It’s been years since I sat down and whittled.
You know… I think that I need to take up that pastime again.
Just put a rocking chair on the porch, get a buck knife and some birch twigs, and rock and whittle.
Or…
Maybe, perhaps…
I’m just getting old. Eh?
Today…
A Beginner’s Guide to Whittling
The Yankee boy, before he’s sent to school,
Well knows the mysteries of that magic tool,
The pocket-knife. To that his wistful eye
Turns, while he hears his mother’s lullaby;His hoarded cents he gladly gives to get it,
Then leaves no stone unturned till he can whet it;
And in the education of the lad
No little part that implement hath had.
His pocket-knife to the young whittler brings
A growing knowledge of material things.Projectiles, music, and the sculptor’s art,
His chestnut whistle and his shingle dart,
His elder pop-gun with its hickory rod,
Its sharp explosion and rebounding wad,
His corn-stalk fiddle, and the deeper tone
That murmurs from his pumpkin-stalk trombone,
Conspire to teach the boy. To these succeed
His bow, his arrow of a feathered reed,
His wind-mill, raised the passing breeze to win,
His water-wheel, that turns upon a pin;
Or, if his father lives upon the shore,
You’ll see his ship, “beam ends upon the floor,”
Full rigged, with raking masts, and timbers stanch,
And waiting, near the wash-tub, for a launch.Thus, by his genius and his jack-knife driven,
Ere long he’ll solve you any problem given;
Make any jim-crack, musical or mute,
A plow, a couch, an organ, or a flute;
Make you a locomotive or a clock,
Cut a canal, or build a floating-dock,
Or lead forth Beauty from a marble block—
Make any thing, in short, for sea or shore,
From a child’s rattle to a seventy-four;—
Make it, said I?—ay! when he undertakes it,
He’ll make the thing and the machine that makes it.And when the thing is made—whether it be
To move on earth, in air, or on the sea;
Whether on water, o’er the waves to glide,
Or, upon land to roll, revolve, or slide;
Whether to whirl or jar, to strike or ring,
Whether it be a piston or a spring,
Wheel, pulley, tube sonorous, wood or brass,
The thing designed shall surely come to pass;
For, when his hand’s upon it, you may know
That there’s go in it, and he’ll make it go.“Whittling” by John Pierpont
Whittling is a great pastime for the man who wants to craft something, but may not have the room or tools to say, build a dining room table. Or for the man looking for something meditative to help him center his thoughts. Or simply for the guy who wants to while away time on a camping trip. It’s one of the cheapest and most accessible hobbies you can take up–all you need is a knife and some wood.
I can’t say I ever whittled a pumpkin-straw trombone or a little windmill, but as a boy I did pare many a stray twig into a tiny spear (small, yet surely capable of downing a saber-tooth tiger if needed be).
Now as a grown man I’m always looking for ways to settle my mind and new hobbies to try my hand at. When I think of relaxation, my mind often turns to the old man sitting on the porch in a rocking chair, a knife in one hand, a piece of wood in the other. And so recently I decided to explore my boyhood pastime in greater depth. Today I’d like to share what I’ve learned with you about how to get started with whittling.
What You Need: The Knife and the Wood
The Wood
Softwoods are the best for whittling because they cut nice and easy. After you’ve learned the basics of whittling, feel free to move on to harder woods. No matter which kind of wood you use, look for wood with a straight grain as it is easier to whittle than wood that has the grain going in multiple directions. Avoid wood with lots of knots–those are a booger to whittle.
Check your local lumber yard or woodworking store for whittling wood. Craft stores, like Hobby Lobby, often carry a variety of softwoods that are good for whittling. I picked up all my whittling wood at Hobby Lobby for a few bucks. Just avert your eyes from the fake flowers and wicker baskets as you shop.
Below I’ve included a short list of the most popular whittling woods.
Basswood. Basswood has been used for millennia for woodcarving. During the Middle Ages, it was the preferred wood of German sculptors who crafted elaborate altar pieces. It’s a good wood to whittle with because it’s soft and doesn’t have much grain. You can pick up basswood blocks in various sizes at your local craft store for a reasonable price.
Pine. Pine is another traditional whittling wood. It’s soft, cuts easily, and is readily available. But it has its drawbacks. Some whittlers think pine doesn’t hold detail very well. And if you’re using a fresh pine twig or branch, you’ll have to regularly clean the sticky sap off your knife while you’re whittling.
Balsa. Balsa wood is a soft, inexpensive, lightweight wood that’s perfect for beginning whittlers. You can buy it by the boatloads at craft stores like Hobby Lobby for pretty cheap. I picked up 9 blocks of balsa wood for a little under $4.
Random twigs and branches. You don’t need a pre-cut block of wood to whittle. Twigs and branches from most kinds of trees make for great whittling. There’s nothing more enjoyable than sitting around a campfire and whittling away at a twig while you talk to your buddies. Wooden knives are a popular item to whittle from a tree branch.
The Knife
Pocket Knife. For generations, whittlers have used nothing but their trusty pocket knife to create ruggedly handsome works of art. And some whittling purists will argue that the pocket knife is the only acceptable tool for true whittling. Pocket knives are certainly an excellent choice because they’re so portable. Anytime you find a good piece of wood, you can just whip out your pocket knife and start sculpting your wooden masterpiece. Another benefit of pocket knives is that they provide multiple blade types in a single knife. When you need to do some more intricate carving, you can simply open up your smaller more flexible blade. Need to make bigger cuts? Use the larger knife blade.
Specialty whittling knives. Several types of specialty whittling knives exist on the market today. Unlike pocket knives, they’re fixed blade, meaning they don’t fold. Fixed blades offer a bit more sturdiness than what you get with a folding knife. Another nice feature of specialty whittling knives is that they often have curved handles that fit comfortably in your hand to help reduce fatigue during long whittling sessions.
Flexcut offers a wide selection of different kinds of whittling knives, and I bought this starter set from them. I’ve been happy with the knives. They hold an edge nicely and are easy to sharpen. The ergonomically shaped handle does indeed help reduce hand fatigue compared to carving with a pocket knife.
It’s nice to have a set of specialty whittling knives for when you’re whittling at home, while using your pocket knife for whittling sessions on the go.
The First Rule of Whittling: Keep Your Knife Sharp
If you want your whittling experience to be pleasurable and relaxing, keep your knife sharp. The first time I tried my hand at whittling, I noticed that the wood was getting harder and harder to cut. I figured it must have been the wood, so I just soldiered on, applying more and more pressure with the knife. After my hands started aching something fierce, it finally dawned on me that my knife probably needed some sharpening.
After a few strokes on the sharpening stone and strop, I started carving again. It was like I was carving a warm block of butter. The blade glided right through the wood.
Now, whenever I feel the wood getting harder to cut, I stop and sharpen my knife.
Don’t know how to sharpen a knife? No worries. We’ve got you covered:
Whittling Safety, or How Not To Get Blood All Over Your Project
The first time I attempted some serious whittling (not just carving a twig into a spear point), I kind of went at it with reckless abandon. I thought, “Hey, I’ve used knives my whole life. I’m pretty sure I can carve this piece of wood without coming close to cutting myself.”
