David OBrien

[David OBrien @DavidOB99283078]

@Kentuckygirl1 @SecScottBessent Is there any way to make a wager on her outcome? Are their gambling companies who offer the odds?

[Kentucky Girl @Kentuckygirl1]

This is Emma Tucker.

She's the WSJ editor who showed the world an aerial photo of the DC home newly purchased by @SecScottBessent, jeopardizing his safety, and that of his family.

With geo-locate on it, giving Iran or leftist extremists the exact location of his home.

Thanks to her obviously calculated decision to dox him, he was forced to relocate to a military base for his safety.

This woman is a despicable POS.

[Samurai Shiba @SamuraiShibaJP]

My nephew's teacher gave every kid in her sixth-grade class in Japan a blank map of America.

Fifty empty states. One instruction:

"Write what you think is in each one."

No phones. No looking it up. Here is America, according to Japanese sixth graders.

TEXAS: "Everything. Texas is the boss of America." One boy drew Texas, decided it was too small, and drew it again, bigger, over the top of New Mexico.

ALASKA: "Santa Claus. Confirmed." Underneath, in smaller letters: "and one moose who is his friend."

FLORIDA: "Alligators and grandmas. They live together. Nobody minds."

NEW YORK: "Too many people. That is why the Statue of Liberty is standing. There are no seats."

KANSAS: "Very flat. You can see your friend coming for three days."

IDAHO: "Potato." Another map: "Potatoes." A third map: just a potato in a cowboy hat.

MINNESOTA: "Very cold. Everyone says it isn't."

WYOMING: A question mark. In a cowboy hat.

KENTUCKY: "Fried chicken. The old man with the white beard lives here." (In Japan, a lot of families eat KFC on Christmas. This boy has done the math.)

About twenty states were blank on almost every map. Nobody knew what goes in Delaware. One boy solved this by drawing one big arrow across all the empty ones and writing, "MORE AMERICA."

Then the teacher handed me one last map. She said she'd been saving it.

It belonged to a quiet girl named Tsumugi.

Fourteen months ago, Tsumugi's father was transferred to America by his company. He's an engineer. Plant to plant, state to state. In Japan, it's common for the father to go alone and the family to stay behind. So it's Tsumugi and her mother. And a phone call every Sunday morning. Tsumugi has never cried on that call. Not once. She says that's her job.

Her map is mostly empty. Only eleven states have anything in them.

And there's a name in every one.

OHIO: "The Brennans. Four dogs. They made Dad wear an Ohio State shirt. He looks bad in it. He wore it on our call anyway."

GEORGIA: "Miss Odessa. Peach pie. Dad cried. He said it was because the pie was hot."

TEXAS: "Big Lyndon. Brisket. He calls Dad 'Tokyo.' Dad answers to it now."

TENNESSEE: "The Pruitts' church. They prayed for me by name. I am famous in Tennessee."

MICHIGAN: "The Lindqvists. It was snowing. Dad had no coat. They gave him one and said keep it. He wears it on every call. Inside."

ALABAMA: "Coach Rawls. Dad's first football game. He doesn't understand football. He yelled anyway. He lost his voice. Mom laughed until she fell off the couch."

KANSAS: "Grandma Jo. She is not my grandma. She told Dad to tell me she is now."

ARIZONA: "The Ramirez family. Thanksgiving. 31 people. They asked Dad to say grace. He prayed in Japanese. They all said amen."

INDIANA: "Dad's car broke down at night. A man drove him 40 miles and wouldn't take money. We call him the Indiana Man."

PENNSYLVANIA: "Mrs. Yoder. Dad got sick. She left soup at the hotel front desk for three days, so she wouldn't bother him."

NORTH CAROLINA: "A boy, 7, gave Dad half his sandwich at a baseball game because Dad 'looked hungry.' Dad was not hungry. He ate the whole half."

Out in the ocean below the map, where there was room, in careful pencil, in English she had obviously practiced:

"Thank you for giving my dad dinner. I am taking care of my mom. Please keep taking care of him."

