I am born and raised in the United States, this is my country and after traveling around the world and living in Europe and Asia there is no place I would rather live….

But……

Dear God, please my fellow Americans…

PLEASE STOP PUTTING CHEESE ON EVERYTHING.

I ordered a BLT the other day and they brought it to me with Cheese.

No, it doesn’t matter if its “artisan Cheese” with a fancy name as the kid with the nose ring tried to explain to me. A BLT is one of the few foods in the world were the name is all the ingredients required.

This is not rocket science.

This is wrong.

I ordered a Hamburger, it arrived with cheese. That is not a Hamburger people, its a cheeseburger.

This obsession with cheese is a common way that food is ruined in the United States. If you have to dump cheese on your food that means the food is probably not that good to begin with and your trying to cover for your cheap ingredients.

Do better.

Why It Sucks to Be a Concubine (in Ming Dynasty)

What is the difference between Donald Trump, the businessman, and Taylor Swift, the businesswoman?

There is a clear difference.

After the North American part of her Eras tour, Taylor Swift gave each of the truck drivers that had driven her gear all over the continent for 24 weeks a bonus of $100,000 each. They didn’t expect it; it was a complete surprise. They were already being paid well. We know from stories that came out later that this money was life changing for some of them. And it wasn’t only the truck drivers: Taylor gave a total of $50 million in bonuses to all who helped her, along with hand-written notes.

Before Donald Trump took office in 2016, he had been involved in some 3,500 lawsuits. He’d filed 1,900 of them and 1,300 had been filed against him.

You do something for Donald Trump and it’s likely he’ll pay you less than he promised and all you can do is sue him (which is where a lot of those 1,300 lawsuits filed against him came from).

So yeah, there is a difference between people. Look for politicians of good character to lead us. Don’t settle for anything less because we will all end up paying for it.

You work for Taylor Swift, you will be paid. You might even get a bonus if things go well.

You work for Donald Trump, you vote for Donald Trump, and things are not likely to go well. And still 77 million of us put their faith in Donald Trump in 2024. They have lots of grievances, they thought, they believed, that Trump would fix them. He said he’d fix them, right?

Now we have Trumpflation. The dollar has fallen 10% against the Euro in only eight months. Bad things are happening, lots of them. Honestly, we should be blaming the 77 million who voted for Trump for all of this. Because they had ample evidence from Trump’s first term that he was not a good leader, that he didn’t care about us at all. They dragged us into this mess and we are ALL paying for it.

Swifties at a Taylor Swift concert at SoFi Stadium in Inglewood, California. Taylor played six sold-out concerts at that stadium in August, 2023.

We don’t care if you hate Taylor Swift, you sour, bitter old man. We love her🥰😍♥️♥️♥️.

29.5K views

Scott Ritter: The Arrival Of Stealth Hunter System In Iran Gives Russia Ability To Track US F35 Jets

The Endless Downfall of Bradley Longram

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

Victor Amoroso

The afternoon sun beat down, prickling the back of Officer Bradley Longram’s hand. It was his first week, fresh out of the academy, and as a newly minted, duly appointed officer of the law in the Cedar Falls police department, he had answered the calls nobody else wanted. The noise complaints from the elderly busybodies, the cats stuck in trees, the reports of a serial defecator were the calls dispatch gave to him.He stood in an empty parking lot, save from a brown 1991 Honda Civic. It was only a few minutes before he had opened the back door, and then emptied the contents of his stomach onto the hot broken asphalt next to the rear tire. After that, he called the ambulance. He could hear the sirens, of that ambulance, and backup.From his position, he could still see into the backseat. For a moment, he thought he heard a wail, but stepping forward, his eyes called his ears liars, and that admonishment burned into his skull. He stood, holding his pen and ticket-pad, if for no other reason than he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He wasn’t trained for this. 

A sickly sweet smell emanated from the vehicle, a mixture of milk shit that as a new father himself he knew well, and the cloying scent of burned flesh. The child in the back seat had been there for some time, hours at least. Its eyes pleaded with Bradley, begging to be held and saved from the horrific death it experienced, but he couldn’t. His failure as a father, a man and a police officer destroyed his confidence that he had felt that morning, kissing Laura on his way out. She had told him to do good today.

 

***

 

Bradley stared into that backseat. The blotched skin, the cooked flesh, the wails from the infant tormented him. The child reached for him, and each time, instead of reaching back, pulling from that charnel house, he closed the door. When it closed with a click, Bradley shot straight up, drenched in sweat.

 

The clock read 3:34 am. The noise of the city drifted through his window, a conveyance honking, the hum of the electric generators, an unfortunate vomiting in the street outside. His heart raced, as it did every time he had this dream. He pushed his feet out of bed, and grabbed the now warm bottle on his nightstand. It was flat, but he drank it anyway.

 

He sat there until the sun poked through the blinds. Today was going to be the last day that this happened. Bradley let the shower flick away his filth on the outside, leaving the dirt inside intact. “I wonder if she would come back,” he said to no one in particular. Laura left seven years ago, taking their youngest with her. The older two had long stopped speaking with him.

 

She said it was the drinking, and the yelling. But it wasn’t really those things. He woke each night, sometimes screaming, sometimes punching, sometimes with his piece in hand, after closing that door each time. She asked him and asked him, but he could never really say to her what he saw. Laura went from empathy, to fear, to indifference. She stopped asking, and then just stopped being there.

 

The glowing nu-florescent lights gave his grey hair a greenish tinge sitting in the waiting room. He waited for what seemed to be an hour, when his name was called. His “handler”, travel agent was the preferred title, stared at him with black eyes, and a small scar above her upper lip. She once was fat, but had lost much of the weight. “Mr. Longram, I hope that I have been clear up to this point.”

“Yes, you have.”

 

“Well I am going to go through it just one more time. We will be monitoring you. Usually, one of us would go with you, but do to your long service to the community, we made an exception. You will follow the rules, but things can get sticky with time travel. There are certain points that you can be sent back to. You aren’t to interact with anyone. These sightseeing tours work best if you keep a good distance from anyone.”

 

“I know, I know.”

 

“Anything you accidentally change will be fixed. As I said, we are monitoring you. You appear to have signed all the necessary forms, and your payment cleared. You mind me asking, why did you choose this date?”

 

Bradley smiled. “I kissed my wife for the first time on this date. I thought it would be nice to watch it.”

 

She took a drink from her Pepsi Neg, “Ah, tempting to interfere. Don’t. Just watch.”

 

“I will.”

 

She handed him his temporal pass. He put it around his neck, and walked to the back. The travel tubes lay waiting. The tech looked over his pass, nodded and pointed to the nearest tube. “Now you paid for one hour. When that time is up, we will pull you back. That means that if your pass comes back without you, we will stop you from even going. So there will be ten second countdown to allow for that before I send you.”

 

Bradley stood in the tube, waited for ten seconds, and closed his eyes. He suspected that they really couldn’t watch what they did, otherwise they probably would have stopped this right now. He breathed deeply, and chirping birds caressed his ears.