Pride goeth before the fall.
About five minutes in, the knife blade slipped from the wood and went right into my thumb, opening up a nice-sized cut. I pressed on, but I ended up getting blood all over my project. Another ten minutes in, the blade skipped off a knot and glanced my index finger. More blood. At this point, my wood was slippery with hemoglobin, so I had to stop.
To avoid the same bloody fate as me, I offer the following whittling safety tips:
Take it slow. No need to rush! Whittling is supposed to be relaxing and meditative. When you get in a hurry with your cuts, that’s when accidents happen. Make every cut slow and controlled.
Keep your knife sharp. Obeying the first rule of whittling will not only ensure better cuts, it will also ensure that you keep all your fingers. Instead of cutting, dull blades have a tendency to glance off the wood and head right towards your hand. While the blade might not be sharp enough to cut wood, it’s usually still sharp enough to cut human flesh.
Wear gloves when you first start. Until you get comfortable with the different knife strokes, I’d recommend wearing a pair of leather work gloves when your first start whittling. Yes, the gloves feel a little cumbersome at first, but you quickly adjust.
If you don’t wear gloves, use a thumb pad. The thumb on your knife-holding hand tends to get the brunt of the nicks and glances. To protect your thumb, wear a thumb pad. They’re really cheap–you can buy leather thumb pads on Amazon for about $1.50. The problem with these is when they wear out, you’ll have to buy another set. Another solution that works just as well is duct tape. Before you start whittling, simply wrap your knife-holding thumb with duct tape. To avoid getting sticky stuff on your thumb, use this technique:
- Wrap one layer of duct tape around your thumb with the sticky side facing out. Wrap it tight enough so it won’t slip off, but not so tight that you lose circulation to your thumb.
- Then wrap a couple of layers of duct tape around your thumb with the sticky side facing in. Four or five layers should do the trick.
Start off with soap. A great way to practice is carving soap. It’s a lot easier than wood and gives you a chance to practice the different techniques. Try carving a turtle out of a soap.
Wood Grain
Sometimes it’s easy to tell the direction of the grain on a piece of wood simply by looking at it. But oftentimes it’s not that obvious. If you’re having a hard time deciphering which way the grain is going, start making some small shallow cuts in your wood. Cuts made with the grain will peel away smoothly; cuts made against the grain will give resistance and eventually split.
Generally, you want most of your cuts to go with the wood’s grain. Cuts against the grain cause your wood to tear, split, and just plain look ugly. Plus, the resistance the wood gives when you cut against the grain makes whittling much more difficult.
Don’t get frustrated if you lose track of which way the grain runs while you’re in the middle of the project. It happens to most people when they’re first getting started with woodworking of any kind. It happened to me at least. Just keep practicing, and you’ll eventually get a feel for figuring out wood grain.
Types of Whittling Cuts
Several cutting styles exist in whittling, but we’ll just stick with the basics for the purposes of this article. The directions assume you’re right-handed. Simply flip them if you’re a southpaw.
Straightaway Rough Cutting
Use this cut at the very beginning of your project to carve your project’s general shape. Hold the wood in your left hand and your knife firmly in your right. Make a long, sweeping cut with the grain and away from your body. Don’t cut too deep or you might split the wood. Make several, thin slices to reduce the wood to the desired size and shape.
Pull Stroke (Pare Cut)
If you’ve ever seen an old-timer whittle, chances are you saw him using the pull stroke. It’s the most used cut in whittling. To perform this cut, imagine you’re paring an apple. Hold the wood in your left hand, the knife in your right with the blade facing towards you. Brace your right thumb against the wood, and squeeze your right fingers in order to draw the blade to your right thumb. Make your stroke short and controlled. Keep your right thumb out of the path of the blade. For added safety, wear a thumb pad.
The pull stroke gives you lots of control over your blade and is best for detailed cuts.
Push Stroke (Thumb Pushing)
Sometimes where you want to cut won’t allow you to do the pull stroke. That’s when it’s time to bust out the push stroke. Hold the wood in your left hand and the knife firmly in your right hand with the blade facing away from you. Place both your right and left thumbs on the back of the knife blade. Push the blade forward with your left thumb while your right thumb and fingers guide the blade through the wood.
The push stroke, like the pull stroke, gives you greater control over your knife for detailed cuts.
What to Whittle
So you have your tools and wood and know the basic cuts. Now, what to whittle?
For beginners, I’d suggest you keep it simple. Keith Randich, author of Old Time Whittling, suggests beginners whittle an egg as their first project. Yeah, an egg. I know, not very exciting. But a simple project like an egg is a good way to introduce beginning whittlers to the law of wood grains. Here’s a guide to carving your very own wooden egg.
After you’ve mastered the egg, you can move on to some simple patterns. Cowboy boots are a popular whittling project as well as animals. You can buy books with ready-to-go whittling patterns. All you have to do is simply transfer the pattern to your wood and start whittling.
Or you could just sort of wing it and make up your own pattern. I thought it would be cool to whittle a duck’s head, so I took a piece of wood, drew an outline of a duck’s head on both sides of it, and started whittling.
A duck head I started a few days ago. Not great, but it’s turning out better than I thought it would.
After months of practice, you might be ready to move on to the really cool projects like wooden chains or the mysterious ball in the cage. Maybe even one day, you’ll be as awesome as this old-timer:
Whittling Resources
If whittling looks like something you’d like to take up, I highly recommend the following books.
The Little Book of Whittling by Chris Lubkemann. A great book for beginners. Lubkemann’s focus is on whittling branches and twigs. This book has a great guide on how to carve an awesome looking knife from a tree branch. You can see them at his website here.
The Art of Whittling by Walter Faurot. Get this book when you’re ready to move on to advanced projects. It’s filled with patterns like a chain, ball and cage, and even some simple puzzles.
What is the scariest room ever designed?
White room. Something like this.
Known as white torture, it is one of the most devastating forms of psychological torture.
Why? It doesn’t seem so bad, right?
Wrong. This room is the epitome of sensory deprivation and isolation.
Did I mention it’s also soundproof?
it erases your sense of reality.
Imagine being in a room that is all white, where it is the only “color” you ever see. You are never allowed to talk to anyone , your food is white rice, and all the surfaces are smooth.
It makes you lose your 5 senses.
Wouldn’t that drive you crazy? Let me explain.
In the 1970s, German terrorist Astrid Proll was imprisoned in a white torture chamber for almost 5 months. During that time, she experienced hallucinations, starvation, disequilibrium (an imbalance between assimilation and accommodation), insomnia, tremors, and even convulsions. And after a visit to her room, she could not tell whether an hour or a week had passed after just 30 minutes.
Iranian student Amir Fakhravar was also trapped in the same room for almost a year, and after his release, he experienced chronic loneliness, and could not even recognize his parents’ faces.
Imagine being trapped in that room, imprisoned for months, years.
This results in lifelong negative effects.
Just listening to myself, not knowing how much time has passed.
Your heart beat
Your breath.