The teacher put Tsumugi's map dead center on the wall. All the others around it.

During the break, the boy who wrote "MORE AMERICA" walked up to it and didn't move.

Finally he asked her, "Is Kansas really flat?"

"Dad says it's flat," she said. "He says it's his favorite place in the whole world."

"Why?"

She thought about it.

"Because nobody let him eat alone."

The boy went back to his desk. He erased his big arrow. Then, in every empty state on his map, all twenty of them, he wrote the same thing:

"Probably somebody nice."

So, if you've ever set an extra plate on a Sunday for a stranger with an accent, a long way from home, there's a 12-year-old in Japan who has your state on her classroom wall. She knows how many dogs you have.

And Delaware: a boy in Japan is pretty sure you're somebody nice.

Don't let him down.

[Fact Leaks @FactLeaksQ]

Democrat strategist Alencia Johnson was spinning wildly on CNN, accusing President Trump of taking away the voting rights of black Americans.

Scott Jennings didn’t interrupt her. Instead, he waited for her to finish.

When he entered the fray, he asked the one question that unraveled her entire narrative: “How?”

JOHNSON: “He is actually championing a bill that actually would take voting rights away from a lot of black people in this country, all during black history month, and then call the president the first black president and the first lady monkeys and apes in this during this month.”

“So this doesn’t absolve Donald Trump of his racism. We all know exactly who he is. The reality is the conversation, and the question should be, why do people continue to support him if they don’t want us to believe they are okay with racism?”

JENNINGS: “Wait, what voting rights is he taking away from black voters?”

JOHNSON: “The SAVE Act! That’s exactly what we’re talking about.”

JENNINGS: “How?”

JOHNSON: “That is actually going to disenfranchise overwhelmingly a lot of people of color.”

JENNINGS: “How? How?”

JOHNSON: “There are so many civil rights organizations that have run the data. If you look at the way it is going to disenfranchise black voters—”

JENNINGS: “How?”

JOHNSON: “It’s the same reason Chuck Schumer called it Jim Crow 2.0.”

JENNINGS: “How? You haven’t said how yet!”

JOHNSON: “I am talking about it. It’s the way that you’re putting new poll taxes on us.”

JENNINGS: “Poll taxes?!”

JOHNSON: “If you want to say that people have to prove that they are citizens, that they have to prove with a voter ID, the reality is you’re layering what is a constitutional right for the American people and making it harder for people to vote in this country, and it’s going to disenfranchise black voters.”

That’s when @ScottJenningsKY landed his knockout blow.

JENNINGS: “Does it concern you that you’re making all these claims you’ve yet to lay out how it’s hurting anyone.”

“But 76% of black voters think we should show an ID to vote. 80% of hispanic voters, 83% of the American people.”

“Are you saying that black voters are too dumb to know what’s good for them?”

“I mean, it sounds pretty condescending to me.”

[Afshine Emrani MD FACC @afshineemrani]

By early 1969, John had married Yoko, leaving Cynthia to raise their five year old son, Julian, with very little financial support. Although John was a global superstar, he left Cynthia with only a small divorce settlement, making it very difficult for her to maintain a home and provide for her son’s future.

During the years following the divorce, Paul McCartney took on a role in Julian’s life that was much more like a father figure than an uncle. While John was heavily focused on his new life, Paul made a point to visit Cynthia and Julian at their home to check on how they were holding up.

This genuine concern led to the creation of the legendary song “Hey Jude.” In 1968, while Paul was driving to visit them, he began humming a melody to comfort the young boy.

He originally titled the song “Hey Jules” as a direct message to Julian, telling him to take a sad situation and make it better.

Within a few years, Cynthia found herself in a desperate financial situation and realized she needed to raise money quickly to keep her and Julian alive.

She made the heartbreaking decision to auction off the intimate love letters and hand drawn sketches John had sent her during their teenage years in Liverpool.

