In the summer of 1995 I was given a choice that I didn't know was life or death.
I was a data systems analyst with the 33rd Fighter Wing out of Eglin Air Force Base, Florida. F-15Es. I tracked every break on every jet after the day's sorties, built the readiness reports, forecasted the trends from a little office right on the flight line. JP-8 in the morning air. Great people. I loved it.
In my off hours I served on the base Honor Guard. We carried the caskets of fallen service members, fired the 21-gun salute, and folded the flag into a tight triangle to hand to a mother, a widow, a child. I have looked a lot of grieving families in the eye. I did not yet understand how close I would come to being the reason someone folded a flag for me.
Late that summer I learned our unit was rotating to Saudi Arabia for Operation Southern Watch. They gave me a choice: deploy in January, or wait and go with the next rotation later in the year.
My boyfriend at the time—my husband now—told me to just get it over with and go in January, when the desert "only" hits 105 instead of 120. So I said yes.
The week before I shipped out, a quiet young Airman moved into the dorm room across the hall. A crew chief in my unit. We'd nod and say hey passing in the hallway but I never got the chance to really know him because we deployed the next week.
I did my 93 days in Dhahran, lived in Khobar Towers with hundreds of other Americans, came home that spring on a 24-hour C-130 ride, got engaged, went back to the beach and the good Florida weather and ordinary life.
My quiet neighbor deployed with the next rotation. The one I'd chosen not to be on.
Two weeks before that rotation was set to come home, terrorists bombed Khobar Towers. Nineteen American Airmen were killed. Twelve of them were ours, from the 33rd. One of them was the quiet crew chief from across the hall—Airman 1st Class Peter J. Morgera, 19 years old, from Stratham, New Hampshire.
Over the years I've wondered why my husband told me to go early. Why I came home and they didn't.
There is no tidy answer. What I have is a responsibility—to make sure they are not just a number. So today, say their names with me.
Eglin lost:
MSgt Kendall K. Kitson, Jr. — Yukon, OK
TSgt Daniel B. Cafourek — Watertown, SD
TSgt Patrick P. Fennig — Greendale, WI
TSgt Thanh Van Nguyen — Panama City, FL
SrA Earl F. Cartrette, Jr. — Sellersburg, IN
SrA Jeremy A. Taylor — Rose Hill, KS
Sgt Millard D. Campbell — Angleton, TX
A1C Brent E. Marthaler — Cambridge, MN
A1C Brian W. McVeigh — DeBary, FL
A1C Peter J. Morgera — Stratham, NH
A1C Joseph E. Rimkus — Edwardsville, IL
A1C Joshua E. Woody — Corpus Christi, TX
Memorial Day isn't about the ones who came home. It's about them. I get to be grateful only because they paid for it.
Say their names today. 🇺🇸
They can’t win on the merits. They can’t win with thirty million illegal alien votes. They can’t win with ballot harvesting and dead voters. Even three assassination attempts didn’t do the trick.
So, hey, why not just shred the constitution and simply take over?
#Democrats
$STRC is credit engineered for income, stability, liquidity, and principal protection. It is backed by our BTC and USD assets and supported by active treasury operations. We structured it as preferred equity rather than debt to make it more scalable, durable, global, and useful.
Spencer Pratt is going to demolish the two commie hacks, because he’s unabashedly showing the horror show Los Angeles turned into under their reign. This ad shows what we all dream of.
He might even win with enough of a margin to beat the Democrat cheat.
LA has over 40K drug addicts holding Angelenos hostage. All it takes is one to make moms feel too nervous to let their kids just go be kids and explore the quiet streets of their beautiful neighborhood. ENOUGH. We are done being held hostage in our own homes. Vote PRATT today!
Michael Kureth (@FireRebuild) long ago put together a comprehensive analysis of all the weather stations in the Palisades, showing that the "hurricane force wind" narrative was completely false. This wasn't a climate disaster, it was a government disaster https://t.co/uxQiEEmgcT
@KenDBerryMD Thanks for a great Meatstock. Wife and I have been carnivore since 2013. See bio. Haven't changed it since then. Great to be among other deputies. 🥩
Be well.
The WHCA alleged shooter wasn’t some nut job lurking on the fringes of society, forgotten by the system.
He was well-educated, credentialed, employed, and institutionally formed. That’s what makes this so disturbing.
At first glance, this doesn’t look like a breakdown of the system, it looks more like a product of it.
Academia, media, and politics helped build the moral permission structure.
Let that sink in.
I have been asked for my opinion about Pam Bondi...so here it is...