You start hallucinating.
You become a voice.
You lose yourself.
Real China Shocked Americans on Chinese App RedNote
Catfish Adobo (Adobong Hito)
Ingredients
- 2 pounds catfish
- 2 tablespoons finely minced ginger
- 1 tablespoon finely minced garlic
- 1 cup white vinegar
- Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
- 4 tablespoons vegetable or corn oil
Instructions
- Marinate fish in ginger, garlic, vinegar, salt and pepper for 3 hours.
- Take the garlic bits from the marinade and fry in oil until golden brown.
- Add the fish and the marinade. Bring to a boil and simmer for 10 minutes, turning fish several times.
What are your thoughts on “TikTok refugees” who are now flocking to RedNote (Xiaohongshu) as a result of the TikTok ban in the US?
Excuse me, is this the real situation in the United States；
“Lunch Loan Plus”: Refers to American students taking loans because they cannot afford lunch.
“Pay in Full for Groceries”: If an American pays in full for groceries, it implies that the person is in a good financial situation and can be proud of it.
“496”: Refers to working two jobs, starting at 4 AM and finishing at 9 PM, working six days a week.
“Rainwater Collection Fee”: A satirical expression suggesting one would have to pay for rainwater collected in one’s yard.
“Mental Anguish Fee”: A sarcastic term implying a fee charged when a patient cries while seeing a doctor, affecting the doctor’s mental state.
“Mother-Child Contact Fee”: A satirical charge for mothers wanting to hold their newborns without prior notice.
“Selling Blood for Education”: Describes students who sell blood to fund their education and living expenses.
“Selling Blood Twice a Week”: Indicates people selling blood frequently due to insufficient income.
“The United States as the World’s Largest Exporter of Blood Products”: The U.S. exports a significant portion of global blood products.
“Selling Blood Tax”: Earnings from selling blood are subject to taxation.
“Human Products”: Refers to human-derived products like blood or organs, with the U.S. leading in this area.
“Illegal to Grow Vegetables”: Suggests that growing vegetables on one’s property could be against the law.
“One Meal a Day”: Literally means eating only one meal per day.
“No-Hunger Pills”: Hypothetical pills that suppress hunger to reduce meal consumption.
“Hoarding Painkillers”: American households stockpile painkillers throughout the house.
“Pregnancy Leads to Dismissal”: Implies women might be dismissed from work due to pregnancy.
“Unpaid Maternity Leave”: Maternity leave without pay.
“No Maternity Leave”: Women returning to work shortly after childbirth.
“Disaster Loans”: Government provides loans rather than direct aid during disasters.
“Renting While Serving
Neocons demand Ukraine escalation. Trump signals talks with Putin
Black Shell
Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story that starts and ends in the same place.… view prompt
Jay DeBurgh
“I need to go and stop a war starting then they will be safe. Later we will be safe, then at the top of the black shell of time they will be safe again.” She says to John.
“What now? Mabel you know you aren’t making sense right? What the hell is a black-shell-of-time?” John says.
“What I just said makes sense to me. Using the shell theory where the base of the smallest curl takes you back to the top of the widest part of time.”
“Oh, wait, so they told you time isn’t a line but a circle?”
Mabel shakes her head, “No they showed me time as a movie. It’s pretty bizarre but I can only see it once I press the red button to consent to them changing me.”
John pouts as he wants to be the leader, “They hid the red button from me when I went to press it.”
Mabel nods and buzzes the team to unhook John so they can talk over lunch.
She knows if John went in it would be war because of his truculence. She wanted calm because the baby kept her up all night. In her mind she kept repeating shush, headache, quiet, peaceful future.
The tall visitors whose black curved flippers moved through the foggy environment of their ship want peace above all.
“They chose me because I want my headache to stop.” Mabel replies to John.
They look at each other, pick up a green pot whose contents they wobble and click together in cheers.
“It’s jelly time!” They say together and suck all the fruity pudding down until the odd visitors’ presence melts away from their thoughts until tomorrow.
Tomorrow, the next move up the shell of time where each layer interconnects as multiple layers overlay.
#
It’s day two and the visitors show her the start of the shell and the middle which she is in. Then the future shock of life extinction.
While black gloop flows down her face as she cries from the horror they show her.
Somehow she can read the splodges of inky liquid.
She reads an odd part of their message where connecting layers of time can rewrite the main layer. Her mind hurts from them flowing change into her conceptions of time and space.
She asks them if they can rewrite universal death or the annihilation in the future that wipes all life out.
They point at her. Have another offspring, they whisper in her mind.
Trouble is they had to get IVF for 2 years, with her as a pin cushion, to have their son.
They see her anguish of waiting and bruises from the hormone injections. More black tears gush from her eyes though a bucket from inside is flushing something out. Liquid splurges on the glass.
One more sentence flows from their shared consciousness to her mind.
Your baby is now within you.
She hears the sentence in her mind. With emotions of joy bubbling from them, because the change has started to save the future.
The onyx gloop on her cheeks is absorbed by her skin.
John is banging on the glass with huge eyes and white knuckles. She blinks and the onyx goo recedes to show her usual human eye colour.
She says, “I am fine John, the visitors showed me their hurtful future which is ours unless I help.”
#
Military from the government arrive to take over the first contact platform to access the visitor’s, initially designed by Mabel and built by John. Mabel sees the nuclear weapon in the military truck and her eyes flick as she updates the visitor’s.
That afternoon a green military man in uniform is burned when he doesn’t ask permission from Mabel to enter the contact platform. By the time the argument calms down between John and the top military, the thin black line which is the alien ship has risen away from the platform.
Mabel’s eyes are flicking as the visitors give her their last instructions and move along the growth of her baby.
#
“She is coming, John we need to call them to deliver her safely as she is special,” Mabel says that evening the visitors leave.
“Which hospital love?” John says feeling confused.
Mabel points to the sky and says, “Them who made her.”
John goes into the garden and screams, “What the hell have you done to my wife? We spent years trying to make our first born. N\ow you wave your ink at her and hey-presto instant baby!”
While John is in the garden waving his arms Mabel’s eyes flick that the baby is coming. A black slit appears in the wall of her lounge and she steps through it onto their ship where she floats.
Her mind is filled with bubble sounds as the delivery ink chamber envelops her. They ask her to breathe in their liquid essence so the baby can swim out without any stress from temperature change.
By the next evening Mabel is home with her new little girl who she has named Grace
while auntie Carol looks after their seven month old baby boy.
John feels odd around the new baby as her eyes are permanently black and her hair is pure white.
“She has all her fingers and toes right Mabel?” John is pacing the bedroom carpet as baby Grace cries for her bottle that’s warming for her.
“John, stop fretting. She is human with the ability to talk to the visitors anytime. That’s why her eyes are black right now, but will be blue as she matures into a teenager.”
John clenches his fists, hears the baby’s cry and unclenches them.
“I guess so, but how come it is this easy to have a second child when you went through hell the first time?” John blurts out.
“They healed something and improved other things so baby Grace will grow quicker than most children. By tomorrow she will be ten years old. Do you want the visitors to help you forget they made her?”
