D-Pad Chad Gaming

✝️ also 🎮 that 🎥 on Rumble.

[D-Pad Chad Gaming @D_Pad_Chad]

Pt1 Hello everyone, this is @Vi_Lanterns, DPadChad's wife.
On Friday, December 26th, Chad passed away in his home. The cause is currently unknown. To everyone who knew Chad, he was a remarkable person. Kind, thoughtful and always ready to help in anyway that he could.

[D-Pad Chad Gaming @D_Pad_Chad]

Although who he was while streaming didn't represent him as a whole, it was a big part of him, and I know if he was here, he would welcome everone. Thank you Chad for being so loving, so kind, and the best human being I've ever known. I will miss you and love you till its my time

[D-Pad Chad Gaming @D_Pad_Chad]

Pt1 Hello everyone, this is @Vi_Lanterns, DPadChad's wife.
On Friday, December 26th, Chad passed away in his home. The cause is currently unknown. To everyone who knew Chad, he was a remarkable person. Kind, thoughtful and always ready to help in anyway that he could.

[D-Pad Chad Gaming @D_Pad_Chad]

If you needed him, he was there, even if you just need to rant. Which makes his passing so so hard because I need him more than ever. I'm going to keep up his social media and streaming channels. If you haven't seen his work, please check him out on rumble https://t.co/KaaiZqDIUT

[John A. Douglas @J0hnADouglas]

LEAD ME TO THE EGGNOG

[Kyle Mann @The_Kyle_Mann]

Usually at The Babylon bee we report satire. Today, we're doing real news.

[Mr PitBull Stories @MrPitbull07]

"They found the coats on Thursday morning.

Fifteen winter coats. Good ones, not garbage. Hanging on the chain-link fence outside Lincoln Elementary. No note. No explanation. Just coats, zipped up like ghosts waiting for bodies.

Principal Morris freaked out. Called the police. "Could be stolen," she said. "Could be some kind of prank."
But then Kayla Martinez, eight years old, said her mom worked nights cleaning offices and couldn't afford a winter coat this year. She'd been wearing three hoodies layered up. She touched a purple one on the fence, the right size, and whispered, "Can I?"

Mrs. Alvarez, the PE teacher, said yes before anyone could stop her.
By lunch, all fifteen coats were gone. Fifteen kids who'd been shivering through recess were warm.

The next Thursday? Twenty coats. Different fence, same neighborhood, outside the community center. Then thirty coats appeared at the downtown shelter. Then blankets. Then winter boots.

No cameras ever caught who did it. No social media claims. Just... coats. Every Thursday. All winter long.
The news picked it up. Called them "The Fence Angel." Interviewed grateful families. But nobody knew.
Until March.

Old man died, Earl Hutchins, seventy-one, lived alone in a basement apartment on Fourth Street. When they cleaned out his place, they found receipts. Thrift store receipts. Hundreds of them. He'd been buying every decent winter coat he could find, spending his entire disability check, and hanging them up at night.

His nephew found a journal entry, "Lost my son to exposure in 2004. He was homeless, prideful, wouldn't take handouts. Froze to death behind a dumpster wearing a T-shirt. If I put coats on a fence, nobody has to ask. Nobody has to admit they need help. They just take it. Dignity intact."

I'm Kayla Martinez. I'm sixteen now. That purple coat got me through fourth grade. I never knew Earl. Never got to say thank you.

But last November, I took my babysitting money to Goodwill. Bought six coats. Hung them on that same fence.
My friends saw. They bought coats. Then their parents did. Then the high school started a coat drive, not for a bin, for the fence.

Last Thursday, there were 200 coats. Scarves too. Gloves. We call it "Earl's Fence" now. There's one in Detroit. One in Manchester. One in Vancouver.

I never met the man who saved me from freezing. But I'm becoming him, one coat at a time.
Because the best kind of help doesn't ask for credit. It just hangs there, quiet, waiting for cold hands to find warmth."
.
Let this story reach more hearts....
.
Ai image is for demonstration purpose only.
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By Mary Nelson

[D-Pad Chad Gaming @D_Pad_Chad]

@lady_valor_07 It's F, I know what they were going for, but if they wanted to have it be the word "English" it needs to have quotation marks, otherwise they're talking about the English language not the word.

[Spill The Memes @SpillTheMemes]

When you find out who's really causing most of your life's problems...

🤣🤣🤣

[D-Pad Chad Gaming @D_Pad_Chad]

I love this so much

[D-Pad Chad Gaming @D_Pad_Chad]

@lunarfq I don't know, would you 😉

[Georgia Knight @Hadrians_Gate]

What do you think of my Bird-of-Prey Tat?

#startrek #StarTrekTNG #tattoo #sciencefiction #scifi

[D-Pad Chad Gaming @D_Pad_Chad]

He went to phase 2!

[jass @JASS1000001]

Men only want one thing and it’s absolutely disgusting

Meanwhile Men:

[The Husky @Mr_Husky1]

My wife and I only meant to make a quick appearance at the neighborhood festival. Music was playing, people were laughing, and the air smelled like grilled food and summer. We figured we’d say hello, grab a bite, and head home.

We had no idea we were about to meet the dog who would change everything.

The local shelter had set up a large pen with around a dozen dogs inside. It was a full-on chorus—jumping, barking, spinning in circles, all of them trying to be noticed at once. My wife immediately pointed at a small reddish dog and said, “That one. He’s adorable. We should take him.”

I hung back a little. Not because I wasn’t interested—because I wanted to actually see.

And that’s when I spotted him.

A big white dog, sitting quietly off to the side, like he’d learned that being calm doesn’t win you attention. He wasn’t pushing to the front. He wasn’t making noise. In the middle of all that chaos, he was practically invisible.

The shelter volunteers offered short walks. We took the little red dog first. It was… not great. He pulled like a sled dog, barely acknowledged us, and acted like the whole thing was an inconvenience. So we brought him back.

I glanced toward the corner again and finally asked, “What about the big white one?”

The volunteer’s smile softened. “He’s almost a year old,” she said. “He’s deaf. He was adopted once… and returned.”

She didn’t have to say more. The rest was written all over her face: people see the word “deaf” and decide it’s too much. They don’t even try.

We asked to walk him anyway.

And within minutes, the decision made itself.

He was gentle. Focused. He watched our hands, our shoulders, our steps—reading everything he could. Not confused. Not “broken.” Just tuned in differently, working hard to understand. The kind of dog who’s always trying to do the right thing.

My wife looked at me. I looked at her. We both knew it at the same time: this wasn’t a test walk. This was our dog.

His belongings were still back at the shelter, about 10 minutes away, so my wife drove to pick them up while I helped him into our car. The second he climbed in, he folded into the seat like a dog who’d been holding himself together for too long. Then he fell asleep instantly—twisted sideways, head tilted down, paws in the air, completely trusting, completely peaceful.

I actually laughed out loud.

Because in that ridiculous, upside-down sleep position, you could see the truth: he wasn’t guarding himself anymore.

That deaf dog—chosen once, returned once—had finally landed somewhere he didn’t have to earn his place.

No speech. No promises.

He just knew.

He was home.

Credit - my best fury friend