in other mysterious and deep black sources of psychological entrainment long since live-tested and perfected, too, and you’ve set for yourself rather a challenging task.
But hey, I guess that’s why those Classic Indexes aren’t for everyone. Because what one wishes for will certainly arrive in full force. Might take a year or two or three, and one might completely forget. But those wishes won’t. That’s for sure.
Actually, you know, I really like the term :”MM’s classics” or the “MM classical indexes”. Sounds… erp. Right. You know? -MM
Well, “a classic” usually refers to any cultural artifact of timeless value and/or utility, very broadly speaking: classic Ideas– Designs– Creations or Inventions– whatever they happen to be. So the Metallicman Indexes most definitely qualify. One just has to read through them carefully, test in the Real World, and compare/contrast with that World, and to a lesser extent one’s own experience, to recognize that fact.
So welcome to the Timeless, Metallicman! And any readers quick enough to recognize that fact.
What an excellent attitude mate! I’m also always learning and everything seems to be fluid, to a certain extent, now.
Much of our social and cultural electronic programming in the past here came via the BBC, that monstrous propaganda outlet.
People who grew up in the seventies and eighties, such as myself, now view it as pure evil. With Jimmy Savile and surely many paedos and perverts forming the foundations of our 70s/80s TV childhood memories, how could we not?
Seeing those old systems slowly collapse gives me great hope for future the world.
That was a typical bad monday, yesterday^^
Had some new exotic bugs to fix too,
which drove me nuts and cost me the whole evening, meh.
On top of that, I slept really really bad, which doesn’t help to lift my mood either.
Forced to do my sports this morning nevertheless.
And –
Found some really insghtful vids during nonsleep –
one on Bodhidarma and another one on the holographic universe…
That finally did light my modd up again.
Everything happens for a reason, and our journey has begun.
—
On the ventual “scrubbing” of MM In search et al –
can’t confirm. The site is still to be found even in G.
It was never a top result and you alwayys had to know what to look for.
Best regards and take care all’y’all!
“10:30pm at night and I am back from a heavy banquet with lots of drinking on hard alcohol”
I thought you said you quit drinking?
I am a businessman in China. We NEVER stop drinking. It is a fundamental aspect of conducting business.
When I say that I stopped drinking, I mean that I stopped drinking on a personal level. In my personal life, I am a water-drinking guy. Maybe tea occasionally. Cutting out most sugar, and other things such as cigarettes. Deep fried anything, etc. I exercise; jog, lift weights, and all the rest.
But I am still working. And working has caveats. If you want to be a Da Lao zai zhong guo (boss) you must wear that mantle. -MM