John nods as he cannot bring himself to look at the tiny pale thing in a pink blanket. In his mind the word freak rolls over. He is worried he may hand her over to social services but doesn’t want to hurt his wife.
Mabel’s eyes flick and baby Grace stops crying and calls out, “Dadda.”
John freaks out but feels the pull to hold her for the first time. On contact with baby Grace he forgets his horror of being father to a hybrid child with visitor abilities. New memories enter his mind of an amazing birth where he was the first to hold his first little daughter. Laughter at her first birthday when frosting sits on her nose and transfers to his when they hug.
#
“Grace, it’s time to get in the car for college now. Mum has packed us four lovely lunches and your older brother will meet us there as he has a surprise for you.” John says.
Loud boots thud down the stairs to the front door with the bright smile of Grace to make John’s heart warm up with pride.
“Sorry Grace but I’m gonna get soppy now.” John says.
Grace rests her hand on her hip and pretends to be cross while he gives her praise for being a wonderful daughter.
“Thanks dad you’re the best, I mean it.” Grace says hugging John, wiping away the last remnant of doubt in his memories.
#
At university Grace is settling into her dorm room and feels calm while she looks at her watch. Her eyes flick as the visitors tell her it’s time. She checks inside the long gym bag to clean the scope. Unzipping the metal zip she slides her finger down the barrel to the end.
Her mission is to stay alive and go to the conference in the city to shoot the man who will create the ultimate artificial intelligence. The WethMan who in the future turns the heat up on Earth and boils all the sea dry and all the oxygen from life.
The visitors watch time revert back to the day they met Mabel in the field before John saw them and panicked. This time they share the update sooner so things will go smoother this time around. They uncloak their ship and call Mabel in and encourage her to press the red button.
“I’m suffocating, wait, stop. My hazmat suit has sprung a leak and I can’t breathe your atmosphere.” Mabel cries out in a panic.
The voice of the visitors is a deep audible thud which Mabel cannot understand, so she shakes her head as she chokes. Collapsing she shudders.
Black gloop flows into her body. Huge gasps in and Mabel finds herself looking at a ceiling of the infirmary.
John’s face is peering at Mabel’s and as her eyes flutter open he babbles sentence after sentence at her until she hugs him.
“Sorry John darling, I should have got out after the visitors agreed that I press the red button.”
John paces, “Mabel you know the protocols for goodness sake, you wrote them!”
“I need to go back in once I’ve had a coffee. They want to show me something important.”
“I’m going in with you and I will record everything just in case,” says John.
Mabel nods, so they go in to meet the visitors both wearing their environmental gear.
Her eyes go black and John screams at the visitors and bangs on their communication glass. After sometime her eyes return to blue and flick.
Seeing she is okay John calms down, particularly when Mabel side-eyes him then pulls off the head gear to breathe in the visitor’s atmosphere of swirling gas.
“What have they told you?” John asks.
“Maybe time is a shell and we float along it?” Mabel says.
China’s Consumer Electronic Show 2025 SHOCKING PRODUCTS | Guangzhou
Strange Comix
John Deere SHUTS DOWN Production In US And Trumps Reaction Says It All!
What do you make of Donald Trump not ruling out using military force in his endeavour to acquire Greenland and the Panama Canal? Do you think this is a good idea or is Donald simply bluffing again?
Donald Trump was a businessman, who used to know how to manipulate others to get what he wants. He was very good at it.
Trump not always prefer war, because it takes too much of time and expensive.
Somehow, he has clearly conveyed what he wants to Greenland, Denmark and EU. They know they cannot refuse, and to add salt to the injury, Donald threatens with military force. The things will fall in place within his term.
Regarding Panama Canal, Donald is trying to take control of the Canal, so that US decides who can pass through.
Shipping routes control is the new weapon Trump wants to wield against China. Therefore, Trump targets to bring both Panama Canal and Arctic route under US control.
Women Are “TIRED OF WORKING” | I’m No Longer A Feminist| Women Hitting The Wall | I Need A Husband
I hear you all. I feel your pain.
U.S. Loses Fight Against World Anti Doping Agency
In April last year the U.S. government, with the prominent help from the New York Times, opened a campaign against the World Anti Doping Agency WADA and against Chinese sports competition.
Top Chinese Swimmers Tested Positive for Banned Drug, Then Won Olympic Gold – New York Times
The positive testing, which found a very minor digestion of a performance enhancing drug, was done by the Chinese anti-doping agency. It had immediately blocked the athletes from further competitions. A thorough investigation found that the drugs had ben ingested unwittingly. WADA had accepted those results. The athletes were free to take part on future competitions.
But as the U.S. did not like to compete against world class Chinese athletes it instigated a smear campaign against them.
Smearing The ‘Enemy’ – A Typical U.S. Info-Op – Moon of Alabama
The Chinese anti-doping agency as well as WADA handled the case by the book. There was a plausible explanation of a food contamination with tiny amounts of a drug during a swimming event in China. No other test before and after that event had been positive. The amount of drugs involved was too tiny to make a difference. WADA did not put out a public notice about the incident as no further action was required. No athletes were publicly named and shamed as none had been proven to be guilty.But that did not fit the U.S. messaging agenda that was designed to defame China. Thus other headlines in the usual western propaganda media were following up: …
WADA responded to the onslaught:
WADA thoroughly reviewed the cases in early 2024 with all due skepticism, and concluded that there was no evidence to challenge contaminated meat as the source of the positive tests and therefore decided not to appeal to CAS. None of the various other Anti-Doping Organizations appealed either. As WADA has indicated previously, once there is no evidence to contest a no-fault contamination scenario, no Anti-Doping Organization has ever appealed a case to convert a finding of no violation into one of a violation with no fault.
…
The politicization of anti-doping continues with this latest attempt by the media in the United States to imply wrongdoing on the part of WADA and the broader anti-doping community. As we have seen over recent months, WADA has been unfairly caught in the middle of geopolitical tensions between superpowers but has no mandate to participate in that.
In August 2024, in a slashback to the U.S., Reuters published an ‘Exclusive’ story about the illegal handling of doping cases by the U.S. anti-doping agency. USADA let athletes continue to competed even after the had been caught doping.
Athletes undercover? Global and US anti-doping agencies clash over tactics – Reuters / CNN
The World Anti-Doping Agency (WADA) says US agency USADA broke the global code by letting several athletes it had caught between 2011 and 2014 violating drugs rules go undercover and keep on competing without prosecution in exchange for information on other violators.USADA says the tactic is necessary and allowed, and wants to keep using it. WADA says it is against its code and that athletes caught breaking doping rules should not get to line up in races, potentially winning prize money and medals, without first being publicly prosecuted and sanctioned.
Now the U.S. had egg on its face.
But it did not relent in its efforts to make WADA do as it says.
The Biden administration, in consultation with Congress, decided to withhold its dues from WADA. But that attempt to get its will has also failed:
U.S. Funding Dispute With World Anti-Doping Agency Boils Over (archived) – New York Times
The United States had held back its funding to the agency, known as WADA, after losing faith in its ability to guard against the use of banned performance-enhancing drugs at events like the Olympics, the White House said.