Pam Bondi, in my opinion...was deployed as a precision instrument in a theater of institutional warfare where the Attorney General’s role is less about courtroom theatrics and more about reshaping the Department of Justice’s internal architecture from within a bureaucracy engineered to resist exactly that.
To mistake her fifteen-month tour for failure is to misunderstand the architecture of power itself.
Bondi entered the DOJ in February 2025 after Matt Gaetz’s nomination collapsed under its own weight.
She inherited an agency riddled with holdovers, careerist prosecutors, and institutional muscle memory tuned to the prior regime’s priorities.
Her mandate, executed with the cold ferocity of a Florida prosecutor who once stared down the Clintons and lived to tell it, was never to play the long public game of show trials.
It was to do the lethal, invisible labor:
purge disloyal elements, redirect investigative task forces, shutter the foreign-influence shops that had become political protection rackets, and...most critically...build the factual scaffolding of cases that could survive judicial scrutiny once the political headwinds shifted.
That is precisely what she delivered.
Under her watch the DOJ secured historic gang and cartel takedowns, first-ever Antifa terrorism convictions, and a string of Supreme Court victories that rewrote the operational rules of engagement.
Murder rates plunged to levels unseen in over a century.
Those are not the metrics of a lightweight.
They are the metrics of someone who understood that the real war is won in the grand-jury rooms and the classified briefings long before any defendant ever sees a courtroom.
The public theater...the Epstein files fiasco, the congressional grillings, the slow-bleed perception that “Trump’s enemies weren’t being prosecuted fast enough”...was the predictable noise generated by an entrenched apparatus that weaponizes leaks, redactions, and procedural sabotage the moment it senses its own exposure.
Bondi absorbed that fire so the next occupant of the office would inherit dockets already primed, evidence chains already hardened, and a bureaucracy already blooded and compliant.
She was the breaching charge.
The follow-on force...now under acting leadership that can move with fewer Senate constraints and fresher political capital...gets to deliver the kill shots.
This is not speculation; it is the pattern of every high-stakes Trump DOJ transition.
First-term chaos taught the lesson:
the Senate-confirmed loyalist who survives confirmation must serve as the institutional wrecking ball.
The public demands scalps; the law demands airtight cases. Bondi supplied the latter while the former were still being assembled.
Those who call her tenure “incompetent” reveal either their ignorance of how the executive branch actually functions or their desire to keep the machine broken so it can never be turned against its former masters.
She was never meant to be the permanent face of the Justice Department.
She was the architect who laid the rebar and poured the concrete under fire.
The structure now stands. The new tenants can furnish it with indictments.
That is not failure. That is lethal, disciplined statecraft.
And the critics who cannot see the difference have no business commenting on power at this altitude.
💀⚖️
The Mongol Empire conquered sixteen percent of the earth's land surface. Most accounts of how they did it focus on cavalry tactics. Few mention the bag of dried meat hanging from the saddle.
It is called borts.
The technique is brutally simple, which is part of what makes it so devastatingly effective. Take a freshly slaughtered cow. Cut the meat into long strips, two to three centimetres thick, five to seven centimetres wide. Hang the strips on cords inside a ger, where the steppe wind can move freely around them. Wait. After about a month in the dry continental air of Mongolia, the meat is no longer meat in any sense a modern supermarket would recognise. It has become hard, brown, wood-like sticks. All the water has gone. What remains is pure protein, fat, and minerals, in a form that does not spoil and cannot be killed by anything short of fire.
Then they shrank it further.
The dried strips were broken down, sometimes ground to a coarse fibrous powder, until what had once been the muscle of an entire cow could fit, by repeated tradition, inside the stomach or bladder of that same cow. A whole animal, weeks of feeding, condensed into a single sack a man could sling under his saddle.
A pinch of borts powder, dropped into hot water, would yield a bowl of meat broth dense enough to feed three or four people. A warrior with a single bladder of borts on his hip was carrying months of food. He did not need a quartermaster. He did not need a cook. He did not need a wagon. He needed water, fire, and the few minutes it took to reconstitute what was effectively the world's first instant meal.
European armies, by comparison, were dragging baggage trains across the continent. Flour to be milled, then baked. Salt pork in barrels that needed lifting. Wine in casks. Cooking pots, fuel, ovens, the labour of men whose entire job was to keep the fighting men fed. A medieval European army moved at the speed of its slowest cart. The Mongols moved at the speed of their fastest horse, because their food moved with them, on them, weighing almost nothing.
Combine borts with kumis (the fermented mare's milk in the leather flask on the other hip) and the Mongol warrior had complete nutrition strapped to his body. Protein, fat, fermented dairy, vitamin C, B vitamins, calcium, electrolytes. Everything a man needs to fight, ride, recover, and fight again. No fire required. No stop required. No supply line to be cut by an enemy who had not yet realised the supply line was already in the saddlebag.