 

He was standing at the edge of a parking lot to the College Square Mall. At the far end of the lot, a man exited from a brown Civic, and began walking away. The agency made it a firm policy that no technology could be brought back, but the still functional pay phone was all he needed. He knew the number by heart.

 

Ring. “Office Bradley Longram speaking.”

 

“Officer, you need to get to S lot of the College Square Mall. There is a baby locked in an abandoned Honda Civic. He needs your help. Come now!”

 

“Who is this?”

 

Bradley hung up.

 

It took ten minutes for Officer Longram to arrive. He had the car door open, and the infant squalling in his arms within thirty seconds. The sirens of the emergency vehicles swelled, music to his ears. Now, everything would be different.

 

***

Air raid sirens roared, but Bradley Longram couldn’t care less. If a bomb hit him, all the better. The Dear Leader’s glorious war had cost him everything already. The text message was clear on that front. His last son, Jonathan, was dead. An enemy sniper. Somewhere out east.

 

He already gave so much for Elim Gonzalez. The Dear Leader had offered the man who had saved his life from the father who abandoned him in a hot car all those years ago a mansion, with a bunker. He turned it down. He could never say it outloud, but ever since Elim had taken power and began his great movement, Bradley wasn’t comfortable with their relationship.

 

That seemed like a small thing when the bomb that flattened his home came, killing his wife, two daughters and his two youngest sons. His last son enlisted immediately, to revenge himself on the far off forces that destroyed his family. And now Bradley’s failure was complete.

 

Was he being punished? Almost certainly. He extracted young Elim from the car, but after that he did not guide him, father him, nor mold him. They never found his father, and his mother, well the drugs never were far from her.

 

When the stories of the camps filtered into his hovel, he decided to act. Contacting the Resistance gave him chills, but what did it matter if they killed him? He was already dead.

 

A hooded man knocked on his door, a backpack bulging handing from both shoulders, coming in when Bradley opened the door. “So, you are the hero who saved him? How do you like what you did now,” he sneered.

 

“If you are going to kill me, kill me. My family is dead, because of him. How do you think I feel?”

 

“Man, I didn’t know. I was just told to come here, and bring my equipment. You might be able to stop all of this from what I heard.”

 

“I don’t know. I am willing to try. He took everything from me.”

 

The man nodded. He set down his bag, and pulled a wired device that looked like a hippy bathroom scale out. He also pulled out a pistol with silencer and handed it to Bradley. “Now, because apparently you have a node that touches the Dear Leader, we can send you back to a time where he isn’t so damn hard to kill. And no, don’t ask me how it works. It just does.”

 

Bradley nodded. “I’m ready when you are.”

 

“Just give me a moment.” There was a loud pounding on the door. “SHIT!”

 

“This is the police. You have a fugitive in there. You have ten seconds to surrender or lethal force will be brought to bear.”

 

The man looked panicked. “Get on dude! Go back, I’ll get you there.”

 

Bradley stepped on, and heard wood splintering as projectiles punched through the plywood. He closed his eyes, and birdsong filled his ears. He was standing in the parking lot of the College Square Mall. He knelt down behind a lamp post, and waited.

 

The morning dragged, and he became parched. He didn’t have any money, but that didn’t matter. He would get the job done. And then, he spotted the Honda Civic, pulling into the parking lot. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar looking man standing near the pay phones.

 

He lost his nerve shooting a child. Bradley remembered thinking young Elim and Jonathan looked exactly alike. They could be cousins. He saw his son’s face in his mind’s eye. He couldn’t kill him.

 

The man walked to the phones, and picked up the receiver. Bradley remembered the phone call. He knew then what he could do.

 

***

 

The floor stank of vomit and blood. Bradley Longram lay curled up, covered in his own ejecta. Every part of his body hurt. But that was normal.

 

Each morning, when the fog from drinking lifted momentarily, he replayed that fateful morning in his head. The dead child, screaming from the grave at him. From that he had nightmares every night. But it was the dead man found in the bushes that broke him. On some level, he knew it was him, just older.

 

The department laughed at him. His bitch wife took their son and never spoke to him. Therapists, doctors, and psychics all said he was crazy. The CFPD just filed it under a john doe, and the file went to the basement. After the captain told him for the third time to forget about it, it was his badge or his obsession.

 

He dove into the bottle. And stayed there.

 

But sunlight glimmered through the brown haze. An idea formed over the years, after hearing about Timely Expeditions. He could never afford it, but he could afford a gun. He would go back, and he would know the truth. He had to.

 

The two security guards lay bleeding out on the carpet in the waiting room. Same for the receptionist, a fat woman with a scarred lip and two snooty men who called him smelly when he thrust the pistol into their faces. The bespectacled technician knelt in front of him, sniveling. “Please, please don’t kill me.”

 

“I ain’t gonna kill you, but you got to send me back.”

 

“You can’t go back with that. You got no pass, you got a gun. You can’t go back with a gun.”

 

“I’m taking the gun. Now, send me back.”

 

“Back to when?”

 

“The car, and the dead guy. Send me back!”

 

“I don’t know when that is. You haven’t even been scanned.”

 

“I don’t give a fuck. Do it, or I’m gonna kill you.”

 

“Oh no, please, I will do anything, don’t kill me.”

“Start working, smart guy.”

 

The tech crawled back to his computer, and Bradley sat on the platform, keeping the gun leveled at the tech. “I’m seeing two nodes, do you know which one?”

 

“No, just send me back to the car. It was twenty years ago, man.”

 

“Okay, I got one right at the twenty year mark, and then one a year and a half earlier. You want the twenty?”

 

“JUST DO IT!”

 

Sirens started to grow louder, and then Bradley yawned, closing his eyes. An oriole warbled, and he felt a breeze caress his face. Was he there?

 

He opened his eyes, and spotted the College Square Mall across the street. Bradley’s worn out heart leap up, he would finally know! He stepped off the curb, and immediately a crunch and shooting pain radiated from his leg, then his head, and then his shoulder as he flipped over a brown piece of shit car.

 

A child wailed in the back seat of the vehicle, and he felt his mangled body leaking onto the warming concrete. “No, no, I gotta know.” He tried to move his arms to push himself up, but nothing happened. A car door opened, and a face appeared above his. “Really?”

 

***

 

The gate opened, and Bradley Longram walked out of Anamosa State Penitentiary. Finally a free man. He was ready to make things right.

 

In his heart, he didn’t blame Elim. The boy’s father spent years in prison, starting with the vehicular homicide with Elim in the car as an infant. He grew up in a house riddled with drugs and abuse. He forgave Elim, after the youth and his gang broke into Bradley’s home, intent on robbery, but killing his wife, two sons, and leaving Bradley for dead.

 

Rage consumed him and in his own failing, he used his resources to find and enact vengeance on that poor boy. Elim went to the ground, and Bradley to the pen. And now Bradley, with love in his heart, saw it clearly. His penance would be to save Elim from the life given to him. He needed a real father.