These items were incredibly personal, featuring passionate declarations of love and private jokes from a time before the Beatles were famous. In one particularly emotional letter, John had written,

“I love you like anything Cynthia… I’m just thinking about us and how much I want to be with you,” and often signed them off with “I love you, Cyn” alongside hand drawn hearts.

It was an agonizing sacrifice for Cynthia to part with these priceless mementos of her youth.

The collection eventually sold for a very high price, and it was soon revealed that the secret buyer was actually Paul McCartney. Paul had paid a small fortune to secure the items, but he did not keep them for himself. Instead, he had every letter and drawing neatly framed and mailed them back to Cynthia a few days later. He included a touching note that simply said,

“Never sell your memories. Love, Paul McCartney.”

This act of kindness ensured that Cynthia could keep the money she needed for survival while also holding onto the history of her family.

True friendship knows no boundaries. Even when a family or a group falls apart, the bonds of loyalty remain.

Paul McCartney showed that being a friend means showing up for people when they are at their lowest and protecting their dignity when they cannot protect it themselves.

More You should see this

[Grandad Farms @grandadfarms]

I've gotten a lot of hate mail in the 11 days since we announced our packaging will be English-only, and that we'll only hire Americans. To those people I say: only TRAITORS help invaders.

[Jack @jackunheard]

Democrats are mighty silent about pride flags getting banned by the Muslims they elected.

[Dan Knight @DanKnightMMA]

There's a party going on in Antalya, Turkey this week. Sunshine, the Mediterranean, five-star hotels. It's called COP31, and if you're a Canadian taxpayer, congratulations, you're helping pay for it.

The point, we're told, is saving the planet. The planet appears to need a lot of saving at seaside resorts.

My wife caught me scoffing at it and asked if I even believe the world is warming. Sure, maybe it is. But I don't think the guy ordering a second bottle of champagne on the terrace is the one fixing it.

On her way there, our environment minister, Julie Dabrusin, told Canadian Press that Canada is "absolutely committed" to hitting its climate targets.

Absolutely committed. That's nice to hear.

Except her own side doesn't buy it. Catherine McKenna, a former Liberal environment minister who's at the same summit, called it "factually untrue" and says Canada has "zero chance." Steven Guilbeault, who had the job right before Dabrusin, agrees.

So let's call it what it is: very expensive virtue signalling. The flights, the hotels, the delegations and the speeches all cost money, and none of it changes a single number back home.

And here's the part nobody in Antalya wants to say out loud. Our rules don't cut pollution. They just ship it overseas. Every factory we regulate out of Canada reopens in China, where nobody cares about smog, dirty air or any of it. Same emissions, sometimes worse, just not on our books. We lose the jobs, and the planet doesn't gain a thing.

We don't need another summit. We don't need another promise. We need to stop.

Stop flying ministers to resorts to make pledges their own party says are fiction. Stop pretending a photo op is climate policy. Stop sending Canadians the bill.

Because none of this is about the planet. The emissions just move to China, the jobs go with them, and you pay for the flights. What you get for it is that the Liberals and their voters get to feel good about themselves.

That's the product. That's what your money buys.

Pigs at the trough. Time to take the trough away.

[Sama Hoole @SamaHoole]

In 2004 the sheep on a Yorkshire moor worked out how to cross a cattle grid, and the village below them has not had a safe flowerbed since.

A cattle grid is the simplest idea in farming. A pit across the road with steel bars over it. A hoof cannot grip the bars, so the animal will not cross. It has kept sheep on hills for the best part of a century.

The hill sheep above Marsden, near Huddersfield, looked at theirs for a while.

Then one of them lay down on its side at the edge of the grid and rolled. Over and over, eight feet across the bars, like a soldier going under wire. It got up on the far side and walked into the village.

Others watched and did the same. Within a season the trick had gone through the flock. Villagers woke to sheep on their lawns, in their vegetable plots and browsing the churchyard. A local councillor told the BBC, with some feeling, that they were also clearing five-foot fences and squeezing through eight-inch gaps.