…
On Wednesday, the antidoping agency responded by removing the United States, which had been the single largest country funder to the agency, from a position on its board.WADA said in a statement that in line with its rules, “representatives from a country which has not paid its dues are ineligible to sit on the foundation board or the executive committee.”Loss of the board seat is automatic, the agency added.
The bullying campaign the Biden administration has led against WADA to bend it to its will did not achieve even one of its preferred results:
U.S. policy toward WADA has been led by Dr. Rahul Gupta, the Biden administration’s drug czar, who oversees the White House Office of National Drug Control Policy.
…
Dr. Gupta’s chief demand was that WADA submit to an outside audit of its operations. He also said that WADA needed to drop a defamation lawsuit it filed against American antidoping authorities, who have accused WADA of covering up the positive tests. And he wanted proof that an ethics complaint filed against him — that appeared designed to have him kicked off WADA’s executive committee — was dropped.But despite a lengthy back and forth between the White House and WADA — including face-to-face meetings in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia’s capital, last month — the agency failed to go along with Dr. Gupta’s demands. It also signaled that if the United States failed to pay there would be consequences and WADA would find alternative funding.In Riyadh, an Olympic official told a White House official that failure to pay U.S. dues could affect the country’s ability to host or participate in the Olympic Games, according to two people familiar with the exchange who spoke on the condition of anonymity because they were not authorized to speak publicly.
The U.S. had launched a smear campaign against WADA. It has stopped to pay its share for WADA and lost its executive committee seat.
Rejecting to be bullied WADA and the International Olympic Committee are pulling on the same string.
Should the U.S. not relent in its attempts to break the rules future Olympic events, like the 2034 Winter Games planned for in Salt Lake City, may well move to other places.
U.S. athletes, which USADA allows to take part in competitions despite their doping, may well be excluded from future events.
The U.S. is convinced that its Might Makes Right.
But while bullying may work against weak European ‘allies’, it fails when it tries to bend international organizations which have the backing of the rest of the world.
Posted by b on January 9, 2025 at 14:42 UTC | Permalink
If the gratuity is included on the bill, do you still tip? If so, what is the appropriate amount?
Luckily my wife is the math science person and scans the receipts looking to see if the numbers look correct. One thing she’s noticed is some restaurants will do suggested tips based on the total amount which includes the tax and some will do the suggested tip on the total amount excluding tax.
Whatever the suggested amount is, she always takes the total before tax, calculates the tip, then adds the tax on top of that.
Nuclear Powered Evolution | The Wolves of Chernobyl Reveal Human Potential
Super interesting.
What is life like for an average Chinese person in modern China?
I’m a young woman living in Shenzhen, two years out of university.
My Job and Income
I work as an Internet Product Manager with a monthly salary of 12,000 CNY (~1,650 USD). Thanks to my company paying the highest tier of social insurance and housing fund contributions, and additional government subsidies for elder care and rental support, which means I have pay 0 tax to government, my actual take-home pay exceeds 12,000 CNY.
Expenses and Savings
My monthly expenses range from 4,500 to 5,000 CNY (~620–690 USD). I only use a credit card for daily expenses and have no other loans. In 2024, I saved over 53,000 CNY (~7,300 USD). Here’s the breakdown of my 2024 spending:
- Travel: 28.53% (24,999.97 CNY / ~3,450 USD)
- Housing: 24.31% (21,302.99 CNY / ~2,940 USD)
- Food & Dining: 20.26% (17,751.62 CNY / ~2,450 USD)
- Entertainment: 7.74% (6,781.14 CNY / ~940 USD)
- Social Gifts: 6.50% (5,696.86 CNY / ~790 USD)
Typical Weekdays
- 8:37 AM: Leave home for work. (Sometimes I wake up at 5:45 to swim, 7:00 for yoga, or as late as 8:20.)
- 9:00 AM: Arrive at the office, clock in via app.
- 9:40 AM: Finish breakfast, start working.
- 11:45 AM–2:00 PM: Lunch break with lights off for a nap in the office.
- 2:00–5:45 PM: Continue working.
- 5:45–6:22 PM: Dinner and leave the office.
- 6:30 PM: Clock out at the metro station and head home.
Evenings are flexible but typically involve:
- 6:30–7:00 PM: Shower, tidy up.
- 7:00–9:00 PM: Watch TV shows or movies on my projector.
- 9:00–10:00 PM: Study on Bilibili.
- 10:00–10:40 PM: Read.
- 10:45 PM: Sleep.
Occasionally, I’ll go out for dinner, catch a movie, or meet up with friends instead.
Weekends and Holidays
Weekends vary between relaxing at home, hiking, or going to the cinema. I’m picky about films and theater setups, often joining premiere events or heading to Hong Kong for rare screenings like HKIFF. Sometimes, I take short trips nearby or meet friends.
For vacations, I budget for travel each year. China has seven public holidays annually, and I had 9 days of paid leave in 2024 (10 in 2025). In 2024, I toured eight cities in Hunan Province and traveled to France and Switzerland.
Life Goals and Reflections
While my lifestyle and income in Shenzhen are modest by local standards, I’m content and feel fortunate. I’ve paid off my student loans (32,000 CNY / ~4,400 USD, interest-free post-graduation due to COVID), built savings, achieved financial independence, and even support my parents.
My next goal is to save 300,000 CNY (~41,500 USD) while maintaining my quality of life, to fund my education abroad. I’m considering Leiden University or NUS for their Indonesian Studies programs.
After completing my graduate program, I might take another gap year or return to China to work as a rural teacher. It will depend on my savings and mindset at the time. I just hope my application is successful.
Chinese Showing American’s How They Live Their Life On RedNote
The Sun Prison
Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story set in a world of darkness where light is suddenly discovered.… view prompt
Jim LaFleur
Time dissolved into a blur of stone against metal, each day marked by the careful excavation of his salvation. Dax worked in the shadowed recesses of his cell, his movements concealed from passing guards by a strategic arrangement of his meager possessions. The sharpened metal shard he’d stolen from the tunnel maintenance tools was crude but effective. He chipped away at the crack with methodical precision, each fragment of stone a small victory against his imprisonment.
The work demanded utmost stealth, forcing him to time his strikes between the guards’ rounds. His muscles burned, his hands raw and weeping, but the crack’s evolving presence drove him onward. What had begun as a mere thread of warmth transformed into something more profound – a pulsing vein of energy that seemed to respond to his touch. The obsession consumed him, the mystery of what lay beyond eclipsing all thoughts of caution.
The change in him did not go unnoticed. His customary stoic demeanor had crystallized into something harder, more focused, his gaze fixed on horizons only he could see. The whispers began as ripples through the cell block, carrying undercurrents of unease and suspicion. Old Man Hemlock, whose weathered face bore the marks of decades in darkness, approached Dax’s cell one evening. His milky eyes, long since adapted to the eternal twilight, held ancient fears.
“Dax,” he croaked, his voice carrying wisdom. “What you’re doing – it goes against the natural order. Some barriers exist for our protection.”