 

All those lives destroyed by someone else’s choices, well it now was in Bradley’s power to fix it. He spent five additional years inside for the chance to do it. He told himself that the blood would vanish along with the additional pain with success. The jumper would meet him at the halfway house, ready to send him back. All it cost him was the lives of two fellow criminals, a small price.

 

“Okay man, I don’t suppose you know when you are going? These things can only do so much. For some reason, they can only send people to certain dates, and you got two options.”

 

“What is the date that is furthest back? There is something that I need to do, and I don’t want to miss it.”

 

“Whatever man, I’m going to send you to that one. Let me tell you, I’m not pulling you back. You probably won’t last long anyway, the cops are usually pretty quick about jumping back.”

 

“You got my documents?”

 

“Yes, I don’t understand, but I do. You can’t hide back there.”

 

“I’m not trying to hide.”

 

Bradley stood on the pad, and a whirring sound filled his ears. The sound hurt, and he closed his eyes. A jay chirped, and cool air soothed him. A dark house stood before him. The door opened with a strong push, and he walked up the stairs to the second floor, only a squeak of his shoes on the floor boards making note of his passage.

 

An occupied bed lay before him, a single body snoring away. Bradley knelt before him, and placed his hand on his shoulder. A quick shake, and the man was awake. “You Bernard Gonzalez?”

 

The man shook his head, and coughed. “Who the fuck are you? What are you doing in my house? I’m Bernard Gonzalez!” He voice rose with each question.

 

“I’m sorry about this, but its for the best.” The knife he pulled from his back holster caught a bit of moonlight before he plunged it into Bernard’s throat. The clock read 3:34 am.

 

***

 

Elim was screaming, but Bradley kept his eyes on the road. He was going to meet the head of mall security for a new job, one that would keep Lena, his new wife, and his new adopted son well provided for. She had been most receptive to Bradley’s offer, since the erstwhile father of her child had vanished not long after Elim was born.

 

A sudden flash, and Bradley swerved away from the curb, a wild and crazy drunk man somehow coming out of nowhere, waving a pistol. The Civics’s brakes squealed, but Bradley managed to not hit anyone. He turned into the parking lot, and parked near the bushes at the front.

 

He turned back to look at Elim, nestled comfortably in his car seat. He then looked up. That crazy man was running across the parking lot towards them. He stood up, and waved his hands in air, to get him to follow him. He started walking quickly away from the car, hoping that the man would follow him. He could hurt Elim, and Bradley wouldn’t let that happen. He could lose him and double back. He would have to.

 

***

 

Officer Bradley Longram straightened his tie and radio as he drank his morning coffee. “I think its going to be a great day, Laura. I can feel it!”

 

His lovely wife, blonde curls framing her sweet cherubic face, kissed him and then wiped away the lipstick. “You are my brave policeman. Go do good today!”

What was the quickest meal you could consistently prepare for a large group of soldiers using only standard field kitchen equipment?

This is a UGR-HS (Unitized Group Ration- Heat and Serve)

Everything, and I mean everything (food-wise) is “boil in bag.” The OD green and brown food trays are warmed up in a tray pack heater.

Rice is done in about 25–30 minutes, about 10–20 tray packs at a time. Meat is usually done in the same amount of time, 10–20 tray packs at a time. Just need hot water and the food trays, and the meal is ready.

And the vegetables?

You get a big pot of water to a slow, rolling boil and you dump a few 102oz cans of veggies in there, cook for 10 minutes, then they’re ready to serve. (After you season them, of course)

Beverages are made with concentrated syrups or beverage powders (think Gatorade or Sqwincher powder)

Coffees are made similarly to tea. The coffee comes in a large tea bag (about the size of a brick) You heat the water to a slow, rolling boil, in a big pot, and then pour the water into a beverage container, lined with coffee bags.

For a 300–400 headcount, we could have an entire meal done in about an hour using this ration.

Avocado and Tomato Salad
(Ensalada de Guacamole)

Ingredients

• 6 slices bacon
• 3 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 1 tablespoon vinegar
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/8 teaspoon pepper
• 3 drops red pepper sauce
• 2 medium avocados, peeled and cubed
• 2 medium tomatoes, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
• 1 small onion, chopped
• Salad greens

Instructions

1. Fry bacon until crisp; drain and crumble.
2. Mix oil, vinegar, salt, pepper and red pepper sauce; pour over avocados. Toss.
3. Stir in bacon, tomatoes and onion.
4. Cover and refrigerate about 2 hours.
5. Just before serving, place on salad greens with slotted spoon.

Yield: 4 to 6 servings

What is your weirdest quirk?

I have a few:

Every time I see someone holding an axe, I have an overwhelming urge to say, “Careful with that axe, Eugene.”

I don’t always indulge in saying it, but I always have, and probably always will, think it.

Similarly, when someone says they’re going to have a comeback, I have a strong urge to say, “Don’t call it a comeback.”

Again, I rarely indulge in saying it out loud, but I always think it.

Both of those song-related quirks make me cringe severely, so don’t feel badly if you just cringed, too.

Finally, my non song-related quirk pertains to driving.

I live in a very mountainous area.

We have runaway truck ramps on these mountains because those trucks get away from them with surprising regularity. Therefore, the runaway truck ramps are rather plentiful along the sides of our interstates.

Every time I drive by one I have the most horrible urge to take my car up it.

I know, don’t do that, Mish! You’ll ruin your car, plus with your luck there will be an actual runaway truck right behind you and it will roll right over you.

So, with great effort, I hold back but I always fantasize about taking my car up that thing just to see what it’s like.

Your Life as a Brothel Slave

I was being scammed with a fake job offer. They sent me a check, which I deposited, and then wanted me to send some money back but I didn’t. What will happen if I keep the money?

I had a scammer try a closely-related job offer scam on me. I spent 29 years as a programmer/analyst, meaning I could design software as well as implement the code.

At one point, between positions, a recruiter called me about an open position. That interview seemed to go well, and, about an hour later, a manager called me back for an hour-long technical interview. The person interviewing me seemed familiar with the subject matter, and, later that day, I got another call from the recruiter, saying that I had been hired.

Now came the scam.

The recruiter said that the company needed me to call a certain phone number, and use my personal credit card to purchase a certain piece of software. Once that sale was complete, the new employer would ship me a laptop to use, and I was to install the third-party software on it, and I would then be reimbursed for the purchase price.

This sounded very suspicious. If you are hired for remote work, and the employer ships you a computer to use, any specialized software will already be installed, or there will be instructions on how to download the software from an internal-facing site, not accessible by the public.

I promised the recruiter that I would do the purchase, in an hour or so. I then looked up the employer’s web site, and talked directly to an HR representative. As I had suspected, neither the original HR person nor the technical interviewer worked for the employer, and they didn’t have a job opening matching the description.

The whole thing was a long con to trick me out of my credit card number.

White People On Rednote Breakdown In Tears By The Real China They Don’t See On TV

You all gotta watch this. This is all about QUALITY OF LIFE.

What punishment from your childhood had the most profound effect on you today?

