New moaning and creaming orgasmic story on Hack3r News: Show HN: Apfel – The free AI already on your Mac https://ift.tt/LzcGYeR
Guru z3n8 is an Epic Ethical Art Hacker ::: This.. ladies & gentle freaks is -> FUCKTALK, on Ha.ck.er N3ws: Tailscale's new macOS home https://ift.tt/01iAeNk
New moaning and creaming orgasmic story on Hack3r News: Tailscale's new macOS home https://ift.tt/4bxlVKs
We have been in a welfare state and economy riddled with debt since the secret societies stole every penny and sent it off world and underground its only going to get worse in a dark working class dystopian slave hell and how have we been in 1990's for 25 years? Queen liz and bushes did most of it the only way any of us is going to survive is by accepting a slave role in this hell you wont survive long on benefits or trying to dream your way out of it u can join the masons but that is up to u lmao not my cup of tea
I own a laundromat. Last Tuesday I found a family of four sleeping in their van in my parking lot at 5 AM with all their clothes in trash bags. I open at six. Been doing this for nineteen years. Same routine. Get there at 5:30. Turn on the lights. Check the machines. Make coffee in the little office. Last Tuesday I pulled into the lot and my headlights swept across a van parked in the far corner. Older model. Dodge Caravan. Primer spots on the fenders. The windows were fogged up from the inside. I parked my truck and sat there for a minute. Sometimes people sleep in their cars overnight. It happens. Usually they're gone by morning. But something made me walk over. I tapped on the driver's window. Nothing. Tapped again, louder. The window cracked open about two inches. A woman's face appeared. Thirties maybe. Exhausted. "We're leaving," she said immediately. "I'm sorry. We'll go." "Hold on," I said. "You okay?" Behind her I could see movement. Kids waking up in the back seats. "We're fine," she said. But her voice shook. "How long you been out here?" "Just tonight. We parked around eleven. Didn't think anyone would mind." I looked past her into the van. Two kids in the middle row. Maybe eight and ten. A man in the passenger seat starting to stir. And in the back. Trash bags. Four or five of them. Stuffed full. "You got clothes in those bags?" I asked. She hesitated. "Yes." "You living in this van?" Her face crumpled. She tried to hold it together but couldn't. "Just for a little while," she whispered. "We got evicted last week. My husband's hours got cut at the warehouse. We couldn't make rent. The shelter is full. We've been on the waiting list for five days." The husband was awake now. Leaning over. "We're not causing trouble," he said. "We'll move along." "Hang on," I said. "Your clothes dirty?" They both looked confused. "Yeah," the woman said. "Everything's dirty. We've been wearing the same stuff for a week. The kids too. We can't afford a laundromat and we don't have anywhere to do laundry anyway." I checked my watch. 5:47 AM. "Give me the bags," I said. "What?" "The trash bags. With your clothes. Give them to me." "Why?" "Because I own this laundromat and I'm about to open. You need clean clothes." The husband shook his head. "We don't have money for—" "Did I ask for money? Give me the bags." They sat there stunned. I opened the van's sliding door. Grabbed three trash bags full of clothes. "Come inside when you're ready," I said. "I'm making coffee." I carried the bags into the laundromat. Turned on all the lights. Started sorting. Adult clothes in one machine. Kids clothes in another. Towels and blankets in a third. The family came in about ten minutes later. All four of them. The kids looked scared. "Sit down," I said, pointing to the plastic chairs along the wall. "There's coffee. Hot chocolate for the kids in the vending machine." "We can't pay for—" I pulled out my keys and opened the vending machine. Handed the kids each a hot chocolate. "On the house." The woman started crying. Not loud. Just tears running down her face while she stood there. "When's the last time you ate?" I asked. The husband answered. "Yesterday. Lunch. The church gave out sandwiches." Yesterday lunch. It was now 6 AM the next day. I went to my office. Grabbed my lunch I'd packed. Peanut butter sandwiches. Bag of apples. Pack of crackers. Brought it out and set it on the folding table. "Eat," I said. They fell on that food like wolves. The kids especially. Eating so fast I worried they'd choke. I started the washing machines. Went back to the office and called my wife. "Linda. I need you to make breakfast. Eggs. Toast. Whatever we have. Enough for four people." "What? Why?" "I'll explain later. Just make it. I'll be there in twenty minutes." I drove home. Linda had scrambled a dozen eggs. Made toast. Cut up some strawberries. I put everything in