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x.com/MOSSADil/status/20307981โ€ฆ
The Israeli is complaining about war crimes!

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in reply to Monty Icenogle

@kd6cae It's especially weird that I can access resources on my parents ISP, which is CGNAT, from my phone, which is also CGNAT, and it just works. Like, having a pretty reasonable idea what's going on and actually experiencing the thingโ€ฆ I have mostly been using mobile Internet for nearly the past three months, and it doesn't really feel like it, because I can still access my NAS at home, and even local resources here when I forget to turn Wi-Fi on for improved throughput.

x.com/HarrisonHSmith/status/20โ€ฆ
Nope. Name any group of Jews and claim they're doing something evil, and it's more likely than not to be true.

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So India has won the ICC mens T 20 world cup back to back after 2024! Here are the 3 records we've made
First: We've defended our title, and won the tournament back to back
Second: We've won the world cup at home.
And third: We've now got the most number of T 20 world cups with us, that is, 3 titles
Condolences to New Zealand as well. You guies plaied like champions, you plaied really magnifisantly. But at the end of the day, there can only be one champion.

Starting to hit Iranian oil production is a signal to the CCP and UK to get their shit together and bring what's left of their IRGC puppets to the surrender table before that oil is taken offline for years to come, which would fuck China and the UK straight in the ass.

x.com/IranIntl_En/status/20306โ€ฆ


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ah, text editors...

something i found, that really appealed to me, is Hugh Barney's series of small emacs-alike editors, complete with tiny Lisp interpreters. the smallest of the editors is zep, which takes 800 lines of C but must link to ncurses; the smallest extensible editor is zepl, which embeds Tiny Lisp in zep:

github.com/hughbarney/zepl

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When your gay and lame and can't change.

thegatewaypundit.com/2026/03/fโ€ฆ

The OnlyFans Owner Is Quietly Getting Out. Why?
youtube.com/watch?v=xhJ76l2uO7โ€ฆ

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When night falls in the Charente, the inhabitants of its rural villages retreat to their homes. They lock their doors and pull iron-hinged timber shutters over every window. Pale sandstone walls, grey with age, cracked and pitted, their seams of lime mortar dried to dust, become as impenetrable as medieval keeps. In the dark, you could be forgiven for thinking these sullen villages were deserted long ago. The narrow streets are empty and silent; the lights illuminating them are extinguished before midnight.

Five years ago, we lived in one of these villages. We were halfway through our first winter there when we came across the wolf.

My wife was driving my then 21-year-old son and me home from dinner in the nearby city of Cognac. We had opted for the back roads, narrow, black asphalt chemins that wound past old family vineyards, cask makers and small distillers. When we finally turned onto the unmarked tractor trail, a strip of chalky limestone and fractured stone, that led to our cottage, the darkness was absolute, as if this part of the world had been laid beneath a black velvet shroud.

We saw the eyes first, bright yellow on the hazy periphery of a halogen beam, like the glint of something precious on a river bed. My wife braked. They were no more than twenty feet away, at the edge of a long row of black, leafless vine stumps tethered to lengths of wire.

The wolf loped out of the vineyard onto the road in front of us. Larger than a German shepherd but leaner, its musculature well-defined under a coat that was grey-black on top and a grubby russet along the belly and flanks, there was no question it was a wolf. Its snout was long and thin, with pale, curved incisors visible beneath lacertine grey flews. Its limbs were slightly splayed and each tensed slightly in turn as the animal adjusted its balance to account for the various possibilities of what might happen next. Holding us in an impassive, incurious gaze, it could close on us, or put a safe distance between us, in a couple of strides. It was still and unafraid, and didnโ€™t make a sound.

Within a minute, the wolf decided we were no threat. It turned slightly into an unnoticed dead area of our headlights โ€“ and disappeared. None of us said a word as we drove the few hundred yards home.

โ€œIt was definitely a wolf,โ€ my son insisted over breakfast the next morning. He had a series of photographs arrayed across the screen of his laptop and all were much like the animal we had seen, even if โ€˜ourโ€™ wolf had looked bigger. Later in the day, I searched out the weathered old man who owned and worked the vineyard we had driven through. When I told him about the wolf, he cackled and waved a calloused, dismissive palm at my face: โ€œMais non. Il nโ€™y a pas de loups ici.โ€

in reply to wrack

There were, and are, established wolf packs a few hundred miles to the south, in northern Spain. The Iberian grey wolf, canis lupus signatus, was almost wiped out by a policy of extermination by the Franco government in the โ€˜50s and โ€˜60s, leaving only a small, resilient pack confined to the Picos de Europa National Park. Half a century later, the descendants of those survivors, more than two dozen breeding groups comprising over 2,000 animals, range north to the Western Pyrenees, across Basque country and Navarre, and south to within 40 miles of Spainโ€™s capital, Madrid.