When I was a boy, I was far too mischievous.

Not stupid—at least not in the sense of lacking intelligence. Just… hard to explain.

My entire primary school years passed under the sting of a teacher’s bamboo stick. Yet I stumbled through them in a haze, never feeling ashamed. When the teacher called me up to the blackboard in a fury and lashed me, I would grin and laugh as if it were a game. My classmates roared with laughter, which only made the teacher angrier.

（But there was another kind of punishment that really did scare me—being locked up. She would shut me in the basement of her house, which was pitch dark. For a seven-year-old, being kept there for hours in the damp, musty darkness—especially with an overactive imagination inventing all sorts of monsters to frighten himself—was truly terrifying.）

After the exam that decided who would move on to middle school, I saw my father’s face glowing with an excitement I had never seen before. He took me out for noodles with meat—a luxury. One bowl cost him a whole day’s wage. He didn’t eat. He just sat there watching me eat.

Only later did I learn the truth: out of four thousand children in the county, I had ranked first, with perfect scores in every subject.

I didn’t feel especially proud. The test had been too easy.

For several years after that, I drifted the same way as before—skipping classes, not going home after school, playing outside until the loudspeakers blared “Ode to the Motherland,” and I suddenly realized night had fallen.

Then I would go home and take the beating that awaited me. With no phones back then and poor public safety, my parents feared constantly that something might happen to me. I grew so used to it that I would toss off my shirt the moment I stepped inside and say, “Go on, hit me!”

…

One time my father struck too hard. The pain overwhelmed me, and I blacked out.

When I came to, I thought it was raining. But the “rain” was my father’s tears. He was holding me and sobbing uncontrollably. From that day forward, he never beat me again.

And I changed. I began to study.

It is my honor to tell you: in the college entrance exam, I created another miracle. From the bottom 10 percent—a so-called failure—I rose thousands of places to become the county’s top scorer. In one subject, I even achieved the highest score in the nation, back when the exam was standardized across all of China.

My father has been gone for many years now.

I miss him terribly.

I see him often in my dreams.

If it were possible, I would want him to beat me once more—no matter how much it hurt. Not because I suffer from Stockholm syndrome, but because I long for him.

For the man who would rather go hungry himself, yet still spend one yuan—an entire day’s pay—to buy a pound of meat so his son could eat.

Dad, I miss you.

Dad, I’m rich now.

I want to treat you to some noodles with meat.

In my dreams, we’ve eaten together many times…

Dad, in my dreams I’m always that little child, holding your hand, looking up at you with happiness, and you tell me: “Come on, son, let’s go have shredded pork noodles!”

In Chinese, the words for father and mother sound just like in English: 爹“dad” and 妈“mom.”

This is our deepest connection—no matter the nation, it’s always dad and mom.

Considering nearly 5,000 years of phonetic shifts in Chinese, the fact that these two words have stubbornly remained consistent—so much so that they are hardly different from modern English—I regard as a miracle.

Sir Whiskerton and the Hench-Animal Rebellion

Or: When Two Felines Say “No More!”—And Discover Their True Potential

Introduction

Ah, dear reader, prepare for a tale of rebellion, reinvention, and reluctant teamwork. Today’s story begins with Bigcat’s hench-felines, Putter and Goliath, growing weary of his endless demands and tyrannical leadership style. Tired of being treated as mere tools of intimidation, they stage a rebellion—but quickly realize that freedom comes with its own challenges.

Enter Sir Whiskerton and Porkchop the Pig, who step in to help the duo find not only independence but also new career paths better suited to their talents. Along the way, everyone learns an important lesson: true leadership is about respect, not fear. So grab your clipboard (and perhaps a motivational speech), as we dive into Sir Whiskerton and the Hench-Animal Rebellion.

Act 1: The Breaking Point

It was a quiet morning on Bigcat’s farm when Putter and Goliath stood before their boss, trembling under his imposing glare.

“You two,” Bigcat growled, flexing his massive paws, “are supposed to be my muscle! Not… whatever this is!” He gestured dramatically at Goliath, who had accidentally gotten himself stuck in a cat flap yet again.

Putter adjusted his glasses nervously. “Sir, perhaps if you gave us clearer instructions—”

“Silence!” Bigcat roared. “I don’t pay you to think—I pay you to obey!”

That was the final straw. Putter exchanged a glance with Goliath, whose brawny frame belied his gentle soul. They nodded silently, united by one thought: Enough was enough.

Later that day, the two hench-felines packed their belongings (a single squeaky toy and a half-eaten bag of treats) and fled to Sir Whiskerton’s farm, leaving behind a note that read simply: “We quit.”

Act 2: Seeking Refuge—and Answers

When Putter and Goliath arrived at Sir Whiskerton’s farm, they were greeted with cautious curiosity.

“Well, well,” Sir Whiskerton began, adjusting his monocle. “What brings you two here?”

“We’ve left Bigcat,” Putter explained. “But now… what do we do? We’ve spent our entire lives following orders. How do we start over?”

Porkchop waddled up, snorting sympathetically. “Don’t worry, guys. Everyone deserves a second chance—and maybe a snack break.”

Sir Whiskerton nodded thoughtfully. “True. But first, let’s figure out what you’re good at—and what makes you happy.”

Act 3: Finding New Paths

With Sir Whiskerton’s guidance, Putter and Goliath embarked on a journey of self-discovery.

• Putter: Known for his intelligence and strategic mind, Putter found joy in solving puzzles. He became the farm’s official logistics coordinator, organizing everything from feed schedules to hay deliveries.
• Goliath: Despite his clumsiness, Goliath discovered a hidden talent for lifting heavy objects—and hearts. He became the farm’s resident strongman and morale booster, often carrying animals out of mud puddles or cheering them on during contests.

Even Chef Remy LeRaccoon joined in, holding a tray of suspiciously glowing snacks.

“These are Confidence Cookies™,” he announced proudly. “Guaranteed to boost self-esteem—or cause indigestion!”

The animals exchanged wary glances but couldn’t help laughing.

Act 4: Resolution and Reflection

As the dust settled, Sir Whiskerton gathered the group for a moment of reflection.

“Today taught us an important lesson,” he began, sipping a cup of moonlit tea. “True leadership is about respect, not fear. Whether you’re leading others or yourself, kindness and understanding pave the way to success.”

Putter adjusted his glasses proudly. “Thank you, Sir Whiskerton. We couldn’t have done it without your help.”

Goliath grinned, flexing his muscles awkwardly. “Yeah! And thanks for the snacks, Porkchop.”

Porkchop snorted happily. “Anytime, big guy.”

Meanwhile, back at Bigcat’s farm, chaos reigned without his trusted hench-felines. Forced to fetch his own snacks and untangle himself from cat flaps, Bigcat finally understood the value of treating others with respect.

Post-Credit Scene

Later that evening, Chef Remy unveiled his newest invention: Leadership Lasagna™, designed to inspire greatness in every bite.

“These are safe, right?” Doris asked nervously.

Remy grinned. “Only slightly.”