The Secret History of the Mongols, the only contemporary chronicle written by the Mongols themselves, mentions dried meat as the staple of long campaigns. Friar William of Rubruck, riding with them in 1253, describes the same. He marvels at how little they seemed to require to keep going. He was watching men powered by an entire cow shrunk to the size of his lunch.
Modern nutritionists, reconstructing borts, describe a food roughly 70 to 80 percent protein by weight after drying, with intact fats, full bioavailability of B12 and iron, and a shelf life measured in years.
It is, for all intents and purposes, the perfect carnivore travel food. Designed eight hundred years ago. Carried across half the known world. Used to overthrow the largest civilisations of its day.
The modern soldier, by contrast, eats an MRE. Three thousand calories of seed oil, refined wheat, sugar, and the bleak mathematics of corporate procurement. Cost: roughly $11 a meal. Shelf life: three to five years if you trust the packaging. Nutritional density per gram: a fraction of borts. Effect on the men eating them, by every honest field report in the last twenty years: digestive misery, blood sugar swings, and the sort of post-meal lethargy that is the exact opposite of what an army needs.
The Mongols solved this problem in the thirteenth century. They solved it with a knife, a string, and the wind.
We have spent eight hundred years complicating it.
The bag of dried meat is still the answer.
It always was.
The fleecing of the American citizen, this woman has had ongoing issues with skin cancer each time she’s had a $500 co-pay until one day her physician’s filling Department informed her that her insurance was no longer covering the $1400 so she contacted the insurance company and they explained to her that there was a rider on her policy stating they were no longer covering skin cancer and cholesterol, so she called the billing office back and asked what was the self-pay, after a quick check they said the $500 was adequate payment for the procedure ???
Later that same day she picked up a prescription for estrogen patches and the pharmacist gave her a price of $70 with insurance so she inquired how much it would be without insurance and they told her $14
Outward appearances indicate that her physician, pharmacist as well as the insurance company were in essence double dipping the way I see it ?
So many of us are on a fixed income and would much rather have the insurance company pay the $70 rather than pay $14 out of our pockets, is this where they live ?
In these margins ?🤬
How can we trust a diagnosis from folks who operate this way ?
"Sheryl Cowan, 57, was making $272,000 a year as a senior VP at a U.S.A.I.D.-funded nonprofit when she was let go at the end of March 2025. Last month she had an online interview for a $19-an-hour job managing a Penzeys Spices store in Falls Church, Va."
https://t.co/OGDiHFV79u
You think you're just eating "cheese"?
Think again.
90% of the American cheese on store shelves right now is made with a lab-engineered fake rennet called FPC — fermentation-produced chymosin.
And it was originally developed and patented by Pfizer in 1990. Yeah, *that* Pfizer.
Here's how they did it: They took the gene for chymosin (the key clotting enzyme from a calf's stomach), spliced it into Aspergillus Niger — black mold — using CRISPR gene-editing tech, then let the mold ferment in giant vats like some dystopian bio-reactor. The result? A synthetic enzyme that's cheaper, faster, and more consistent than the real thing.
Big Food loved it. No more baby calves. No supply limits. Just endless, uniform cheese bricks rolling off the line. FDA called it "substantially equivalent" to real rennet and gave it GRAS status with zero long-term human safety studies — just a 90-day rat trial. Sound familiar?
The worst part? This stuff isn't even listed properly.
On ingredient labels it hides behind vague wording:
- "enzymes"
- "microbial enzymes"
- "vegetarian rennet"
- or just plain "rennet"
And here's where it gets insidious: Plenty of people are getting bloating, digestive distress, skin issues, or straight-up allergic reactions after eating cheese... and they blame "dairy." But a growing number are realizing it's not the milk — it's the A. Niger residue or the GM process itself triggering the problem.
Real animal rennet? That's the traditional calf-stomach enzyme our ancestors used for thousands of years. It works with your body. No hidden mold genes.
Want the real stuff?
How to actually avoid this garbage:
- Look for labels that specifically say "animal rennet" or "calf rennet"
- Skip anything that says "microbial," "vegetarian," or just "enzymes"
- Buy European imports, artisanal, or raw-milk cheeses (they still use the old-school stuff)
- Certified Organic or Non-GMO Project Verified is safer (many ban FPC outright)
- Best move: find a local cheesemaker who tells you exactly what they use
They turned one of the oldest, most nutrient-dense foods on earth into another ultra-processed Franken-food and hoped you'd never notice.
Stop eating their science experiment.
Your gut (and your ancestors) will thank you.