There are also Eurasian grey wolves, canis lupus lupus, a few hundred miles east of the Charente, in the rugged uplands of the Lozรจre, at the edge of the Massif Central. In all, there are around 12,000 wolves ranged across Europe and lone animals or small packs have been sighted as far south as Rome and Athens, and as far north as Hamburg, the North Sea coast of The Netherlands, southern Scandinavia, and Poland. Most are believed to have originated from a population of less than 100 grey wolves in the Italian alps that were protected more than 40 years ago, having been hunted to near-extinction in the rest of Europe.

The resurgence of the wolf coincided with economic decline in southern Europe. As rural communities emptied into urban centres, pressure from farming and hunters on deer, chamois, wild boar, fox, hare and other game was relieved and there was a marked increase in the quantity and distribution of the wolfโ€™s potential prey. But among country folk, there is still antipathy towards the wolf, tinged with atavistic superstition. As Peter Taylor, a British ecologist and editor of the journal, Rewilding, noted in The Guardian newspaper a few years ago, โ€œThey remind older people of hard times โ€“ a sign that civilisation is slipping backwards perhaps.โ€ For a few of them, โ€œkeeping the wolf from the doorโ€ is a memory, not a metaphor.

A wolf on the move is a formidable thing. A healthy animal can cover around 50 miles a day in open country and is largely undeterred by urban development. So-called dispersing wolves, those who abandon a pack to search for a mate, think nothing of migrating hundreds of miles across disparate topography. They negotiate freeways, railways and bridges easily to hunt on the perimeters of some of Europeโ€™s largest industrialised cities, usually unseen. Between the vineyards of the La Petite Champagne and the foothills of the western Pyrenees in the south and the Massif Central in the west, there is a lot of sparsely populated, wooded countryside โ€“ which is to say, there are no obstacles at all for a shrewd, motivated wolf.

Besides, a wolf could pass at night through the heart of any of the Charenteโ€™s shuttered hamlets and no-one would be the wiser. Even if glimpsed among the surrounding woodlands, vineyards โ€“ some 200,000 acres of them in this region โ€“ or fertile expanses of maize, rape, and sunflowers, almost none of which are fenced, a single animal would likely not attract curiosity. At a distance, it would be indistinguishable from a dog.

โ€œPas de loup,โ€ we were told by other locals, always with a measure of amusement, as if the idea was absurd.

Some months after we encountered the wolf, on the first day of a mild summer, hunters spilled into the fields around our cottage to stalk roe deer, fox, hare and wild boar. A solitary short-toed tailed eagle perched atop a timber vine stake opposite our front gate, probably waiting for the heavy-footed hunters to startle a snake onto open ground. Overhead, a few kites and harriers hovered for small game: field mice, dormice, voles, and shrews. We had been told by locals to stay out of the vineyards to avoid getting shot.

At the end of the day, the hunters returned to their cars, parked on the rough lane that ran by our back garden. A few had the carcasses of gutted rabbits cinched to their belts and rucksacks, but nothing bigger. I asked one, a stonemason I knew, how the hunt had gone. The bigger game was not yet abundant, he told me: โ€œItโ€™s as if theyโ€™ve been scared away.โ€ But by what? He and another had found the remnants of a deerโ€™s torso, mostly bones streaked with blood and entangled with desiccated skin and viscera, in a patch of woods on a hillside above the nearby village. He had no idea what might have killed it: โ€œNe sais pas, ne sais pas.โ€ You could tell the not knowing unsettled him.

in reply to wrack

We never saw the wolf again and no-one else ever admitted having seen it. For months afterwards, every time we drove through the surrounding countryside, we were alert to the possibility of its presence, scanning idly for unlikely movement at the edge of an open field or atop a grassy ridge line or within dense stands of young oak by the river. Gradually, our memory of it was tempered by other things that were, in some ways, almost as unfamiliar, not least the subtle, seasonal mutability of the land itself, or strange, like the oak casks of older Cognac distillations that were stored among the dead in dank, mouldy crypts below our local church. Still, in this empty region of France, where people are not yet done with the past, the materialising of a wolf, as if from myth or whispered fairy tale, was a reminder that this ancient predator could re-assert its rightful place at any time, not just in this landscape, but also, no matter how robust our framework of 21st century rationality, within our primal fears.

First published in The Learned Pig, UK, 2017

โ€œThe footage would appear to contradict US President Donald Trumpโ€™s claim that it was an Iranian missile that hit the school [killing scores of young girls].