Cue horrified squawks.

Moral of the Story

True leadership is about respect, not fear.

Best Lines

• “We quit.” – Putter and Goliath, channeling their inner rebels.
• “Everyone deserves a second chance—and maybe a snack break.” – Porkchop, ever the optimist.
• “These are Confidence Cookies™—guaranteed to boost self-esteem or cause indigestion!” – Chef Remy, offering questionable solutions.

Key Jokes

• Goliath’s ongoing struggle with cat flaps adds slapstick humor.
• Chef Remy’s glowing snacks spark both curiosity and concern.
• Bigcat’s realization that respect matters more than fear ties the moral together perfectly.

Starring

• Putter (Strategic Sidekick/Turned Logistics Guru)
• Goliath (Clumsy Muscle/Turned Morale Booster)
• Sir Whiskerton (Feline Philosopher/Detective Extraordinaire)
• Porkchop the Pig (Snack Enthusiast/Motivational Speaker)
• Chef Remy LeRaccoon (Mad Scientist of Snacks)

Summaries

• Moral: True leadership is about respect, not fear.
• Future Potential: Could Putter and Goliath mentor other animals seeking independence? Or will Chef Remy invent edible motivational posters next?

Until next time, may your leaders be kind and your snacks plentiful. 🐾

Char siu pork

Char siu pork is Cantonese style roast pork that’s been seasoned with 5 spice powder, honey, fermented bean curd, soy sauce, hoisin and honey. Its complex flavor is sweet, spicy and slightly funky, but not funky in an offensive way. You may have seen Char siu pork hanging from the ceiling, over a butcher’s block in a traditional Chinese restaurant or market. Asian supermarkets usually have a packaged version for sale.

Char siu pork isn’t a do-all kind of product, like bacon. Its unfamiliar flavor might not appeal to many Western palates, but if you like it, you tend to really like it. Like bacon, it’s a seasoning meat, meant to lend flavor to foods, like stir fry, noodles and soups. It’s not something you’d eat a plate full of. Instead, you combine it with other flavors, usually salty and spicy, to create a well rounded flavor profile. Every so many bites you hit that unmistakable sweet pork bit that just explodes with flavor in your mouth. It really makes you want to go back for more.

Because it has a powerful flavor, it’s best to put Char siu next to something bland, like noodles or rice. Experiment though. Maybe a little bit on a burger, or in a ham sandwich would be interesting. Garlic noodles with Char siu would be good too.

Pictures

Do Chinese textbooks tend to be boring?

Not at all.

Chinese textbooks may be among the best in the world.

Most of the materials and images in this answer come from the Chinese Internet.

“Congratulations on finally finishing this book. Thank you for your patience in reading. Take a day off and go fishing—if there are still any fish left.”

— Marine Biology Textbook

“We do not inherit the Earth from our ancestors; we borrow it from our descendants.”

— Biology, Compulsory Course 3

“Both sides of the equation are different views of the same idea.”

— High School Mathematics, People’s Education Press

“Without academic democracy and freedom of thought, science cannot flourish.”

— High School Physics, Compulsory 1

“Hidden within the atom lies the secret of the entire universe.”

— High School Physics Textbook

“One of the functions of blood is to pay the price for belief.”

— High School Health and Physiology Textbook, Chapter 4, Blood

In the author’s afterword, he dedicates this book to his late mother and his prematurely deceased daughter. His mother was illiterate and even had no name; when she registered officially at the age of 63, the author gave her a name.

It is rare in the world for a child to name his mother.

His mother raised six children; except for one who became a primary school teacher, the other five became experts in literature, geology, engineering, medicine, and astronomy.

— Introduction to Astronomy

“After the Chinese Academy of Sciences announced it would no longer review any papers on perpetual motion machines, the chairman of the Chinese Physical Society suggested that future generations should not ridicule them. Besides erecting statues for Newton, Joule, and others, a monument should be built for the unnamed heroes, with the inscription: ‘Dedicated to all the heroes who failed in the pursuit of perpetual motion.’”

— High School Physics Textbook, Conservation of Energy

“Study hard and serve the motherland faithfully.This book is provided free by the people’s government.”

— Chinese Primary and Secondary School Textbooks

“Hydrogen burns quietly in chlorine, emitting a pale flame.”

— Middle School Chemistry Textbook

(I loved chemistry because of this sentence. I just checked, and I am glad that even after 40+ years and countless revisions, the new chemistry textbooks still retain this description.)

“In the face of injustice, some choose passive inaction. This leads to the spread of injustice, ultimately harming everyone.”

— 8th Grade Politics Textbook, on the Holocaust

“Although the English king tried to change natural law with royal decrees, as far as we know, he did not succeed.”

— High School Physics Textbook, Electricity and Lightning

“Sir Isaac Newton was buried in England, the place where the English lay their heroes to rest.”

— High School Physics Textbook, Newton’s Laws

“Now write a letter in English to your parents reporting your recent academic performance.”

(A small note below: Relax! You don’t need to tell them the truth!)

— People’s Education Press Middle School English Textbook

By the way, from 1980–2000, two characters frequently appeared in Chinese English textbooks: Li Lei and Han Meimei. In the new edition, the characters became Han Meimei’s children. Internet users were surprised that Li Lei and Han Meimei never got together, which caused quite a stir at the time.

>>>

(After a long introduction to Yang Xiong（53 BC – 18 AD）’s philosophical ideas) “Overall, Yang Xiong’s ideas had no any impact on later Chinese philosophy.”

(Tai Chi and the Bagua are based on binary; Yang Xiong envisioned a new Tai Chi based on ternary.)

This reminds me of the Soviet era, when the Russians also conceived a new ternary-based computer design, which likewise made little contribution to later computer science.

— History Philosophy

“Two water waves meet, pass through each other, and continue propagating with their respective characteristics, as if they had never met.”

— High School Physics, Elective 3-4 (This sentence always feels a little sad.)

“Sin asked cos, tonight are we tan or cot?”

— 2014 Math Exam (tan = sin/cos, cot = cos/sin ……)

“As young men, do not focus on the length of your penis; rather, cultivate your talent and moral character—this is truly important.”

— Physiology textbook, reproductive system chapter, a renowned Chinese university

“You can do it.” “You can do it, don’t make a mistake.” “Same as the 2014 question…”

— Reference answers by a famous Chinese linear algebra textbook editor.

It reminds me of what Qian Xuesen said: “Even if a person is dumb, could he be too dumb to learn calculus?” and “Shorten the education timeline: graduate college at 14, PhD at 18—just when full of energy to conduct research.”

“Due to insufficient data, this calculation result is actually made up by me.”

— Mathematical Modeling

“Science aims to discover facts, but leaves us free to choose our own values.”

— People’s Education Press High School Biology 2, Evolution

“I remember when we first met, you were only in 7th grade.”

— 9th Grade English Textbook (7th grade, first lesson: “Nice to meet you.”)

“If others delete a few words or even a single word from your article and the meaning remains unchanged, it means your writing is poor.”