containers and drove back to the laundromat. The family was still sitting there. The kids had fallen asleep in the plastic chairs. I set the containers on the table. "Real breakfast," I said. "Eat it now while it's hot." The woman looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "Why are you doing this?" she asked. I sat down across from them. "Fifteen years ago my wife and I were evicted," I said. "We had a one-year-old daughter. Landlord sold the building. New owner wanted us out. We didn't have first and last month's rent for a new place." The husband stopped eating. Listening. "We lived in our car for six weeks. Ate at food banks. Showered at the rec center. It was January. Cold as hell." I looked at their kids sleeping in the chairs. "I know exactly what you're going through. And I know how it feels when someone treats you like you're invisible. Like you're a problem to be moved along." The woman was crying again. "You're not a problem," I said. "You're people who got knocked down. So here's what's going to happen." I pulled out a piece of paper and wrote down an address. "This is my brother's rental property. He's got a two-bedroom that just came open. It's not fancy but it's clean." I slid the paper across the table. "I'm going to call him. You're going to move in today. First month is free. After that we'll figure out a rent you can actually afford based on what you're making." The husband shook his head. "We can't accept—" "You can and you will. Because I needed help once and someone gave it to me. And I swore when I got back on my feet I'd do the same for someone else." The woman put her face in her hands and sobbed. "We've been trying so hard," she choked out. "We both work. We don't drink. Don't do drugs. We just can't catch a break." "I know," I said. "The system is rigged against people like us. But you're going to catch a break today." The washers buzzed. I moved their clothes to the dryers. While we waited for everything to dry, I called my brother. Explained the situation. He didn't hesitate. "Bring them by. I'll have the keys ready." By 9 AM their clothes were clean, folded, and back in bags. I drove them to the rental property in my truck. Their van followed behind. My brother was waiting with keys and a smile. "Welcome home," he said. The kids ran inside and picked their bedroom. The woman hugged me so hard I couldn't breathe. "Thank you," she whispered. "You saved us." "You would've saved yourselves eventually," I said. "I just sped up the timeline." That was three months ago. The husband got a better job at a different warehouse. Full time with benefits. The woman started working at the grocery store. They're paying $600 a month rent now. Which is half what market rate is. But my brother says it's fine. It covers the mortgage and they take care of the place. The kids are back in school. Clean clothes every day. Last week the woman came to the laundromat with a pie. Homemade cherry pie. "For you," she said. "I can't repay what you did. But I can bake." We sat in my office and ate pie together. "How are things?" I asked. "Good. Really good. We're saving money. Actual savings. We might be able to get our own place in a year or so." "No rush," I said. "Stay as long as you need." She looked at me. "Why did you help us? You didn't know us." I thought about it. "Because I remember being in that car," I said. "And I remember the people who walked past and pretended not to see us. And I remember the one person who stopped." "What did they do?" "Guy who owned a diner. Saw us sleeping in the parking lot. Gave my wife a job. Let us use the bathroom to clean up. Gave us free meals during her shifts. He's the reason we survived." "Did you ever get to thank him?" "He died five years ago. Heart attack. Never got to tell him what he meant to us." She was quiet for a minute. "So you do for others what he did for you." "That's the idea." She reached across the desk and squeezed my hand. "Then I promise you something. Someday, when we're stable, when we're okay, I'm going to do the same. I'm going to help a family that's where we were." "I know you will," I said. Because that's how it works. You don't pay back kindness. You pay it forward. To the next person sleeping in their car in a parking lot. To the next family with trash bags full of dirty clothes and no place to wash them. To the next scared kids who haven't eaten in twenty hours. We're all closer to that van than we think. One medical emergency. One layoff. One broken transmission. That's all it takes. And when it happens, you hope someone sees you. Really sees you. Not as a problem. As a person. I keep an eye on my parking lot now. If I see someone sleeping in their car, I tap on the window. Not to kick them out. To ask if they need their clothes washed.
