Mid-Winter Miracle - 9024 B.C.

 

Christmas Eve, 9024 B.C., before Christmas Eve was Christmas Eve.

Gurga was a ten-year-old boy, living in a cave with twenty-seven other relatives.

It was a bitterly cold night and near mid-dark when Gurga was roused from his slumber by an unusual sound. He arose and walked toward the cave entrance. He gazed out at the rocky landscape, covered in a thick layer of snow, wondering what the sound was that had woken him.

It had been a particularly difficult winter for the clan – there was barely enough food to feed a few, and definitely not twenty-seven. Much like any growing boy, Gurga was always hungry, but he was a kind boy and always shared some of his portions with Murga, his favorite elder.

Murga regularly told Gurga marvelous stories. He truly enjoyed them all, especially the one about when Murga was a young boy. Gurga didn’t entirely believe the story was true, but he liked it the best of all the stories Murga told.  

Gurga, shivering, as the winter wind swept over his bare feet, was thinking about Murga’s story. It was about a man, Slava Clusa, who traveled all over the world, riding on the back of a huge, red cave bear, and would secretly deliver meat and furs to every clan in need on the eve of mid-winter without ever being seen.

Murga, when he told the story, said that he had seen Slava Clusa once. Gurga always smiled, never letting-on that he doubted Murga.  

On that cold winter night, however, Gurga sincerely hoped the story was true, because it had been a difficult winter for the clan, and he knew some of the older clan members would not survive – including Murga.

Gurga, as he stood woeful and silent, he again heard the unusual sound that had awakened him.

Suddenly, from around the corner, a giant of a man mysteriously appeared, riding on the back of huge, red cave bear. He smiled and jumped down. Gurga’s eyes were wide and disbelieving.

The Dude is Real!

A massive swirl of snow sprang up when the man’s feet hit the ground. His cosmic, silver cloak glistened like the stars in the night sky. He quickly grabbed a large bundle of furs and an equally large leather sack attached to the harness on the bear’s back and set them both down next to Gurga. After, he raised his massive hand up to his face and put an index finger to his lips and winked. He leaped back onto the bear and then in one swift move, they dashed off as quickly as they had appeared.

After they were gone, Gurga, stood like a pine tree covered in snow, motionless. His eyes and mouth were wide open, but surprisingly, he felt warm and wasn’t shivering any more.

From behind him, Murga, whispered, “Slava Clusa has come.”

Gurga shook his head slightly and excitedly replied, “I saw him!”

“Indeed, you did,” answered Murga.

“I never believed you, but I do now! I’m sorry, I doubted you,” said Gurga turning and looking at Murga.

“No need to apologize. I tell all sorts of stories, and most of them, I just make up. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you the story about the wheel and maybe, microwave ovens.”

“Huh?” said Gurga scratching his head.

“Um, never mind, a, let’s go tell the clan of their good fortune,” suggested Murga.

“They’ll never believe us.”

“We’ll just say it was a mid-winter, MIRACLE!”

“What’s a miracle?” asked Gurga

“It’s similar to, shit happens.”

“Ah, I understand, now.”

 

Merry Christmas!

-jk-

There are those who have seen and believe, there are those who have not seen and believe, and then there are those who never believe even after it slaps them in the face. 

Faith brings hope for the world.

Simple Marriage Wisdom

 

                          Marriage

 

Marriage is a form of ignorant presumption; it occurs when two people with no experience, no expertise, and no ability suddenly assume they have superior expertise and ability concerning the everlasting commitment they are about to make prior to getting married. This overestimation happens because they don’t have enough knowledge about marriage to know they don’t have enough knowledge.

From the moment you are married and every morning after, the uncertainty that follows every day is an adventure filled with smiles and tears in unequal amounts and always when you least expect them.

Don’t ever attempt to contemplate the commitment of marriage you joyfully promised on your memorable day for more than five minutes. The more you think about it, the more you begin to play the crazy game of ‘What If’ every time you look at your spouse.

Bugs, Monsters, and Critters all Fear Me!

The simple truth about marriage is knowing the correct moment when to say, ‘yes or no,’ and the correct moment is never actually correct, it is merely the beginning of a long conversation that hopefully ends in a compromise.

After 45 years, 16,437 days, I am still married to the same person.