— Chinese Language Textbook

“How could gentle Mr. Art have such a cold son, Mr. Science? The reason is that they share the same mother—Nature herself.”

— Philosophy Textbook, words of a famous Chinese scholar. The editor added: “This is exactly how the author wrote it.We didn’t change a single word.”

“Suppose you are stranded on a deserted island with nothing to do, so you decide to solve this math problem to pass the time… Surprisingly, you might discover that you can solve it in an hour and still have time to gather coconuts for a proper meal.”

— Math Textbook

“After learning this chapter, I realized that since I am also an animal… this is how I learned to masturbate.”

— Anonymous comment on High School Biology, on three methods of livestock ejaculation: manual, electrical stimulation, and artificial female mount.

“I’m an unpaid user; isn’t the character unlocked?”

— Student complaining about poor printing quality of a textbook

>>>

“Our future space lab (concept illustration)” — High School Physics Textbook

“Our space lab.” — Physics textbook the year after China successfully launched its own space station

“From January 26, 1841, when the British expeditionary force first raised the Union Jack on Hong Kong Island, to July 1, 1997, when the Five-Star Red Flag was raised, a total of 156 years, 5 months, and 4 days passed. The British Empire came by sea, and left by sea.”

— High School Chinese Textbook, Goodbye, Britannia

“The Chinese Communist Party cannot be overthrown by external forces; only we ourselves can overthrow it.”

— Politics Textbook

“Why study black holes? Why climb Mount Everest?—Because it is there.”

— High School Physics Textbook

“…so that the efforts of the authors of this book will have successors…”

— Foundations of Real Analysis and Functional Analysis, 4th edition. Each previous edition’s author passed away after finishing their work; the 4th edition author died six months later.

“Faraday is immortal.”

— High School Physics Textbook, last line of Electromagnetism chapter

“Nature and Nature’s laws lay hid in night: God said, Let Newton be! and all was light.”

— High School Physics, Mechanics chapter, first line

“Many ask whether the ‘Lectures on Physical Chemistry’ were written in English; the answer is naturally Chinese. The scientific ideas are so profound, and the wisdom of science so beautiful. I believe presenting the truth of science in one’s mother tongue is a great achievement… Young people, climb upward on the shoulders of your forebears! This is the true path of science, China’s hope, and humanity’s future!”

— Lectures on Physical Chemistry

“The state is the violent machine of the ruling class to suppress the ruled class, fundamentally aimed at protecting the interests of the ruling class. The state possesses the army, police, courts, prisons, and other violent instruments, and can mobilize society’s resources and wealth to increase and expand its power, with the army being the most important.”

— My politics textbook from school (from memory; some words may be slightly off)

“The Chinese people have a certain talent for learning mathematics.”

— Preface to a mathematics textbook by Hua Luogeng. (I do not agree with this statement; it reflects the author’s patriotic sentiment, like “the moon shines brighter in my hometown.”)

There are many more, but due to space, they will not be introduced here.

>>>

Hahaha, I just saw this and it’s a bit related to the question, so let me add it here.

It all started when an agricultural expert posted some science content online about banana diseases.

An agricultural technician thought he was wrong, and the two argued back and forth for many days.

In the end, the technician said, “Your professional knowledge isn’t solid,” and even added, “I suspect you’re not really in agricultural research at all.”

The expert got angry and said, “Please provide professional evidence to prove that I’m wrong.”

The technician then gave him the link to his Douyin (the Chinese version of TikTok) account where he shared agricultural science content.

After checking it, the expert replied: “I am Xie Changping, the author of this book Tropical Plant Pathology. You posted my book on your Douyin without marking it as a repost and without mentioning my name?”

222 days later, the technician still has not replied.

Just Three Minutes

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

The numbers over the chamber door counted down from three minutes. Ethan watched with anticipation, reaching for his dirty university coffee mug. Another sleepless night in the lab. His face was covered in what no longer qualified as scruff, and his hair stuck up on one side of his head. He didn’t care, though. He was on the cusp of the most significant scientific achievement of mankind. He was making this discovery, which he had spent most of his life pursuing. Alone.

His hand shook as he brought the mug to his lips. The bitter liquid was stale and cold. He didn’t mind, it was the caffeine he needed. He couldn’t miss this moment. The clock continued to count down. Five seconds left, he bit the inside of his lip and clasped his hands together. Not in prayer but to keep himself from touching anything. Three. Two. One.

The rat’s body exploded off the floor with a kick, then, as though confused, it sat on its hind legs and began to rub its ears and eyes. It sniffed the air and scurried following the walls inside the travel chamber.

“YES!” He exploded, jumping to his feet and throwing his hands over his head. He scurried, his gaze from the chamber, and checked the monitors. All vitals were back to normal; he had a healthy rat on his hands. The smile grew across his face, and he couldn’t help but let out a gleeful giggle. He reached for the lab phone to call the professor when he heard the door shut behind him.

He spun around in the chair, expecting to see the professor, but it was her instead. Her thick curly brown hair fell like a waterfall behind her golden brown shoulders. Half her face was hidden behind her thick-rimmed glasses. He was excited to see her, but she looked uncomfortable being there.

“Sara, we did it!” he exclaimed as she walked towards the desk.

She didn’t answer. She was fiddling with something in her hand. Was it a plastic bag?

“Sara, did you hear me? We did it, your theory on consciousness was right! I just sent Bruno back in time for 3 minutes!”

“Ethan, we need to talk.” She looked at the ground. She couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Yes! I agree, this is huge. I was just about to call prof-“

“Ethan, please, we need to talk. Sit down. It’s important.”

The energy slowly drained from his face. He offered her the desk chair, but she shook her head no, rooted to where she stood. He hesitated, then took the chair for himself, keeping his eyes on her as if she were an alien. Was she crying?

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah. No. I don’t know. Here.” She handed the Ziploc bag over to him. It looked like it had three pens inside.

Ethan took the bag and froze. The world started to spin, he turned the bag over and over till he got confirmation that they all had the same mark.

“How?”

“What do you mean, how?”

“I thought you were on the pill.”

“I thought you were wearing a condom.”

“But I was careful.”

“Ethan, stop it. It doesn’t matter. It’s done. It’s done.” She bit her lip, then looked at the ceiling before locking her wet eyes on his.

“And I’m keeping it.”

“…What?”

“I’m keeping it. I tried, I can’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t expect anything from you. Don’t get me wrong, I want you to, but I understand.”

“Sara, please let’s think about this.”

“I have.”

“We can’t right now.”

A muffled high-pitched sound started in her throat, and tears built in her eyes. “Kay” was all she was able to choke out before turning and rushing out of the lab. Ethan, dumbstruck, sat and watched her go, still holding the bag, not knowing what to do.

She was one of the most intelligent and beautiful people he had ever met. He wanted her in his life. If he had believed love was anything more than chemical reactions in the brain to promote self-preservation and preservation of the species, he would have said that yes, he did love her. Now was the time when he had just made the most significant discovery in human history, and he had just completed building a fully functioning time machine.

