<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" ?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:tt="http://teletype.in/" xmlns:opensearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/"><title>@sushi_panda</title><author><name>@sushi_panda</name></author><id>https://teletype.in/atom/sushi_panda</id><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="https://teletype.in/atom/sushi_panda?offset=0"></link><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://teletype.in/@sushi_panda?utm_source=teletype&amp;utm_medium=feed_atom&amp;utm_campaign=sushi_panda"></link><link rel="next" type="application/rss+xml" href="https://teletype.in/atom/sushi_panda?offset=10"></link><link rel="search" type="application/opensearchdescription+xml" title="Teletype" href="https://teletype.in/opensearch.xml"></link><updated>2026-07-26T05:53:05.678Z</updated><entry><id>sushi_panda:ClNp5z9wx</id><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://teletype.in/@sushi_panda/ClNp5z9wx?utm_source=teletype&amp;utm_medium=feed_atom&amp;utm_campaign=sushi_panda"></link><title>A Little Cottage on a Snowy Hill</title><published>2021-02-06T23:07:54.005Z</published><updated>2021-02-06T23:07:54.005Z</updated><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://teletype.in/files/fa/88/fa884e00-f4db-4996-a116-b077d2106ca1.png"></media:thumbnail><summary type="html">&lt;img src=&quot;https://teletype.in/files/7a/72/7a727eb5-ae3b-4215-8348-d7baf4a0122f.png&quot;&gt;As I seek the perfect spot to stay,
I see a little cottage,
on a snowy hill,
the white blanket of snow calmly sloping down the roof...
The gleaming icicles sticking out,
reflecting the only sunlight there is left
on this winter afternoon.</summary><content type="html">
  &lt;figure class=&quot;m_column&quot;&gt;
    &lt;img src=&quot;https://teletype.in/files/7a/72/7a727eb5-ae3b-4215-8348-d7baf4a0122f.png&quot; width=&quot;1384&quot; /&gt;
  &lt;/figure&gt;
  &lt;p&gt;As I seek the perfect spot to stay,&lt;br /&gt;I see a little cottage,&lt;br /&gt;on a snowy hill,&lt;br /&gt;the white blanket of snow calmly sloping down the roof...&lt;br /&gt;The gleaming icicles sticking out,&lt;br /&gt;reflecting the only sunlight there is left&lt;br /&gt;on this winter afternoon.&lt;/p&gt;
  &lt;p&gt;The windows stand open in the gentle breeze,&lt;br /&gt;the glowing light streaming out, &lt;br /&gt;painting the sky bright shades of yellow. &lt;br /&gt;It reveals the stone path&lt;br /&gt;that seems to never end as it reaches the white forest.&lt;/p&gt;
  &lt;p&gt;And as I step in the thick snow, &lt;br /&gt;I look down at the wavy stone path printed with my footsteps,&lt;br /&gt;and I look again the little cottage,&lt;br /&gt;seeing the song of warmth from inside&lt;br /&gt;swiftly rising up into the darkness through a rock chimney&lt;br /&gt;in the form of a grey cloud of steam, warming all above me.&lt;/p&gt;
  &lt;p&gt;But this growing cloud of steam never stops to realize.&lt;br /&gt;That all below is either ice or snow. &lt;br /&gt;For the once-rushing river is now frozen solid,&lt;br /&gt;is now hard and clear as a crystal,&lt;br /&gt;it is unbreakable,&lt;br /&gt;and the branches of trees&lt;br /&gt;are covered with countless layers of the cold and winter of nature.&lt;/p&gt;
  &lt;p&gt;It is that sudden moment that I realize that&lt;br /&gt;this little cottage,&lt;br /&gt;on this snowy hill,&lt;br /&gt;surrounded by the freezing trees and icy river,&lt;br /&gt;is the perfect place to stay.&lt;/p&gt;

</content></entry><entry><id>sushi_panda:2ssPsuwAv</id><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://teletype.in/@sushi_panda/2ssPsuwAv?utm_source=teletype&amp;utm_medium=feed_atom&amp;utm_campaign=sushi_panda"></link><title>Lime Slime</title><published>2021-02-06T22:55:55.875Z</published><updated>2021-02-06T22:59:14.056Z</updated><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://teletype.in/files/7d/c4/7dc4eb4e-5b88-43f9-95f6-bb4e75d546e2.png"></media:thumbnail><summary type="html">&lt;img src=&quot;https://teletype.in/files/f1/b3/f1b3e9cd-1e32-4aa9-ba32-6f81807192f3.png&quot;&gt;So there's this slime...
Everybody knows it.
It smells like lime
and it only costs a dime.</summary><content type="html">
  &lt;figure class=&quot;m_column&quot;&gt;
    &lt;img src=&quot;https://teletype.in/files/f1/b3/f1b3e9cd-1e32-4aa9-ba32-6f81807192f3.png&quot; width=&quot;1994&quot; /&gt;
  &lt;/figure&gt;
  &lt;p&gt;So there&amp;#x27;s this slime...&lt;br /&gt;Everybody knows it.&lt;br /&gt;It smells like lime&lt;br /&gt;and it only costs a dime.&lt;/p&gt;
  &lt;p&gt;You can mold it into a rhino,&lt;br /&gt;or even a dino,&lt;br /&gt;or maybe a Jeep,&lt;br /&gt;that might even beep.&lt;/p&gt;
  &lt;p&gt;You&amp;#x27;ll never be bored&lt;br /&gt;with the slime&lt;br /&gt;that smells like lime.&lt;/p&gt;