Nobody had taught them. One animal solved the problem and the rest learned it by watching, which is how sheep learn everything, and why a flock knows its own hill.

For as long as there have been jokes about sheep, the joke has been that they follow each other.

At Marsden they followed the one that had cracked it, across a barrier designed by engineers for the sole purpose of stopping them.

[Sama Hoole @SamaHoole]

Lewis Hamilton says going vegan is the only way to save the planet, and he is not a serious person, because of what he was sitting in when he said it.

In October 2019 he told his 13 million followers that the world was a mess, that the extinction of our race was becoming likely, that he felt like giving up on everything, and that his life had had no meaning until he stopped eating meat. "Go vegan," he wrote, "it is the only way to truly save our planet today."

He posted this as the lead driver for a team whose title sponsor was a national oil company. His job is to drive a car in circles at 200mph, two dozen weekends a year, on five continents, with the cars, the garages, the hospitality suites and several thousand people flown round the world behind him. Between races he had commuted for years in a private jet painted red.

The post was deleted. He explained that he had since sold the jet.

He then opened a vegan burger chain, to give the high street a healthier option. It was valued at £50 million, lost £7.9 million in a year, earned two stars out of five for hygiene in Camden and went into liquidation.

Having run out of people to convert, he started on the dog.

In 2020 he announced that Roscoe, his bulldog, was now "fully vegan". A bulldog is a wolf that has been through a great deal already. He still has the teeth, which are called canines, after him. A television vet called the diet extremely dangerous. Roscoe was not consulted, on account of being a dog, and ate what the man with the tin opener put down.

Hamilton then invested in a vegan dog food company and had Roscoe appointed its chief taste officer. The two recipes are called The Cowbell and The Roost. So the food is named after the two animals the dog would have chosen, and contains neither.

A grown man can live on lentils if he likes. He has a nutritionist, a chef and a choice. The bulldog had a bowl.

He has since moved to Ferrari, whose cars carry the badge of a different oil company.

So the planet's problems, as diagnosed by a man who burns fuel for a living on behalf of people who drill for it, come down to your Sunday roast and his dog's dinner.

He has seven world championships. Not one was won on lentil power, and every one was celebrated on a podium paid for by petrol.

The only member of the household who never burned a drop of it was the one put on the diet.

[Deep Leaks @DeepLeaksHQ]

I was never racist until you bastards flooded us with tens of millions of degenerates from every dark, shit hole corner of the universe.

I was never racist until you then fed them, Housed them, Clothed them, & gave them free healthcare on my dime.

I was never racist until those same degenerates started raping & murdering my people.

I was never racist until I watched you defend those illegal alien child rapists, traffickers & murderers.

I was never racist until you took to the streets, blocking ICE & assaulting law enforcement just to further defend those degenerates against deportation.

I was never racist until hundreds of billions of our taxpayer dollars were stripped away from us by tens of thousands of inbred, bubble head, low IQ leeches that do not belong here.

I was never racist until you fkers went overboard and out of your way to replace American workers & American lives with illegal aliens & basically any foreigner that wasn’t white.

I was never racist until you then created DEI policies to further rub that salt in our wounds, passing up over qualified white Americans just so you retards could check a quota box.

[Samurai Shiba @SamuraiShibaJP]

When a Japanese teenager flies home after a year inside an American family, the program waits twelve months. Then it calls the parents with one question:

"Has your child had any problems readjusting to life in Japan?"

My aunt Tamaki has made that call for twenty-three years.

The parents are supposed to say no.

Almost none of them say no.

There is a little box on her form for the answer. Two lines. In twenty-three years, nobody has stayed inside the box.

Here are a few.