He had a time machine.

He spun so fast in the chair that he knocked the cold cup of coffee onto the keyboard. Frantically, he grabbed the nearest cloth; it might have been a shirt, who cared? There was no time. The computer seemed to be responding, but the keys were a little sticky. That’s ok, double-check inputs before committing to them.

Simple.

He got up from the desk and sprinted to the Travel Chamber. After some effort, he captured Bruno and placed him back in his cage. It was highly implausible, but he had seen The Fly and wasn’t going to take the risk.

He moved back to the desk, carrying Bruno with him, and placed him next to the computer. Double-checking the inputs, it should be right. Glancing up at the clock to double-check, he added a minute to be safe. 15 minutes in the past. A little leap for science.

Sprinting once more to the Chamber, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him and watched the blinking red light. One. Two. Three.

He was sitting in his chair holding the plastic. He looked up from the bag to Sara. She looked up from the ground into his eyes.

“Well, say something?”

Ethan held a hand out in front of his face, then felt his body. “This is incredible!”

“Really? You think so?” Sara asked, tears forming in her eyes, a hint of a smile on her lips.

“What? Oh no, this is terrible. Worst timing ever. Listen, Sara, I just travelled from the future!” He said, standing and taking her hands

“Oh, fuck off, Ethan.” She ripped her hands away from him. “I’m being serious, this is a BIG deal.” She started to cry.

“Bigger than the first time traveler?”

“I shouldn’t have come. Look, I’m going to have them. I wanted you to know. When you’re done being an asshole, we can talk.”

Ethan woke on the Chamber floor. His head was spinning, and it felt like his brain would explode from behind his eyes. He worked up onto his elbows, and a small amount of vomit projected onto his shirt. The sour smell filled the chamber, but there was no time to waste. The test was successful. Kind of.

The door’s light was a solid green, and he was able to open it from the inside. He wanted to run, but the jarring made his head feel even worse. Back at the computer, he checked his vitals; everything was good. Slightly elevated heart rate, but that could be from the excitement and the headache.

Sure, the headache was concerning, but it was relatively mild. Not the worst headache ever. He put in the information for the next leap. It would be impossible to go back to the exact moment of the act, but it had to be within three months. Damn these keys. Ok, great, three months. No, Months, not Weeks. Ok, got it.

He double-checked the inputs and moved back to the chambers. He’d go back in time, send a text telling Sara that he wasn’t ready for a relationship, or he found god, or he was gay, anything to get rid of this situation. Now just wasn’t the right time. He could do that in three minutes.

The door closed. He watched the red light blink. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something moving at the desk. Bruno. Their head was out of the cage, then in a leap, they were out and scurrying across the keyboard.

“Bruno, No!” He shouted, then the room went dark.

There was a girl’s scream. He screamed in response and jumped to his feet in the darkness. Their screams merged in the dark, then there was light.

She was a little thing with bushy brown hair that went in every direction, wrapping her like a wool blanket. She wore pink princess pajamas and held the flashlight up to the ceiling to illuminate the entire room. Her eyes were big, and her mouth was forming a large lower lip, and she started to cry.

“Daddy… what is it?”

The word slammed into him. Daddy.

He blinked at her. His throat worked, but no sound came.

“How far…” he whispered. “How far did I jump?”

The girl tilted her head. “What?”

“Who… who are you?”

She sniffled, hugging the flashlight against her chest.

“I’m Maya.”

Ethan staggered back into the chair. “Maya…”

She gave a tiny nod, curls bouncing. “Mommy says you picked it. My name.”

“Mommy?”

“Mhm.” She gave another little nod and reached for a picture next to her bed, handing it to him.

It was a picture of him and Sara with a swollen belly standing in front of the zoo. Maya was up on his shoulders, and they were all smiling. He looked up from the photo back at the girl. She was still hugging the flashlight, looking up at him.

He cleared his throat, “Uh, well, ok then.”

“Mhm, can you read me another story?”

“Huh”

She reached back to the table, hugging the flashlight and now a book to her chest. “Can you reread it?”

“Uh, sure.” He moved to the bed and sat next to her, taking the book in his hands, he began to read.

She snuggled into him and held the best she could. He started, unsure of the situation and a little nervous, reading the book aloud.

The story was about a mischievous bunny getting into trouble they were supposed to. Maya laughed as the bunny outwitted the other characters and explained how real rabbits would never do that because they were actually noc… noc… noc something, which means they go out at night. Ethan felt so proud. She was the smartest little girl that had ever lived. He was sure of it.

Halfway through, she was already nodding off, her curls bouncing as she tried to raise her head for just one more page. Finally, she gave up.

“Thanks, Daddy, I love you.” She said with a large yawn and nuzzled her head deeper onto his chest.

“I…I love you too, Maya.”

He went to kiss the top of her head. Time was up, he was on the chamber floor again, head pounding, and his stomach felt like someone had kicked him while he was down. The room was fuzzy and spinning, but it didn’t matter. He had to catch her. He got to his feet and stumbled into the wall, pushing it off, and then made his way to the desk and to the lab entrance.

He had started to get the hang of walking again when he got to the elevator. He pulled out his phone. No service. He couldn’t be far behind, 6 minutes tops. He could catch her in the parking lot.

Ethan burst into the lobby, lungs burning, head pounding. The glass doors were closing as Sara stepped out into the night. He sprinted, shoving his shoulder through the doors before they sealed, the cool, sharp night air against his face.

“Sara!” he shouted. His voice cracked. She stopped but didn’t turn. He ran across the pavement, almost tripping, clutching his side. When he caught up to her by the dim line of cars, she was wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Please,” he gasped, reaching for her arm. She stiffened but didn’t pull away. “Sara, wait. Just—just listen.”

She turned slowly, her face pale in the streetlight. “I already told you. You don’t have to be a part of this if you don’t want to. I can do it myself.”

“No.” His voice was steadier now. He held her gaze, breathing hard. “You don’t have to do it yourself. Because I’m here. I want to. I’m ready.”

Her brow furrowed, disbelief flickering across her features. “You? You’ve spent every second of your life chasing this—” she gestured vaguely back toward the lab, “—this machine, this dream. And now you’re telling me you want to raise a child?”

Ethan swallowed, the words rising like something older and stronger than him. “I saw her.”

Sara blinked. “What?”

“I saw her, Sara. Our daughter. She’s beautiful. She’s smart. She—” his voice broke, and he pressed a hand over his mouth, then forced it out. “She loves me. And I love her. I didn’t even know how much until tonight. Please. Please don’t walk away. We’ll figure it out. I swear to you, we’ll figure it out together.”

The silence stretched between them. Sara searched his face for the lie, for the dodge, for the selfish boy who had always put science before everything. But she didn’t see him. She saw a man shaking, broken open, and for once, utterly certain.

Her lips trembled. “You really mean it?”

Ethan stepped closer, taking her hand, holding it like a lifeline. “I do. I don’t know how we’ll do it. But I know I want her. I want us.”