BREAKING: Republican Congressman Thomas Massie drops an Epstein bomb on Trump's new Acting Attorney General — warning him that he has just one month to fully release the files under the law! There will be no rest for the wicked in this scandal... "Congratulations AG Blanche. Now you have 30 days to release the rest of the files before becoming criminally liable for failure to comply with the Epstein Files Transparency Act," Massie wrote on X in response to a tweet from Acting AG Todd Blanche about his new position. Attorney General Pam Bondi was fired earlier today by Trump, proving once again that loyalty is meaningless once he decides that you're worth throwing under the bus. In Bondi's case, she did everything within her power to obstruct and cover up Trump's role in Epstein's crimes but it still wasn't enough. In the end, she was more valuable to him as a scapegoat. Now, Blanche finds himself in the unenviable position of being the face of this totally politicized, totally corrupt Justice Department. The MAGA base, and indeed all of America, are still demanding the full release of the files. But Blanche knows that Trump wants those files buried for good. If he releases them, he's fired. If he refuses to release them, he'll eventually become the next scapegoat — and end up criminally liable as Massie has pointed out. He's damned if he does, damned if he doesn't. Of course, Blanche has already proven himself a willing hatchet-man in this Epstein affair, which is why Trump sent him to meet with Ghislaine Maxwell right before she was moved to a minimum security facility in Texas. Presumably, that little jaunt played a large role in his elevation to Acting AG. But justice is coming. After the midterm elections, once Democrats retake control of Congress, Pam Bondi, Todd Blanche, Kash Patel, and every other soulless crook who systemically covered up the mass sexual abuse of children will be forced to pay the piper. With subpoenas in hand, Democrats are going to tear this administration apart in search of the truth. We cannot wait. Please like and share!
For weeks, a woman in Savannah noticed something peculiar: her cat, Deacon, kept disappearing every Sunday morning. He would vanish for hours and return home smelling faintly of perfume. Curious and a little puzzled, she decided to follow him one Sunday, and what she discovered was both surprising and heartwarming. Deacon strolled across the street and calmly walked into a nearby church, where he quietly took a seat in the back pew. It turns out he had been attending these services for about two months, without causing any trouble. The pastor even joked that Deacon sits more quietly than some of the human members, earning himself an unspoken reputation as the church’s most disciplined attendee. Now, every Sunday, Deacon has his own special seat, a little routine he looks forward to, just as the congregation looks forward to seeing him there. He doesn’t meow, doesn’t ask for attention; he simply sits and observes, quietly joining in the service in his own feline way. It’s a small but beautiful reminder that friendship and community can come in all forms, sometimes with whiskers, a tail, and a perfectly timed sense of devotion. Deacon may not have a sermon to deliver, but his presence brings smiles, warmth, and a little magic to everyone around him.
The samosa is one of the most eaten street foods on the planet. I just found a 500 year old recipe for it written in Persian in a Mughal manuscript that is currently sitting in the British Museum. I'm making and rating it next week. The manuscript is called the Ni'matnama, sometimes translated as the Book of Delights, and it was written between 1501 and 1510 for the Sultan of Mandu, a medieval sultanate in central India. It is not just a cookbook. It is an illustrated record of royal pleasures, covering recipes for sherbet, betel preparations, perfumes, and food across dozens of dishes. After the fall of Mandu to the Mughal Emperor Akbar in 1562 the manuscript passed to the Adil Shahi Sultanate of Bijapur, then into the hands of Tipu Sultan of Mysore, and finally after the British stormed Srirangapatnam in 1799 it was taken to England, where it now sits in the collections of the British Museum, translated into English by scholar Nora Titley. The samosa recipe inside it reads as follows. "Mix together well-cooked mince with the same amount of minced onion and chopped dried ginger, a quarter of those, and half a measure of ground garlic, and having ground three measures of saffron in rosewater, mix it with the mince together with aubergine pulp. Stuff the samosas and fry them in ghee." The manuscript then adds, with what feels like genuine enthusiasm across five centuries, that whether made from thin coarse flour bread or from fine flour bread or from uncooked dough, any of the three can be used for cooking samosas, and they are delicious. A 500-year-old recipe with a 500-year-old review attached. The filling is not what you would expect from a modern samosa. Saffron ground in rosewater, aubergine pulp, mince, and garlic, fried in ghee. It is richer, more perfumed, and more obviously courtly than the street food version the world knows today. I am recreating it next week, and I cannot wait to show you what a royal Mughal samosa actually tasted like
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)