"He wears shorts in February. We live in the mountains. The neighbors think we can't afford pants. In January, one of them left a pair at our door. Folded. With a note. 'For the boy.'" (Mother. Son's year: Minnesota)

"He fixed our toaster. Then the neighbor's bicycle. Then the neighbor's neighbor's sliding door. He is seventeen and he wears a tape measure on his belt. To dinner. On Sundays there's a line outside our apartment. I sent a son to Michigan. They sent back a hardware store." (Father. Son's year: Michigan)

"She still wears the sweatshirt from her high school in Idaho. Every day. When they lose on Friday night, she doesn't speak at breakfast on Saturday. They went two and seven last fall. It was a very quiet autumn." (Father. Daughter's year: Idaho)

"Every time she pays at the register, she asks, 'How are you today?' And then she waits for the answer. That cashier has worked at our supermarket for 22 years. Nobody ever waited. Now she hides the best bananas under the counter for my daughter. Like contraband. Last week the cashier asked my daughter how SHE was. My daughter had to go stand in the rice aisle for a minute." (Mother. Daughter's year: Oregon)

"He stands up every time his grandmother walks into the room. She's 87. Nobody has stood up for her since her wedding. Now she leaves the room and comes back in. Four times during one TV drama. She put on lipstick for the fourth one." (Mother. Son's year: South Carolina)

"Every Saturday she takes a guitar to the old people's home down the street. She knows four chords. Every song she plays is the same four chords. They request songs anyway. There's a man there, 91, who stopped talking to anyone years ago. Now he claps. On the wrong beat. Loudly. The nurses say it's the most he has moved in a year. They have stopped correcting the beat." (Mother. Daughter's year: West Virginia)

"At the airport, he shook my hand. Firm. He looked me in the eye like I was a man he respected. He's sixteen. I told him I needed the bathroom. I stood in there a while. A stranger asked if I was all right. I said, 'My son is home.' He didn't understand. I didn't explain." (Father. Son's year: Wyoming)

And then there's the call Tamaki didn't write down.

There wasn't a box big enough.

Kanna, seventeen, spent her year with the Dorseys, in a farm town in Indiana. Every night at dinner, the Dorseys did something called high-low. Everybody says the best part of their day and the worst part. Nobody is allowed to skip.

The youngest Dorsey's high was always dessert. Mr. Dorsey's low, every single night for eleven months, was the lawn.

On her first night, Kanna tried to skip. They waited. So she said her low was that she missed her mother. Then she couldn't stop crying, at a table full of strangers, over a casserole.

Craig Dorsey passed her the rolls.

"That's a good low, kiddo. Means you've got a good mom."

There was one rule, he told her. Nobody fixes anybody's low. You just say, "Thanks for telling us."

Kanna brought high-low home.

Her family thought it was the strangest thing America had done to her. Her grandmother's high was the weather. Every night. Her little brother's low was having to do high-low. And her father, an office worker, 51, said the same thing every night, in the tone of a man reading out stock prices:

"High: nothing. Low: nothing."

Four months of that.

Then one night in November:

"High: nothing."

He stopped.

"Low."

He put his chopsticks down. He looked at the soy sauce bottle like it might help him.

"I don't have a job."

He had lost it in August. Twenty-eight years at one company, then one meeting. For three months, he had put on his suit every morning at 7:10, picked up his briefcase, said "I'm off," and spent the day on a bench by the river. He came home at 6:30. He even complained about the trains.

In Japan, some men do this. They will sit on a bench for months before they'll say it at the dinner table.

Nobody moved. His wife stopped breathing. His son put his game face-down on the table.

Kanna had no idea what you say to that. So she reached for the only thing she had. The Indiana rule.

"Thanks for telling us, Dad."

Then her grandmother reached over and put her hand on top of his. She's 83. She had not held her son's hand since he was in grade school.

And she said her high.

"Tomorrow you can stay home and watch my programs with me."

Nobody at that table had seen him cry before. Or laugh at dinner. Both happened at once. It made a sound nobody could identify.

He found a new job in February. Smaller company. Less money. Longer train.

That night:

"High: everything."

"And low?"

He thought about it.