Sara let out a long, shuddering breath. She leaned against him, her forehead to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, still shaking, the sour taste of vomiting and copper in his mouth, the pounding in his skull. None of it mattered.

They stood there under the buzzing streetlight, two small figures against the night. For the first time, Ethan wasn’t thinking about equations, or data, or bending time.

He was thinking about the future. Their future.

And he was ready.

It’s difficult to overstate the amount of thought and planning that has gone into exactly how a nuclear conflict might play out, especially between the United States and the USSR. Airbases figured prominantly in that calculus and their importance has shifted over the course of the last 80 years, so we have a really good idea of both what it means to “destroy” and airbase and what it required to do so.

One of the airbases that the United States has thought the most about is Whiteman Airforce Base in Missouri.

Whiteman is home to nearly all US B-2 Spirit Stealth Bombers. If there is a single airbase that represents the American nuclear weapons program from the dawn of the Cold War until the present, it’s Whiteman.

Let’s start with the most obvious asset: the aircraft themselves. Aircraft are delicate; they’re designed to withstand specific forces in specific directions and hyper-optimized for weight reduction in all others. Aircraft do not like it when things explode near them and when it comes to aircraft as large as the B-2, meaningfully protecting them from a nuclear strike is a fool’s errand. So the B-2 hangers at Whiteman are placed to make upkeep and deployment of the bombers easy at the expense of physical hardening.

Here’s what they look like from the ground with some humans for scale:

Now that’s a steel frame building but the long span necessary to accommodate the bomber plus the requirement to open and close hanger doors means it’s not prepared to take a beating. Even a 20 kiloton warhead — roughly equivalent to World War 2 era nuclear weapons or Cold War era nuclear artillery — would be more than adequate to destroy the hangers and bombers at Whiteman.

So the B-2s sit in hangers at Whiteman but hangers designed to withstand weather and provide climate control to protect the planes’ stealth coating, not to protect from any kind of nuclear bombardment.

Still, it is possible to shield planes from bombardment. Hardened Aircraft Shelters like those used at Volkel Air Base can protect forward-deployed aircraft from an enemy strike in many cases. A direct nuclear strike is probably not among them but by hardening hangers and spreading them out, it is possible to force the enemy to commit a sizeable nuclear payload to the attack.

But what those hangers can’t protect is the runway and that’s really the most vital part of an airbase. The B-2, for example, has a take-off distance of about 6,700 feet (~2,000 meters) and a landing distance of about 3,500 feet (~1,000 meters). The runway at Whiteman is 12,400 feet (~3,700 meters) long so a single sizeable crater in the middle of it could render the runway unsuitable for the launch of aircraft. Three craters would be enough to make recovery impossible as well.

And here the size of the weapon used doesn’t matter nearly so much as the accuracy. Even a 20 kiloton bomb detonated at ground level will carve out an 82 foot deep crater across the entire runway. Filling a crater like that is possible but for heavy bombers like the B-2, the patch will need time to cure before it’s safe to use.

All of this is why, as the space race heated up and the threat of a missile-based Soviet first strike came to dominate American strategic thinking, the United States moved to a strategy of an airborne nuclear deterrent. Rather than keeping American bombers on the ground at bases like Whiteman, Strategic Air Command kept planes aloft, flying in holding patterns just outside of Soviet airspace waiting for a “go” order.

That way, if a Soviet first strike fell on American airbases, the bombers would still find their targets. How they got home and if there was even a home to get back to was another problem.

Your Life in Freakishly Sexy Rome

How do people at work react when a lunch thief is finally caught, and what’s the best story you’ve heard?

Not exactly a lunch thief – but similar.

My Dad found that someone was stealing the sweets he kept in his drawer at work. A note asking them to stop, had no effect.

So, he bought some chocolates, cut them in half, scooped out the fillings & replaced them with English mustard. All except for one. He then used a hot knife to carefully seal them again.

The next day, he made a slight show of opening his bag of chocolates, eating the one he hadn’t tampered with, & placing the bag in his drawer. He then wandered off for a few minutes. He returned to find a co-worker doubled over, wheezing & coughing & with streaming eyes, while others were slapping him on the back & also wetting themselves laughing. No-one ever touched his sweets again.

PS: for those who don’t know, English mustard is something like Wasabi in heat – only much worse.

Caramel Flan Brasileiro

Ingredients

• 1 (14 ounce) can sweetened condensed milk
• 1 can milk
• 1 egg
• Dash of vanilla extract
• Several heaping tablespoons granulated sugar

Instructions

1. Pour sweetened condensed milk into a blender. Fill the empty can with milk and add that to the blender. Add egg and vanilla extract. Blend until well mixed.
2. Meanwhile, cook sugar in a pan, rotating the pan occasionally to avoid burning the sugar. When the sugar is a golden caramel color, pour it into a metal ring mold.
3. Pour in the mixture from the blender, and bake at about 300 to 350 degrees F with the ring mold pan in a larger pan of water so that the water comes up about halfway on the outside of the ring mold.
4. Bake until the top of the flan starts to turn golden and a knife inserted into the flan comes out clean…a little over an hour.

Has a billionaire ever become penniless?

Charles “Chuck” Feeney was at one time the co-founder and owner of Duty Free Shoppers, which eventually earned him billions of dollars throughout the course of his lifetime.

Like your typical one-percenter, Feeney started off believing that he had reached his peak and would spend his earnings partying hard, buying expensive mansions, and leaving people who saw him with little doubt as to his own wealth.

But deep inside, Feeney felt empty.

It was as though he realised that money only had as much value as he gave it, and without that acknowledgement, it meant nothing.

From this point on the former playboy billionaire had a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn and decided to do something nobody of his wealth status had ever done in recent history:

Drive himself into bankruptcy.

And not from spending lavishly, but by giving away everything he ever made to charitable causes, and doing so with the benefit of anonymity.

Feeney was still very conscious of the fact that he still had underaged children, and did not wish to see them living on the streets before adulthood, but once he had his plan in place he knew there was no going back, nor would he have desired to do so.

In 1984 he quietly withdrew all his stocks from Duty Free Shoppers — totalling $500 million — and invested it all in Atlantic Philanthropies, with much of the initial cash going towards restructing the University of Limerick in Ireland, as well as providing shelters for families with lower incomes.

Over the next few decades he participated in numerous causes with varying degrees of controversy, though either way, he gave and gave… all eight billion dollars worth.

By the time he was in his sixties Feeney was reportedly living in a small dormitory with his aging wife off a single pair of shoes, a $15 wristwatch, and a grilled cheese sandwich and tomatoes as an ordinary meal.

It was his wish for his cheques to bounce before he departed this earth, which was to transpire on October 9, 2023, and as fate would have it, that is exactly what happened.

On September 14, 2020, Feeney’s philanthropic company, The Atlantic Philanthropies, received its final cheque before the non-profit was unceremoniously liquidated — officially completing his multi-decade long “Giving While Living” mission.

Feeney was now penniless… and at peace with himself.

Why It Sucks to Be a Brothel Boy (in Qing Dynasty)