I have lived the Dunning and Kruger Effect long before they ever thought about it. Besides, calling it the Kafka Effect just doesn't have the same ring to it.

j/k

Halloween Horror Story

 

Grandma Bea’s Special Cookies

 

     Grandma Bea’s house was quaint and filled with the everlasting smell of freshly baked cookies.

     She was a small, old woman, but she had the endurance and strength of an ox, and her voice was soft and welcoming. “Would you like to bake some cookies, just like my mother used to make?” she gently asked her two visiting grandchildren, Billy, and Maddie.

     They both excitedly shouted, “Yes!” and hurried to the kitchen.

     On the kitchen table, all the ingredients for the Special Cookies were neatly arranged.

     Billy exclaimed, “I want to make them!” Maddie anxiously added, “Me too, Me too!”

     Grandma chuckled at their childish exuberance. “Of course, you both can. But I will add the ingredients into the bowl. Billy, you can mix it up. And Maddie, when Billy is done, you can use the spoon to scoop the dough and place it on the pan.”   

     Grandma Bea eased the ingredients into the bowl: Ground cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, ginger, brown sugar, butter, eggs, and flour. Billy wildly mixed it all up and when he finished, Maddie meticulously gathered up small portions with the spoon and placed them on the large pan – thirteen scoops. Grandma Bea then took out a small vile from her apron and lightly sprinkled the contents over each one of the thirteen cookies.  

YUK!!!!

     “What’s that?” Billy and Maddie simultaneously asked.

     “Grandma’s special ingredient,” she answered.

     “Does it make the cookies taste extra delicious?” asked Maddie.

     “Absolutely!” exclaimed Grandma Bea.

     The children’s eyes widened with hopeful anticipation.

     Grandma Bea took the pan, placed it in the preheated oven, then sat down and told the children the cookies will be ready in 20 minutes.

     “What do you call these cookies?” Billy asked.

     Maddie chimed in at the same time with a question of her own. “Did you make cookies like these with your mother?”

     She politely answered, “Billy, their called Hallows' Day cookies, and Maddie, I can’t believe how the years have passed! It seems like just yesterday I was sitting right here with my mother making cookies like we are. You both have grown so big, and so fast.”

     Grandma Bea yattered on about nothing important to pass the time while they waited, and the children politely listened without interrupting. Finally, the bell on the oven rang. The cookies were ready!

     Grandma Bea took the pan from the oven and set it on the counter. Using a spatula, she placed one cookie each on a plate and served them to the children.

     The children were so excited, they didn’t wait for the cookies to cool. They gobbled them up as fast as they could. In less than ten seconds, both Billy and Maddie collapsed unconscious onto the floor. Grandma Bea bent down and checked their pulse – both were dead.

     “Perfect!” said Grandma Bea.

     She grabbed the children by the hair and dragged them out back. She then picked up her chainsaw and diced them up into chunks to feed them to her four hell hounds in the root cellar.

Grandma Bea Enraged!

     The next day, Billy and Maddie’s parents came by to pick them up. Grandma told them they were playing out back and offered them the cookies they had made, while she would go and fetch the children. When she returned, both parents lay dead on the floor. They too were sliced and diced.

     One month later, two police officers knocked on Grandma Bea’s door. The officers said they wanted to ask her some questions about a missing family, specifically her family – her daughter, the husband, and the children.

     “I haven’t talked to them in years,” Grandma Bea replied and invited the officers inside. “No one cares about us old folks. I’m a burden to them, or so it seems.”

     Grandma Bea offered the officers some cookies before they could ask any questions, which they accepted. And yes, within a few seconds, they too were dead, and were subjected to the same fate. After she finished hacking them up, she moved their police car down the road so no one would know they were ever there.

     Year after year, Grandma Bea continued making a batch of her special cookies, and occasionally, people mysteriously vanished.

 

Moral of the Story: Call your Grandmother often and visit your Grandmother at least once a year, and not to just drop off your kids because you need a babysitter, otherwise the cookies she sends you might leave a bad taste in your mouth or worse.

Happy Halloween Spooky Goblins and Ghouls!!

j/k

Recent Ice Age Drama

Near Stag Clan Territory:

On a clear, frigid afternoon at the Neanderthal Creek by Crosgarc Estates in the Northern Waste Lands, Zaab Stag was fishing with his new, z-3200 fishing pole alongside his brother Agga, when a very lucky thing happened; Zaab hooked a small, Stumptooth Gambusia fish.