</content></entry><entry><id>sushi_panda:t0mvYLppn</id><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://teletype.in/@sushi_panda/t0mvYLppn?utm_source=teletype&amp;utm_medium=feed_atom&amp;utm_campaign=sushi_panda"></link><title>Sveta and the Fish Oil</title><published>2021-02-06T21:13:44.801Z</published><updated>2021-02-06T21:22:39.272Z</updated><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://teletype.in/files/fc/75/fc755228-85f0-4387-9809-f122dbc424c5.png"></media:thumbnail><summary type="html">&lt;img src=&quot;https://teletype.in/files/37/d9/37d996bc-3d69-4859-928f-6c400fec43d0.png&quot;&gt;It was a Monday morning, and Sveta was looking at a cup half-filled with fish oil with disgust. &quot;Why must I drink this terrible fish oil? It is so horrifically disgusting! And why do fish even make fish oil for me? I don’t like it and they shouldn’t waste their time to make it for me. Besides, if the fish make the fish oil, why don’t they eat it themselves?” Sveta asked herself, as she forcefully poured her fish oil in the fish tank. It gushed out in a stream as if it was a waterfall, trying to make itself more appealing to Sveta. The preschool she was at handed out the children little cups of liquid fish oil, and she absolutely hated it! It was yellow, sticky, and could destroy your appetite for an entire week! As the fish oil spread...</summary><content type="html">
  &lt;figure class=&quot;m_column&quot;&gt;
    &lt;img src=&quot;https://teletype.in/files/37/d9/37d996bc-3d69-4859-928f-6c400fec43d0.png&quot; width=&quot;1982&quot; /&gt;
  &lt;/figure&gt;
  &lt;p&gt;It was a Monday morning, and Sveta was looking at a cup half-filled with fish oil with disgust. &amp;quot;Why must I drink this terrible fish oil? It is so horrifically disgusting! And why do fish even make fish oil for me? I don’t like it and they shouldn’t waste their time to make it for me. Besides, if the fish make the fish oil, why don’t they eat it themselves?” Sveta asked herself, as she forcefully poured her fish oil in the fish tank. It gushed out in a stream as if it was a waterfall, trying to make itself more appealing to Sveta. The preschool she was at handed out the children little cups of liquid fish oil, and she absolutely hated it! It was yellow, sticky, and could destroy your appetite for an entire week! As the fish oil spread throughout the fish tank, the fish quickly swam up to the fish oil, curious to see what had just sunk to the bottom of the tank. As one fish sucked in some fish oil, the others did the same. After each fish had gobbled some up though, they quickly huddled away in a corner of the fish tank.&lt;/p&gt;
  &lt;p&gt;“Oh, my goodness!” the teacher shrieked, as she looked at Sveta with a horrific look. The teacher worked in the local preschool in Moscow, Russia. The teacher also happened to be Sveta’s mother. Her name was Raya Lipkina. She had big puffy hair that was a dark brown color like a dark chocolate candy bar. She had sparkling hazel eyes and a pointed nose. She was truly a unique person, and outfit expressed her personality perfectly. On that particular day at that particular time, she was wearing a neutral red dress with big white polka dots on it. She smelled of soft butter cookies. At that time, Sveta was only a few years old, three or four. She liked crafting and drawing. She had short brown hair, big brown eyes, and tiny little feet, just like her mother. She liked playing with dolls sometimes, but mostly she jumped around in puddles outside or rolled around in the grass. Mostly, all she wanted to do was have fun. This usually astounded her mother quite a lot. As the other girls were having tea parties, and wearing long dresses, Sveta was outside playing and getting dirty! As if that wasn’t enough, another thing shocked her parents. Math was one of her hobbies. If somebody ever craved candy at home, she would count out all the candy and give them the exact fair amount! That was also her only real expectation, for everything to be fair. Even in preschool, she always made sure everything was fair. It was important to her. It was something that she took very seriously, too. Every little thing had to be fair. Everything needed to be perfect. Though, it didn’t need to be perfect enough that she wasn’t going to have fun, because she did! She could cut out circles and squares out of a triangle and call it a craft. She loved having fun with her mother, though it would sometimes end in trouble.&lt;/p&gt;
  &lt;p&gt;To continue, the preschool was also quite successful with Sveta’s mother as the principal and a teacher. The preschool was swarming with children playing. The smooth furniture was made of wood and smelled like sweet honey. The room was dim, but the windows were open, letting the light in. A fish tank stood in the far corner of the room. It shined in the preschool like a gem in a rock. It had orange fish, blue fish, and yellow fish! Their scales sparkled in the light, as if they were little mirrors. Sand carefully lined the bottom of the fish tank, and next to it stood a little box of fish food. And right in front of the fish tank stood Sveta.&lt;/p&gt;
  &lt;p&gt;Sveta stood, stunned, as her mother quickly ran through all the children to Sveta. Her mother pushed the other children quickly but gently so she could get by. “Sveta, what do you think you are doing?!” she screeched. All the children in the preschool suddenly stopped what they were doing and stared at Sveta. Their eyes glared at Sveta like sharks, waiting to attack. Sveta felt her cheeks turn as red as apples, but in a few seconds a burst of energy came into her. “If the fish make the fish oil, why don’t they eat it?” she blurted, repeating what she had thought. This time, Sveta’s mother stood stunned though.&lt;/p&gt;
  &lt;p&gt;“Sveta this is unacceptable! The fish are going to be sick!” Raya cried. And indeed, she was right. The next day, the fish were lifelessly floating at the top of the fish tank. The fish soon became the center of attention. As the children proceeded to go into the class, grief poured upon all of them, filling the class with cries. Sveta apologized, but she still hated fish oil. And from that day on, nobody, not even Raya, gave her fish oil.&lt;/p&gt;

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