What about all those "Flock Safety" plate readers showing up literally on every street corner in some places? Who is really paying for those readers? Where are the data going?

We are all being tracked like rats in a lab maze, and there is nothing we can do about it.

Oh, that's golden. So you jammed a needle somewhere in the peripheral nervous system, and therefore, the animal can't feel anything because you say so?

Ever read the testimonies of lobotomies? You know, where they used knitting pins to separate out lobes of the brain?

Oh yeah, they're supposed to be in shock and rendered instantly unconscious. Ever interviewed a creature that has been pithed?

This is just like the organ donors who are streaming tears as they are being cut apart on the operating table. Yeah, the diagnostics before they were rolled out on the showroom floor showed brain death. Yeah, I buy that the spinal cord/PNS has reflexes to a scalpel. Now how to you explain away a moan or tears from someone with severe brain damage being sliced to pieces?

There was a conference not too long ago in Japan where it was recommended to OD the donor in fentanyl. And not just because that would stop the donors from jerking. One of the participants put it eloquently that we think that we know, but we really don't know.

We really don't know.

With fossil fuel plants by and large banished, it just may be now.

They didn't cause another meltdown...SMH.

Not only that, but the title includes the FINALLY fanaticism. Bias and opinion are force-fed to us in these headlines. It's like we are being pushed to do something like "update daily" despite this being arguably a bad security practice. Or going to "the cloud"--yeah, find me something with the nine nines of reliability promised actually fulfilled, and find me something not turned to swiss cheese with back doors to the corporations running the cloud services and to the governments issuing the gag orders.

OK, Karen...

Well, truth be told, I hit menopause a few years back, and my vagina resembles Mammoth Cave both in appearance and in acousticity. Whenever I walk, my old labia act as check valves, pumping air into my exhausted baby-cannon. When I sit down, it rushes out like the air displaced by a rain storm in a subterranean river. It's not a fart; it is a swift gust that smells like rotted salmon and lilac scented body powder.

P.S. => I sucked the meat arrow of George Soros for this position. He's got the hook up.