Stumptooth Gambusia is a vanishing species, and Zaab Stag, who is a vanishing species researcher at the University of Cro-Magnon State College, has been trying to tag and record the Neanderthal Creek, Stumptooth Gambusia fish, since they were listed as “threatened” under The End is Near Act. 

The law effectively makes it illegal to catch and eat the endangered fish.

The law is also the catalyst for the Stag Clan's attempt to halt a huge and controversial ceremonial burial site project at Crosgarc Estates proposed by the Cave Bear Clan.

The Stumptooth Gambusia fish relies on the running glacier waters feeding into Neanderthal Creek to eat, nest and live.

 

Zaab weighed and tagged the fish before gently placing it back in the creek. 

“They’re really a repulsive looking fish,” said Agga.

“True, but the species is important to the local ecology; they eat invasive Akstafa Spring Roaches and clean the water by consuming Skibo Pelican scum,” replied Zaab.

 

Not a Stumptooth Gambusia, but it is ugly.

Professors and ecological groups of the Stag Clan warn that the ceremonial burial site would be devastating for the fish. Also, other Clan’s say the burial project could have a far-reaching economic impact beyond Crosgarc Estates, frightening the vacation industry and other commerce downstream.

 

“We will do whatever it takes to ensure that the Stumptooth Gambusia fish receives the protections it is authorized under The End is Near Act,” said Gnurk Nenge, a senior attorney for the Stag Clan and Biological Multiplicity Group, a profit-making federation working to protect imperiled species.

 

“This is a troubling situation,” said Dhar the Brave, attorney for the Cave Bear Clan. “The Cave Bear Clan is wanting to build a ceremonial burial site for all to enjoy, and they understand the Stumptooth Gambusia fish would be a tragic loss. But what the heck, it's just a fish; there are plenty more in the creek.”

 

The Shamans Court of Amalgamated Cave-People Human Rights said they’ll rule on the case with “reasonable and prudent” objectivity, and could adopt a plan to minimize the impact on the fish in the project area. The possibilities may include a new habitat relocation proposal or a huge fish fry festival in the spring.

 

The Shamans Court will issue their decision after the big Wholly Mammoth hunt later in the year.

j/k

 

 

My Competition is Me

 Greetings Fellow Writers and Readers

 Why do I write is today's topic - and other stuff

I write for several hours every day, working on short stories and novels. The company I write for is me. I work alone in an office full of bizarre and peculiar items that has no value to anyone but me. Occasionally, I will take a break and chat with other published novelists and freelance journalists. What I write about is of my own choosing, and I never run out of ideas. The pay is non-existent. The downside, however, is only a small fraction of what I write will ever be read, even the books and articles I have already published.

Why?

The reason is, thousands of books are published every year, and blogs and social media drench the internet with words to be read.

My Creative Team

And now there is a new participant in the game for writers to compete against – AI ChatGPT.  

Some have embraced this new technology, because the human quest, for some, has been and always shall be, the need for speed and wealth. But computerized words are just words with no compassion, love, pain, or sorrow. AI is incapable of understanding the human condition. Only a writer, pecking out words, in the dark of night, sitting all alone, can instill passion into a story.

 

Passion: strong and barely controllable emotion.

 

Passion: there is no greater word I could think of that perfectly describes the essential ingredient of every good or great story.

 

Only humans know what it feels like to shed a tear, hug a sick child, lose a loved one, or my personal favorite – squeezing my toes in the puddles of mud in my garden after a good soaking from a warm summers rain.

 

Sorry, I wandered off from the point of this article.

 

When you first begin writing a novel, there is a question you should ask yourself.

 

Who or what are you writing for?  My answer is always – Myself. Mainly, because I really need to dump all the tempestuous, creepy, and strange stuff that roams freely inside my head.

 

“I know that’s right, Mr. Kafka.”

“Thanks, jimmy. Now go back to sleep.”

 

My competition has always been me against me. It is how I push myself to be better.

 

I don’t hold any ill feelings for those who write for fame or fortune. We all have our different reasons for writing novels and I understand – you do you.