The US is the only participant in the war that is known to have Tomahawk missiles.โ€
bellingcat.com/news/2026/03/08โ€ฆ

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#DogsofMastodon Public Service Announcement: Flea season is approaching in the west and is likely here in the #PNW due to a mild mild winter.
All corporate flea medicines are pesticides. but some of the new ones - that your Vet will tell you are perfectly safe - are incredibly dangerous. Specifically products containing Isoxazoline (brand names: Bravecto, Nexgard, Credelio, and Simparica (brand names for fluralaner, afoxolaner, lotilaner, and sarolaner)). Credelio ultimately killed my 10 year old shitzu but he suffered along time with severe neurological issues - we had to retrain him on how to drink water and eat food, that's how toxic this shit is.
Please please consider other means of flea control for the pets you love.
Here is an article that explains some of this: vetmed.illinois.edu/pet-healthโ€ฆ
And here is an article from 2018 (they've known this for along time!): today.com/health/fda-warns-aboโ€ฆ
#Dogs #Fleas #FleaMeds

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Listen,

It is possible to criticize something without abjectly despising it. 404 can have bad takes; I'm still paying for their journalism because it's usually very good.

Proton's marketing and social team are kind of yutzes, but the service is very good for what it is, and much better than the normative choice.

Seeking infallibility will eat all your time and get you nowhere.

in reply to Taggart

I don't even think it's that bad a takeโ€”"Even privacy-focused Proton will comply with the law and disclose information they have when compelled to" is information in the public interest. Framing the governments involved as the primary actors might be *better*, but not more accurate in terms of communicating how safe you are on Proton.

I do agree with your broader pointโ€”I listen to their podcast every week. I don't agree with everything, but they're doing important work.

in reply to Taggart

Similarly, there's no politician who won't disappoint you in at least some minor way, often in bigger ways. That's no reason not to vote for the politician who gets you closest to where you want to be. Progress is incremental, and insisting on perfection is an enemy of progress.

#1979
Look at us baby, up all night.. Tearing our love apart
Aren't we the same two people.. Who lived through years in the dark?
Randy Meisner, American rock bassist and vocalist (Rick Nelson's Stone Canyon Band; Linda Ronstadt; The Eagles, 1971-77) would be 80
youtu.be/YWkkZcQcb5Q?si=e6XC7Qโ€ฆ

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#1998 Well, she grew up with the children of the stars
In the Hollywood hills and the boulevards.. Her parents threw big parties, everyone was there.. They hung out with folks like Dennis Hopper and Bob Seger and Sonny and Cher
Shawn Mullins is 58
youtu.be/hG9C0VwruXE?si=RjBC9rโ€ฆ

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#1968 She's the same little girl who used to hang around my door
But she sure looks different than the way she looked before
I call her Valleri
Mickey Dolenz is 81
youtu.be/wKGwiH2bw9s?si=LfSwxMโ€ฆ

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Nahost - Mehr als halbe Million Vertriebene im Libanon durch israelische Angriffe auf Hisbollah


Im Libanon sind seit Ausbruch der jรผngsten Kรคmpfe mit Israel vor einer Woche mehr als eine halbe Million Menschen als Binnenflรผchtlinge registriert worden.
Nahost - Mehr als halbe Million Vertriebene im Libanon durch israelische Angriffe auf Hisbollah


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Sailed in thick fog for the first time today and loved the ominous mood of not seeing anything around us.

I quickly sobered up when we began hearing the rumble of an approaching NYC ferry's engines. They're fast catamarans that merit avoidance, even in high visibility.

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#HavanaSyndrome

From CBS 60 Minutes: Former CIA officer criticizes the agency's investigation into Havana Syndrome

cbsnews.com/news/targeting-ameโ€ฆ

in reply to BakersRelay

I've always figured it was some high power KGB microwave snooping device, designed to detect vibrations inside the US embassy, by shooting extremely high frequency Gigahertz radio waves into the embassy, with other detectors elsewhere to catch scatter... the very small radio waves would bounce off things like computers, coffee cups, people's skulls, the bones in your ears, pictures hanging on a wall, and any talking and audio (or even typing on a keyboard, etc.) would cause scatter of the signal, making it easy to read out what is being talked about inside the embassy or even typed on a computer. The downside of such a microwave is "Havana Syndrome", where if the wave is aimed at someone's head, it is strong enough to mess with a human's system (especially if it's affecting the inner ear), debilitating and injuring humans.

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There was another exciting aspect to our hike today.

For years I believed that the Tiny Balancing Sheep breed was just a myth, as I've done so many walks and hikes through the British countryside and never seen one.

But reader, I was mistaken. And I have proof.

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