"Your grandmother is upset I won't be home for her programs."

When Kanna told the Dorseys, Craig wrote back that his high that night was a man in Japan he has never met.

His low was still the lawn.

"So yes," Kanna's mother told Tamaki. "We have a problem. Dinner takes an hour now. Please send more children to Indiana."

So, America.

The high-low at dinner. Waiting for the cashier's answer. Standing up when Grandma walks in. You think it's small. You think it's corny. Your teenagers roll their eyes so hard you can hear it.

We sent you one of ours for a year. She came back corny.

And a man in Japan got up off a bench.

Stay corny, America. It travels.

[Voices of WW2 @VoicesofWW2]

In the summer of 1944, American bombers were pounding the oil fields of Ploiești in Romania, one of Hitler's most important fuel supplies.

The flak was brutal. Bombers were torn apart in the sky. Crippled planes limped home over Yugoslavia, and many didn't make it. Hundreds of American airmen bailed out over the mountains of Serbia.

They landed in occupied territory, surrounded by German troops.

And Serbian villagers hid them.

The families who took them in were poor farmers. Many barely had enough food for themselves. They fed the Americans anyway. They gave up their beds and slept outside. They hid them in barns and homes while German patrols searched the area, knowing that if they were caught, their villages could be burned and their families killed.

Many of the airmen were also protected by Chetnik fighters under General Draža Mihailović, a royalist resistance leader.

By mid 1944 there were hundreds of American airmen hiding in the area around a village called Pranjani. Wounded. Hungry. Stuck.

They needed a way out.

So the OSS, America's wartime spy agency, launched a rescue. In August 1944, three Americans parachuted in. Lieutenant George Musulin, a huge former football player whose parents had come from Serbia. Sergeant Michael Rajacich. And a radio operator named Arthur Jibilian.

Their plan was insane. Build an airstrip, behind enemy lines, in the mountains, big enough for C-47 cargo planes to land and take off. Then fly hundreds of men out under the Germans' noses.

They had no bulldozers. No heavy equipment.

So the airmen and the villagers did it by hand. With shovels, oxcarts, and whatever tools the farmers had. They cleared and leveled a strip of land on a hillside. It was dangerously short for the planes that needed to use it.

On the night of August 9, 1944, the first C-47s came in. Pilots landed on the rough strip in the dark, guided by signal fires.

Over the next days and weeks, plane after plane landed, loaded up airmen, and took off again. Around 500 Allied airmen were flown out. It's considered the largest rescue of American airmen from behind enemy lines in history.

Many of the airmen gave their shoes to the villagers before they got on the planes. It was the only thing they had to give.

Then the story disappeared.

By 1944, the Allies had switched their support to Josip Tito's communist Partisans. After the war, Tito's government arrested Mihailović. Airmen who had been rescued by his men wanted to testify on his behalf. They weren't allowed.

In 1946, Mihailović was executed.

In 1948, President Truman secretly awarded him the Legion of Merit for rescuing American airmen. It was kept classified for nearly 20 years to avoid upsetting relations with Yugoslavia.

For decades, Operation Halyard was barely mentioned in American history books.

Hundreds of Americans went home to their families because Serbian peasants risked everything for strangers who fell out of the sky.

[𝔾𝕠𝕝𝕗&𝕋𝕣𝕚 🏊🏼‍♀️🚴🏼‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️⛳️🇺🇸🦅 @GolfandTri]

A MUST READ:

🚨 BIG UPDATE:
President Trump - today, because of you - Secretary of Homeland Security Mullin is in tears. Tears streaming down his face in front of the entire chamber. And he said it himself — what President Trump did for my son - I will carry that gratitude with me for the rest of my life.

Senator Markwayne Mullin's 15-year-old son Jim was a world-class wrestler. Strong.
Gifted. His father's entire world. Then, one day, a severe brain injury changed everything in an instant. Jim opened his eyes - and he could no longer recognize his own parents. The son Markwayne had watched grow up every day - looked at his own father and saw a complete stranger.