Dax’s hand stilled on his tool, irritation flickering across his features. “Protection from what, old man? From a life beyond these walls? From truth?”
“From annihilation!” Hemlock’s voice cracked with urgency. “The ancients didn’t choose the darkness on a whim. They fled here to survive!”
“They fled from stories,” Dax countered, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Tales meant to keep us compliant, accepting of our chains.”
“They’re warnings, boy! Written in the bones of those who came before!” Hemlock’s rising voice drew unwanted attention. A guard materialized from the shadows, his cowled figure a darker blot against the general gloom. The old man retreated, his warnings dissolving into mumbled prayers.
Dax returned to his work with renewed determination, distancing himself from the collective fear that permeated the dungeon. Let them cower in their familiar misery. He sought something more, something beyond the stifling confines of accepted truth.
As the crack widened, it underwent a metamorphosis. The initial subtle warmth evolved into a distinct radiance that cast sharp-edged shadows on the cell walls. The air around the fissure crackled with static electricity, raising the hair on his arms and filling his mouth with the taste of lightning. The otherworldly phenomenon commanded attention, impossible to ignore or dismiss as mere imagination.
The tremors increased in both frequency and intensity. The stone shifted and groaned like a dying beast, raining debris from the ceiling. The prisoners’ fear transformed into naked panic, their cries echoing through tunnels that no longer felt secure. Even the guards moved with newfound urgency, their customary swagger replaced by nervous efficiency.
Then came the night that changed everything. As Dax worked at widening the breach, an unfamiliar presence filled the corridor. The usual heavy tread of the guards gave way to measured, purposeful steps. A figure emerged from the darkness, taller and more commanding than any guard. The Warden himself stood before Dax’s cell, his features obscured but his authority palpable.
Few prisoners had ever seen the Warden in person. He was more myth than man, his very name spoken in whispers. Now he stood in silence, studying the growing crack in the wall. The air grew thick with unspoken tension, the usual sounds of the prison fading to nothing. Dax remained frozen, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt the weight of the Warden’s hidden gaze pierce his very soul.
The moment stretched like taught wire, ready to snap. Then, without a word, the Warden turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the renewed silence. His departure left Dax with a chilling certainty: he had been marked. Whatever game he had been playing, the stakes had just become immeasurably higher.
***
The Warden’s silent visitation cast a pall over the cell block. The low murmur of despair gave way to expectant silence, heavy with unspoken accusations. Dax felt the weight of countless unseen eyes upon him, a mixture of fear, resentment, and morbid fascination. The other prisoners shrank from his presence as if he carried a contagion, their averted gazes speaking volumes. Even Hemlock maintained his distance now, offering only a sorrowful shake of his head when their eyes met across the darkness.
But Dax had moved beyond the reach of their fear. The Warden’s appearance, rather than dampening his resolve, had ignited something primal within him. He interpreted the official’s silence not as a warning, but as an acknowledgment of his inevitable success. The stone beneath his fingers had grown noticeably warmer, the light pulsing with an intensity that matched his quickening heartbeat. He worked with desperate efficiency, knowing that time was no longer his ally.
Sleep became an abandoned luxury. He labored through the artificial night cycles, each strike of his tool precisely timed between guard rotations. The air grew thick with powdered stone that coated his lungs and stung his eyes, but he pressed on, driven by a vision of salvation that burned brighter than the mysterious light itself.
The crack’s transformation accelerated with each passing hour. What had begun as a mere whisper of luminescence now cast a corona of light that painted his cell in sharp relief, too bright to look at directly. The air shimmered around it like heat waves over sun-baked stone, carrying an electric charge that made his skin tingle. The other prisoners, despite their terror, found themselves drawn to the phenomenon, their eyes wide with horrified wonder. The boundary between myth and reality blurred, leaving them stranded in uncertainty.
Without warning, the most violent tremor yet rocked the prison. Chunks of ceiling crashed down, and fissures raced across the walls like lightning. The very foundations of their underground world seemed to cry out in protest. Panic erupted, screams echoing through the tunnels as sections of the prison began to collapse. Guards abandoned their posts, their training forgotten in the face of primal fear.
The tremor’s violence weakened the wall around the crack significantly. Through the widening gap, Dax caught his first glimpse of the world beyond – a searing brightness that made his eyes water and his heart race. Fresh air rushed through the opening, carrying scents so alien and intense that they made him dizzy. The moment of truth had arrived.
Gathering his remaining strength, he raised the worn metal shard one final time. Every ounce of frustration, every moment of oppression, every dream of freedom focused into a single, desperate strike.
The wall gave way with an anticlimactic crunch. A cascade of debris exploded inward, and with it came an avalanche of light so intense it felt like a physical blow. Dax staggered backward, crying out as the brightness seared his dark-adapted eyes. Around him, chaos erupted. Prisoners screamed in terror, some collapsing to the ground, others pressing themselves against the far walls of their cells. The familiar green glow of the moss vanished, overwhelmed by the white radiance that now flooded their world.
Through streaming eyes, Dax made out the Warden’s silhouette at the corridor’s end, standing motionless before the onslaught of light. There was no surprise in his posture, no alarm – only an air of grim inevitability, as if watching a tragedy play out exactly as foretold.
Ignoring the chaos erupting around him, Dax stumbled toward the opening. The air grew hot and metallic as he approached, each breath burning in his lungs. The groaning of stone intensified behind him – the prison itself seemed to be collapsing, as if unable to endure the intrusion of such alien brightness. There was no time for second thoughts.
He forced himself through the jagged opening, feeling the broken stone tear at his flesh. Then he stood in a world of white fire. His first breath of outside air felt like swallowing molten metal. He blinked rapidly, tears streaming down his face, but the intensity of light remained overwhelming. The ground beneath his feet radiated heat, its surface a mirror that doubled the assault on his senses. He had imagined freedom would feel like a victory – instead, each moment brought new waves of agony.
This was freedom – but where was the world he had imagined? There were no welcoming vistas, no gentle breezes, no signs of life. Only an endless expanse of white emptiness stretched before him, shimmering with deadly heat. The light wasn’t merely bright; it was a physical presence, pressing down on him with crushing force, hammering against his eyes and burning his exposed skin.
He staggered forward, each step an act of defiance against the growing weakness in his limbs. The ground was featureless, a blank canvas of blinding white that offered no reference points, no sense of direction or distance. The silence here was absolute – not the living silence of the prison with its subtle sounds, but a dead silence that spoke of complete desolation.
As his initial euphoria faded, a creeping horror began to take its place. This wasn’t an escape to freedom – it was an exile into hell. Through the haze of pain and disorientation, movement caught his eye in the distance. Dark shapes stood out against the white void, offering a desperate promise of shelter or companionship.
He lurched toward them, his parched throat making each breath a torment. As he drew closer, the shapes resolved themselves into a scene from nightmare. Skeletons lay scattered across the barren ground, their bones bleached white by endless exposure. Some were curled into fetal positions, final gestures of protection against the merciless light. Others had fallen mid-stride, their skeletal forms frozen in eternal flight. Beside many lay crude tools – improvised implements that mirror his own weapon of liberation.