 

I will leave with this for now – Prick your finger and add three droplets of blood to the Goblet of Desire on the night of the full moon; the final ingredient necessary to create the Potion of Passion and Wickedness. Yes, Wickedness, my young apprentice. It is vital a component. Wickedness to twist their brain in such a vile manner that it will force them to continue reading and constantly begging for more, and more, and more, never wanting the story to end! 

(sinister laugh)

 

Until next time, always and forever, write like you mean it.

 

j/k

  

 

Indie Author Branding

 

What is Branding?

 

A hot iron burned onto the backside of a cow is not what this is about.

 

This is about how indie authors brand themselves to sell their books, otherwise known as – Image Personification!

 

The functionality of good branding is to connect favorably with other people to entice them to buy whatever you’re selling. Being positive and energetic is a good thing. People like go-getters. Being yourself can be a good thing too, (but don’t be yourself.) Be somebody who everybody likes. Be agreeable. Be smart. (People like smart people, but not too smart. Arrogantly smart is a turn-off.) Honesty is important. People generally don’t like a liar. It’s okay to write fantastical lies, (fiction), just don’t do it when selling yourself; tell the truth.  

 

My brand is simple, cynical, and sarcastic. I write thought-provoking fantasy adventure novels. I am a lukewarm person. Don’t be Lukewarm. Davos Lukewarm is a character in one of my books, and he ain’t very bright.

 

If your current brand is not working, change your brand. I know, change is scary. But that’s what branding is all about, searching, changing, and adjusting until you find an adorable and lovable brand – known as the sweet spot that attracts customers.

 

Oh, and your book has to be at least partially good, partially unique, or uniquely odd. Also, a so-so book can be successful too, if you have an awesome brand or a team of marketing experts.

 

Point of Order: Don’t have an annoying brand.

Example: Repeatedly screaming – PLEASE BUY MY BOOKS! I worked really hard on them. You’ll love them. Blah, Blah, Blah!

Silly and sarcastically annoying ain’t a good brand either. I speak from experience. I lost the genetic lottery, but I won the race to the egg, so I got that going for me.

 

My first attempt at branding was not good.

Pounding your product at a customer seems to be an acceptable practice, but it's really annoying. People don’t like to be annoyed. People like to be entertained. Mix it up. Adapt. Change. Reconstruct.

 If you’ve tried several brands and they all failed - change your name, move to another country, and write a book on how to properly weave horse hair into dinner place mats. I have already changed my name 27 times, moved to 15 different countries, and I currently write fantasy novels, but I am afraid to publish them because I am still searching for a likable brand. I haven’t given up yet. I am constantly recreating my image and imagining something strange.

Find a brand that works best for you, and then - OWN IT BABY! Take the ball and run. Score! Fly like and eagle. Get excited. Go Crazy. Sell lots of books.

 

Schizophrenic? That might be a brand that works for me.

 

“Mr. Kafka, you’ve tried that and it didn’t work.”

“True, but maybe I need to refine how I talk to you?

“No.”

“But, jimmy, . . .”

“No!”

“I have some new ideas!”

“No, no you don’t.”

“Why are you always so negative?”

“Do I really need to explain that, Mr. Kafka?

“No, I reckon not.”

 

Good Luck, fellow indie authors. I hope you find the right Image Personification that works for you!

 

j/k

 

 

 

 

Appreciate Every Moment

Do you seek greatness or are you content to just wade in the sea of adequate?

 

Fate is truly fickle. How does one person repeatedly rise from the ashes again, and again, and another falls to the winds of fate.

 

I have survived 2 lightning bolts, a near miss with quick-sand, numerous car accidents, 2 terrorist bombs, several bar-room brawls, a fifteen-foot fall onto a concrete pavement (dislocated elbow), a twenty foot fall onto a concrete warehouse floor (broken neck), intruder in my home, tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquake, and surgical extractions of a few body parts, but was I lucky or does fate have something special waiting for me? 

 

The romantic side of me believes my continued existence remains intact only because I have yet to accomplish what I was put on this earth to do. (I sure hope I find out soon.) Now on the flip side, if I were to compare my life to that of my fathers, I seriously doubt that I am all that special.  He survived 38 months in the south pacific during World War II, and was awarded two Purple Hearts and a Bronze Star for Valor. He also worked 45 years at the steel mill and fathered 5 children. I always viewed my father as great man, although I am positive he did not think the same of himself.

 

         Greatness is defined by how many socks you save have from the dryer.