There was only one thing Jim still remembered. Donald Trump was the President.

When Trump learned what had happened- he didn't simply send a card. He didn't make a public statement. He personally picked up the phone and called. Then he sent his private plane so Jim could travel to a rehabilitation center in California.

And for two weeks - even while in the middle of the campaign trail - Trump called that boy every single day.

Then one day, his staff told him it was time to leave. He said, "not yet." They returned again. He said, "not yet." The third time they came - Trump looked at them and said - "I guarantee you that plane isn't leaving for at least 15 more minutes."

He walked inside. Sat beside Jim. Took his hand. And said — "Do you know why I love your dad? Because he loves you."
That one sentence. That one visit. Began helping Jim's memory come back.

And in March 2026 - Mullin sat inside that chamber - tears he simply couldn't hold back - and said the words that left everyone listening emotional.
"He did not do it for publicity. He did it because he cared.

My wife heard this tonight and couldn't speak for a very long time. Then she quietly said - a man who stops a plane for a 15-year-old boy - without cameras, without headlines, without asking for credit
- that isn't a President simply performing his duty. That is a human being showing a very rare kind of heart.

Tonight, say one prayer for Jim Mullin and his recovery. And say another for the man who chose to sit beside him when he had every reason to keep moving. 😭 🙏🇺🇸
Post credit: Temp2165 IG

[Paul A. Szypula 🇺🇸 @Bubblebathgirl]

ABC once again lied about SpaceX on Saturday. The network reported the Starship booster “fell into the Gulf of Mexico and exploded” after the tower catch failed. That’s not what happened.

The booster ran a controlled autonomous descent. After detecting it wasn’t in the right position for a safe chopstick catch, the system correctly aborted the attempt and diverted offshore. It completed a landing burn and splashdown exactly as designed for a contingency.

The Super Heavy booster isn’t built for water recovery, so the flight termination system was then intentionally triggered to burn residual propellant. That produced the fireball ABC treated as an uncontrolled failure. SpaceX itself confirmed the landing burn and successful splashdown.

ABC once again framed a routine test contingency as a catastrophic disaster. This is why nobody trusts mainstream media. Starship reached orbit and remains on track for its own catch attempt this afternoon. The separated booster did its job on descent by protecting the tower. ABC’s lying headline is the real failure.

[Javier Negre @javiernegre10]

Una horda de musulmanes en edad militar se declara “solados de Allah” y toma las calles de un suburbio de Manchester en un desfile para pedir la aplicación de la ley sharía ahora que ya son mayoría en el barrio.

La vecina inglesa que lo graba no da crédito, hasta todos los rótulos de los negocios están en árabe, “asegura que han conquistado su ciudad por completo sin un solo disparo”

El califato islámico de Inglaterra ya es una realidad.

[Bad Hombre @Badhombre]

Obama spent $2.1 billion to build a website that didn’t work.

Pete Buttigieg spent $8 billion to build 8 EV charging stations.

Gavin Newsom spent $16 billion on a train to nowhere.

Joe Biden spent $43 billion on rural broadband and connected zero houses to the internet.

$273 billion was thrown away on USAID in the past decade.

Sean Duffy is asking for an additional $30 billion to finish modernizing air traffic control, and these people are melting down.

[Jay @pu3he]

我的天呐

马斯克这话一出，估计全美国的大学校长都要睡不着了。

他说美国需要建一批全新的大学，钱要花在真正的教学上，别再拿去养一大堆行政人员。

在他看来，大学对很多人来说被高估了，太多学生读了四年，背了一屁股贷款，出来却没学到什么真本事，真正要紧的是学到能在现实世界里用得上的东西。

要知道，马斯克自己当年考进斯坦福读博，只待了两天就退学跑去创业了，特斯拉招人也早就公开说过不看学历，只看你实际干成过什么。

他手下的 SpaceX 和特斯拉养着全世界最顶尖的一批工程师，他这么说，等于在说他要的人，现在的大学未必培养得出来。

有点像一家餐厅收了你四年的钱，大头都花在门口迎宾和收银台上，后厨反倒没几个人在认真炒菜。

未来 AI 越来越能干，以后文凭的含金量恐怕还会继续往下掉，以后比的大概就是你到底能做出什么东西了。

[wealthmoose @wealthmoose]

🇨🇦 MET AN ELDERLY CANADIAN AT TORONTO PEARSON AIRPORT.