Nausea rose in his throat as understanding dawned. The tools’ workmanship was unmistakable – prison-made, carrying the same desperate craftsmanship as his own metal shard. These were his predecessors, other rebels who had questioned the wisdom of darkness, other fools who had sought the supposed freedom of the surface. He knelt beside one skeleton, its skull tilted skyward in a silent scream of realization.
The truth hit him with the force of physical blow. The prison wasn’t a cage – it was an ark. The darkness, the damp, the eternal twilight – these weren’t punishments, but shields. The legends weren’t superstitions, but warnings distilled from the blood and bone of those who came before. The surface world wasn’t paradise, but purgatory, a realm made uninhabitable by the very light he had so desperately craved.
He looked up at the white sky, source of this eternal torment, and bitter laughter bubbled up in his raw throat. Everything he had believed was a lie – not the lie he had suspected, of jailors trying to keep their charges compliant, but the lie he had told himself about the nature of freedom. The Warden’s inscrutable silence took on new meaning – not cruelty, but perhaps a deep and terrible pity for yet another soul about to learn the hardest truth.
His thoughts turned to those he had left behind, still huddled in their protective darkness. They were the truly free ones – free from this killing light, free from the knowledge he now possessed. An overwhelming survival instinct surged through his burning body. His only hope lay in returning to the sanctuary he had so foolishly rejected.
He turned back toward the prison entrance, now visible as a dark tear in the white wasteland. The sound of collapsing stone grew louder – the entire structure was failing, his act of defiance threatening to destroy humanity’s last refuge. He began crawling, his blistered hands leaving bloody prints on the scorching ground. Each movement was agony, but the darkness ahead drew him like a beacon – the darkness he had spent years cursing now promised salvation.
He reached the opening, choking on the dust of falling stone. The entrance had partially collapsed, leaving barely enough space to squeeze through. Summoning his last reserves of strength, he forced himself into the gap, feeling his flesh tear against the jagged edges.
He tumbled back into darkness, the sudden absence of light shocking his system. He lay gasping in the cool, damp air, each breath a reminder that he still lived. The screams had quieted, replaced by a stunned silence. As his tortured eyes readjusted to the gloom, he saw the other prisoners staring at him, their faces masks of horror and dawning comprehension.
Fighting waves of pain, he pushed himself to his feet. He staggered to the breach in the wall, where deadly light still poured through. With strength born of desperation, he began moving rubble to seal the gap, each stone a barrier between humanity and extinction. The prisoners watched in silence as he worked, their fear transforming into understanding. He was no longer just another inmate.
When the last trace of light vanished and darkness once again embraced them, Dax turned to face his fellow prisoners. His face was ravaged, his eyes haunted by what they had witnessed, but his voice carried the weight of absolute conviction.
“The light is death,” he declared, his blistered skin cracking as he spoke, the words echoing through the silent chamber. “I have seen it. I have survived it. And I will not let any of you make the same mistake.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the faces turned toward him in the familiar, comforting gloom. “The Warden is gone. The old ways are gone. I am the Warden now. And this,” he gestured to the darkness, “this is our sanctuary. Our prison. Our life.”
In the shadows, heads nodded in acceptance. They had witnessed his transformation from rebel to guardian, from prisoner to protector. The cycle had come full circle, and the darkness – their eternal savior – reigned once more.
Thai Chicken Breasts
Yield: 4 servings
Ingredients
- 4 (5 ounce) chicken breasts
- 3/4 cup coconut milk
- 2 tablespoons peanut butter
- 1 tablespoon Thai chili paste
- 1 tablespoon sesame oil
- 2 teaspoons soy sauce
- 1 teaspoon freshly minced ginger
- 1 clove garlic, thinly sliced
Instructions
- In a lidded container, combine all ingredients and marinate overnight.
- Remove chicken from container and sauté for 3 to 4 minutes on one side then turn over.
- Add marinade to skillet, reduce heat, cover and braise chicken until done and the sauce has reduced to half, about 10 minutes.
- Serve over basmati rice, garnished with whole peanuts and chopped green onion.
Notes
Because you are adding the marinade to partially cooked chicken, you must be sure the sauce gets fully cooked, reaching a temperature of 160 degrees F for at least 3 minutes.
Now that TikTok is banned in the US, will it now be a major foreign policy to have it banned for the whole world or other countries?
It would be a mistake!!
The best example is what happened in the US
The Americans HATE their FIRST AMENDMENT RIGHTS being taken away, as much as their guns
They demonstrated to US Hawks that if you try to take away their expression platforms, they would rather directly download Mainland China Apps and hand over their data to the CPC directly
19,000 Americans published their credit card details on XHS (Red Note) and asked the Chinese to “Go Crazy”
Plus it’s basically whack a mole
Chinese have 262 Social Media Apps on their Platforms in China catering to a combined user base ranging from 30,000 to 500 Million
They can always modify the basic language interface, create an “English” option and keep Americans and Westerners hooked
Impossible to ban one by one
They can even create apps and host them from Singapore and HK and Malaysia
Take India
The Chinese have introduced over 100 Online Gambling Apps in the last two years through Singaporean and Malaysian proxies, with their own Algorithms and Key Software
You can’t ban a platform
The Chinese could do it because back in 2009, they weren’t so dependent on the Internet as they are today
Only 11.5% of the Mainlanders in 2007 had access to the Internet versus 72.95% in 2023
By contrast 94.67% Americans have access to the Internet and use the internet for a minimum 50 minutes a day
It’s 100% in 8 Countries including Netherlands, Austria, Denmark, Norway and Sweden
China’s medical tourism industry is booming. Breakthroughs in Parkinson’s treatments help explain
Did your spouse make a ridiculous demand before signing the final divorce agreement?
Yup. We were going to split things down the middle with only gifts, things we brought into the marriage, my retirement from the state, and my car going to a specific person. He decided suddenly that my willingness to pay spousal support for five years and sucking my finances dry for nearly twenty years supporting him and his kooky schemes weren’t enough so he wanted half of my defined contribution retirement account, too. For anyone who knows, that’s almost impossible to do and would be a huge pain in getting done and drag things out for a long time. I balked. He insisted. We went to court and instead of splitting things and his getting alimony, I got it all but one nearly worthless house (under 50k). I didn’t even have to pay spousal support! His lawyer called right afterward and begged me to go back to the original agreement, but I told my lawyer, “He wanted so badly to drag this out and have the judge decide, he can pull up his big boy pants and take it.”
Americans Find Heartwarming Stories on Chinese App RedNote
Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Great Feed Fiasco: A Case of Fowl Play
Ah, dear reader, welcome back to another delightful romp through the wild and wacky world of farm life, where mysteries abound, feathers fly, and no problem is too small for Sir Whiskerton, the farm’s most brilliant (and modest) detective. Today’s tale centers around a mix-up of monumental proportions—an innocent mistake by the farmer that turned the entire barnyard into a squawking, honking, and clucking battleground. Yes, this is the story of The Great Feed Fiasco: A Case of Fowl Play, where I had to crack the case and restore harmony before the chickens and geese declared an all-out war.