 

The problem I am faced with now is that my past experiences have created a monster. I constantly wonder why am I still alive, and for what purpose? Sadly that question has become a burden in my everyday life. I often gaze at a blank screen, hoping for a distinctive pattern of words to magical appear before my eyes. Why wouldn’t something spectacular suddenly materialize, after all, I’m obviously still alive for specific reason, right? Naw, I’m at least smart enough to know that greatness is achieved, not perceived, or conjured.

 

                                  I wonder if Thomas Jefferson ever quoted himself.  

 

The pedestrian side of my brain has no time for thoughts about ‘what is the meaning of life’, or believing that fate is predetermined. The sarcastic cells floating in my grey matter envision that I am on a never-ending quest to find a comfortable pair of shoes and become king of Easter Island.

 

     

             With Sarcasm is how a historian answers a difficult trigonometry question.      

 

Whatever is in store for me, be it near or in the distant future, I will always cherish my brushes with death. They miraculously transformed me into the diverse paradoxal creature I am today, and for that, I am forever grateful.

 

“Mister Kafka, how did you feel when you dislocated your elbow or when your kneecap was detached after a forklift fell on your leg?”

 

“I felt very paradoxal, jimmy.”

 

The significance of your life truly flashes before your eyes, when a 60,000 lb. forklift rolls on your leg. (Yeah, I got hurt bad that day!)

 

I have a hideous green bath robe that I will never toss out, because it may be the key to my existence. I call it my lucky charm.

 

Anyway, whenever the guy dressed in black, holding a scythe comes for me, I will surely thank him for all the chances he gave me to make something of my life.

 

It is not how you lived yesterday or even what you remember, but how you choose to live today, and worry only about tomorrow when it arrives with the morning sun. 

Warfolkan

 

(This article was previously posted on 15 June, 2014)

I am still alive!

 

-jk- 

 

 

 

 

 

Write Like You Mean It

 

“Write like you mean it” has been and forever shall be my motivation.

 

But what does that suggest, imply, or insinuate?

 

For instance; once something is said, it cannot be unsaid or unheard no matter the circumstances, and often is the case, it is precisely what the person wanted to say, even though they probably shouldn’t have.

However, when applied to writing, that is when the magic arises and the story becomes believable; writing precisely what you wanted to write without fear or having to apologize.   

 

Normally, writing like you mean it occurs during the first draft and writing your story is pure joy. The words dance onto the blank pages with unbridled delight.

 

What transpires next is a nightmare for most author’s – rewrites, corrections, plot enhancements, more character development and self-doubt – basically it is the apology for writing like you meant it. Readjusting your story is sometimes very painful.

 

Wherever you are, you are never alone

Then, the publication of the book. The words are printed and distributed for all to see and they cannot be unread once they are read.

 

My first book, I wrote like I meant it, and then revised it several times. I was very sad throughout the entire process, because it felt like I was draining the life from my story, the magic, and the soul. I was wrong. I had given birth to a story and all the pricking and poking I did on the original manuscript was like nurturing a child through life. Or like any invention – the first attempt is never the final product.

 

The lesson learned – writing like you mean it is the whole of the story, from the first word to the last, and from the first draft to publication.

 

'Write Like You Mean It' is making your story the best it can possibly be.

 

Editors Note: I have spoken about this subject on many occasions and some folks suggested I write a book about it. (I Laughed) Oddly, I feel more comfortable talking about this subject than writing it down. Some things are better said aloud, I reckon.

 

The first draft of this article was approximately 2,500 words. It seemed a bit excessive. I trimmed the fat and now the reading time is about 5 minutes. 

You’re Welcome.

 😎

 

j/k

 

 

More Drama in the Ice Age

 

Legal Chicanery for the Clans

 

The untimely death of the well-known, wealthy playboy caveman, Gugal, (31) was not a shock to those who knew him. The descendants of Gugal will be seeking a legal decision by the high court of Shamans for his possessions. Gugal left behind seven ex-wives, sixteen children, twenty-two step-children and his current wife, Babs, a popular cavegirl stripper at the ‘One ‘n’ Done’ Grog Hall.

Gugal’s extraordinary cave-château in T-Rex Valley is truly magnificent and has been the pinnacle of innovative multiplicity, hosting a cornucopia of ritualistic shindigs, and it also provided shelter for his huge clan over the past 9 years.