HE SAID SOMETHING ABOUT CANADA I’LL NEVER FORGET.

Our flight was delayed.

He was sitting beside me, wearing a faded Canadian flag pin on his jacket, reading the news on his phone.

I asked him where he was going.

“Florida. Visiting my grandchildren.”

“Nice. Escaping the Canadian winter?”

He laughed.

“Son, I’ve survived 70 Canadian winters. It’s the politics I’m getting tired of.”

I smiled.

“So you’re not a fan of Mark Carney?”

He put down his phone.

“Let me tell you something.”

“I’ve worked for 45 years. Paid my taxes. Raised three children. Built a business. Never asked the government for much.”

“Canada gave me opportunities I’ll always be grateful for.”

“So what’s changed?” I asked.

He pointed toward a young family sitting across from us.

“Look at them.”

“Both parents probably work. They’re travelling with two kids. They’ve got a mortgage, groceries, insurance, daycare and taxes to worry about.”

“Forty years ago, a family could reasonably dream of owning a home on one good income.”

“Today, even two incomes don’t guarantee that.”

I nodded.

He continued.

“Young Canadians are graduating with debt, competing for jobs and wondering whether they’ll ever afford the life their parents had.”

I asked him whether he blamed the Liberal government.

He smiled.

“I blame governments when they make poor decisions. I give them credit when they make good ones. That’s how democracy should work.”

Then he said something interesting.

“These days, criticize Carney or the Liberals and someone will tell you you’re being anti-Canadian.”

“Does that bother you?”

He looked at the maple leaf on his jacket.

“Son, I’ve been wearing this flag longer than some of those politicians have been alive.”

“I didn’t need permission from Pierre Trudeau to love Canada.”

“I didn’t need permission from Stephen Harper.”

“And I certainly don’t need permission from Mark Carney.”

Our boarding announcement came over the speaker.

He stood up, picked up his carry-on and turned toward me.

“Let me ask you something.”

“What?”

“If you love your home, and the roof starts leaking, do you stop loving your home?”

“Of course not.”

“You fix the roof.”

“And if the people you hired to maintain it keep making things worse?”

“You hold them accountable.”

He smiled.

“Exactly.”

Then he said something that stayed with me.

“CANADA IS OUR HOME. THE GOVERNMENT IS JUST THE MANAGEMENT.”

“You can love your country without loving the people running it.”

As he walked toward the gate, I noticed the maple leaf on his jacket again.

And suddenly, I understood.

Politicians come and go.

Governments rise and fall.

But Canada belongs to Canadians, not to whichever political party happens to be in power.

I LOVE CANADA.

I DON’T HAVE TO LOVE ITS GOVERNMENT.

And questioning its leadership doesn’t make anyone less Canadian.

It means we still care enough to demand better. 🇨🇦

#Canada #Patriotism

[Chris Martz @ChrisMartzWX]

The only issue with nuclear fission is that it’s good. And that’s why climate zealots oppose it. It delivers dense, reliable, near-zero-emission power 24/7 with a tiny land footprint. If we cut the bureaucratic red tape to lower costs and standardized reactor designs like China has, it would solve the climate change “issue” overnight. But climate alarmists only want solar and wind, which need endless overbuilding, backup power, and rolling blackouts to keep the electric grid going. Intermittency justifies rationing and state control over how much energy you are allowed to use. If you control energy, you control human behavior. And that's what the climate debate is about. It's not about science. It's not about energy. It's about power, control, and wealth redistribution.