Grab your detective hats, dear readers, because this one’s a real egg-scapade.
The Morning Mayhem Begins
It all started on a seemingly ordinary morning. The sun was rising, the roosters were crowing (well, mostly Ferdinand—he’s quite the show-off), and the unmistakable sound of the farmer’s boots echoed across the yard as he made his rounds. Everything seemed perfectly normal… until it wasn’t.
“Sir Whiskerton!” Doris the hen screeched, flapping her wings wildly as she ran toward me. “Something terrible has happened!”
“Terrible! But also so outrageous!” Harriet clucked, waddling after her.
“Outrageous! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched, fainting dramatically onto a patch of straw.
I stretched lazily, flicking my tail. “Let me guess,” I said. “You’ve misplaced an egg again, or Rufus has been sniffing around the coop?”
“No, it’s worse than that!” Doris said, her feathers practically quivering with indignation. “The farmer gave us the wrong feed! It’s… it’s goose feed!”
“Goose feed!” Harriet squawked.
“Goose feed! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian echoed from the ground.
I raised an eyebrow. “Goose feed? Are you sure?”
“Positive!” Doris said, puffing out her chest. “It’s lumpy, it’s weird, and it tastes like sadness.”
“Oh, come now,” I said, smirking. “It can’t be that bad.”
“It’s an affront to chickens everywhere!” Doris declared. “You must do something, Sir Whiskerton. This is a matter of dignity!”
Before I could respond, a loud honk interrupted us. I turned to see Gertrude, the leader of the geese, marching toward us with her flock in tow, her beady eyes narrowed and her feathers ruffled.
“Whiskerton!” Gertrude honked. “We need to talk. The farmer gave us the wrong feed! It’s… it’s chicken feed!”
“Chicken feed!” one of her fellow geese echoed.
“Chicken feed! Oh, I can’t bear it!” another honked dramatically.
I blinked. “Wait, let me get this straight. The chickens got goose feed, and the geese got chicken feed?”
“Exactly!” Doris and Gertrude said in unison, glaring at each other.
“And it’s horrible!” Gertrude added. “Chicken feed is dry, tasteless, and utterly beneath us refined geese.”
“Refined?” Doris scoffed. “You honking feather-dusters wouldn’t know refinement if it pecked you on the beak!”
“Feather-dusters?!” Gertrude gasped, her wings flaring. “You overgrown pigeons wouldn’t know quality feed if it fell from the sky!”
“Ladies, please,” I said, stepping between them before things got ugly. “Let’s not ruffle any more feathers. Clearly, there’s been a mistake, and I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
The Investigation Begins
To solve the mystery of the great feed mix-up, I began by examining the evidence. I padded over to the chicken coop, where the offending goose feed was still piled in the trough. I took a sniff and wrinkled my nose. It smelled… earthy, with a hint of pond water. Not exactly appetizing.
Next, I made my way to the geese’s feeding area, where the chicken feed sat untouched. I gave it a sniff. Bland, dry, and utterly unremarkable.
“Alright,” I said, turning to the gathered crowd of chickens and geese. “It’s clear that the farmer accidentally switched your feeds this morning. But the question is, why? He’s usually so careful.”
“Maybe he was distracted,” Rufus suggested, wagging his tail. “You know how he gets when the tractor won’t start.”
“Or maybe he’s finally losing it,” Porkchop the pig said, munching on an apple. “I mean, the man talks to his scarecrow. That can’t be normal.”
“Porkchop,” I said, rolling my eyes, “focus. This isn’t about the farmer’s quirks. This is about solving the problem.”
“Solving the problem,” Ditto the kitten echoed, perched on my back as usual.
“Not now, Ditto,” I said.
“Not now,” Ditto grinned.
Feathers Fly
As I worked on a solution, tensions between the chickens and geese continued to escalate.
“Your goose feed is disgusting!” Doris clucked.
“Your chicken feed is garbage!” Gertrude honked.
“Disgusting! Garbage! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.
“Enough!” I shouted, my voice cutting through the noise. “Arguing isn’t going to solve anything. If we want to fix this, we need to work together.”
“Work together?” Doris and Gertrude said in unison, looking skeptical.
“Yes,” I said firmly. “Now, let’s think. What do chickens and geese have in common?”
“We’re both birds?” Doris offered.
“We both have feathers?” Gertrude added.
I sighed. “Yes, but more importantly, you both rely on the farmer. He made a mistake, but he didn’t do it on purpose. Instead of fighting, why don’t you help him fix it?”
A Feathery Solution
With some coaxing (and a lot of diplomacy), I convinced the chickens and geese to work together. Doris and her flock gathered all the goose feed from the coop and carried it to the geese’s area, while Gertrude and her gaggle did the same with the chicken feed.
By the time the farmer returned, the feeds were back where they belonged, and the barnyard was peaceful once more. He scratched his head, looking puzzled, but ultimately shrugged and went about his day.
“Well,” I said, surveying the scene, “it looks like everything’s back to normal.”
“Back to normal,” Ditto echoed, batting at a stray feather.
“Not bad work, Whiskerton,” Rufus said, wagging his tail. “You really know how to keep the peace.”
“It’s what I do,” I said, smirking. “Though I must admit, this case was quite the… fowl-up.”
A Happy Ending
With the feed fiasco resolved, the chickens and geese agreed to put their differences aside—at least for the time being. Doris and Gertrude even shook wings (though not without some grumbling).
The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: even when mistakes happen, a little cooperation and understanding can go a long way. And as for me, Sir Whiskerton? I’ll always be here to sort out the farm’s quirkiest dilemmas—no matter how scrambled they get.
Until next time, my friends.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XwtOoiQzSI0
As you can see here. America and its ilk is not backing down. The warmongerers and sickos did not get the message from China that their bullying and manipulations will not work; that China is not the Sick Man they once could manhandle. Things have been escalating rapidly throughout the week.
Boom, a big explosion happened at a massive Iranian Port, and videos show that the way the explosion happened entailed that this was no accident. Days later, another explosion happens at a factory somewhere in Shiraz. And then, an Earthquake hits Tehran that causes multiple big fires. Just when you think the coincidences would not stop piling up, another weapons factory explodes. The timing and synchronicity of these “freak accidents” around the end of the peace talks/denuclearization deals entails that the West is desperate to start a hot war with Iran directly. They’re just aching to use those Spirit Bombers at Diego Garcia. If they follow through with this, I suspect that things could get catastrophic very fast.
I would not fault Iran if they shut off the strait of Hormuz after all these freak accidents. The West needs to know that it cannot and will not haggle or threaten any other country any more. They already lost the Trade War and will definitely lose a hot war; but they think otherwise. They think they can surmount Iran, China, Russia, and North Korea all at once despite having depleted their manpower, resources, and morale; whereas the aforementioned Axis has plenty to spare and an unshakable will to kick the crooked teeth of these hegemons in.
Stay frosty for these coming months. I’m personally whittling away the time as it all goes down.