The Gugal estate has an abundance of valuable assets: 2 obsidian tipped spears, 3 stone axes, 53 furs from numerous different animals, and fire pit. Gugal will be buried outside the cave next to his parents, his seventeen siblings, and five children. Most recently — his son, Gugal Jr., died last year; he was 16.

 

Babs Wants Justice!!

Babs has stated openly her intentions to claim her husband’s estate in court when the Shamans assemble. Babs was quoted in the Brontosaurus Gazette, “The idea of Gugal’s cave belonging to any other family member is unthinkable. And, just last week, I was forced to defend a menacing attempt by one of his ex-wives to purloin several furs.”

In related news, the Stag Clan has filed a motion to also claim Gugal’s cave, stating that they once owned the cave, and only temporarily rented the cave to Gugal when the Stag Clan went on their annual hunting trip 9 years ago. According to the Stag Clan leader, Dalug, he said Gugal’s clan refused to move out when they returned, and they couldn't force Gugal's to leave, because the Stag Clan lost to many warriors during the hunting trip.  

The Shamans Court of Amalgamated Cave-People Human Rights will assemble on the day after the Summer Solstice Social to rule on the disposition of the estate.

Breaking News: A Large Cave Bear has been seen in the area.

-jk-

A Great Book Review

Not many people have read my books, and therefore I do have  many book reviews. Thankfully, those who have read my books have enjoyed them, and I am eternally grateful for their kind words. 

"I had a great time reading this book."

Reviewed in the United States on April 21, 2024

I finished Vanguard and went straight into Warfolkan, because I needed to know what happened to Wajue and those lovely elvish sisters. I was not disappointed by the adventure, the new characters, or the development of the story. It twists. It winds. It's just a great, adventurous read.

I personally like to upload the ebook into kindle and ask Alexa to read it to me while I'm walking my dog, cooking, or cleaning, or such. It makes great audio content. I'm completely transported, because Kafka is a master at pacing a narrative. I would especially recommend this book to people who have been reading fantasy for a while and want to rekindle that mischievous joy they experienced when they first discovered the genre.

Everything about this classic fantasy is a treat for readers, but I was charmed by the aquatic dwarves. They're my bros now and I'm looking forward to Sagacity.

I am truly humbled by this review.

j/k

Ice Age Drama

Winds of Change in the Ice Age

 

An international court of Shamans ruled that the Arctic High Mammoth warrior’s failure to adequately tackle the Dinosaur crisis is in violation of Amalgamated Cave-People human rights. The landmark Dinosaur judgment could have a ripple effect across the globe.

Shamans taking a selfie after their ruling

 

The Shamans Court of Amalgamated Cave-People Human Rights, in a cave somewhere near the Dead Summit Mountains, delivered its ruling against the Arctic High Mammoth warriors, in a case brought by more than 2,000 Flowers of Pure Snow women, the majority of whom are members of the Bitter as a Berry Tribe. They argued that Dinosaur’s undermined their health and quality of life, and put them at risk of dying. 

 

The Shamans ruled that the Arctic High Mammoth warriors had violated some of the women’s human rights due to “critical gaps” in its routine hunting expeditions to reduce the Dinosaur population, as well as a failure to train new warriors.     

 

This amounted to a breach of the women’s rights to effective protection from the “the serious adverse effects of human-eating-dinosaurs on their lives, health, well-being and quality of life,” the Shamans said in a statement.

 

It marks the first time the Shamans have ruled on Dinosaur litigation. Furthermore, there is no right of appeal and the judgment is legally binding.

 

The Arctic High Mammoth warriors will now have to give the women first dibs on the prime cuts of meat for 1 year.

 

Sheena, from the Flowers of Pure Snow women lawyers’ organization, Loves Shiny Things, said, "This result from the Shaman high court sends a clear message: warriors must take real action to keep women safe while they pick berries and fetch water.”

 

“Today’s rulings against the Arctic High Mammoth warriors sets a historic precedent that applies to all warrior hunter tribes,” Wolfman Jonger, a lawyer at Thunder That Rolls Over Clouds Network, which supported the case, said in a statement. “It means that all hunters must urgently revise their expeditions so that they are science-based and guarantees safety for the women. This is a massive win for all berry pickers.” 

In other news, a group of dinosaurs have hired a lawyer.

-jk-