Standing for America, together. 🇺🇸
On September 12th, the Red, White and Blue Game returns to Kyle Field — commemorating our nation's 250th anniversary and honoring 25 years since September 11.
We invite all Aggies to wear red, white and blue and stand united in remembrance.
O fato de que tanto Oppenheimer quanto A Odisseia serem filmes sobre homens arrependidos com o mal que eles soltaram no mundo é prova que o Nolan se arrepende de ter revivido a onda de filme de super herói
Many have wondered why Independence Day is celebrated on July 4 when the Declaration was signed on July 2. This is because the founders knew that celebrating the 250th anniversary on a Thursday would be a big bummer.
Trump: "Our Founders invoked the Creator four times in the Declaration of Independence. Four times. I wasn't mentioned once. I'm very upset. Not once."
.@AmericanAir came in clutch today. After our @united flights got canceled, AA got us home. Three flights in one day with a 5-month-old is not for the faint of heart.
It appears that stopping a flesh eating parasite from spreading across the continent was, in fact, NOT waste, fraud, and abuse.
https://t.co/NZuFGFdFhy
Still don’t know why Texas agreed to this trophy.
I can see an individual trophy for each sport, but this is for athletics as a whole. A&M owns them in just about every sport.
The first time you encounter a Buc-ee's on a long Texas highway at 2:13 in the morning, your mind is already compromised. You have been brutalized for hours by gas stations with flickering sodium lights and bathrooms that look like somebody lost a biological war in them sometime during the Reagan administration. The floor is always sticky. Hot dogs rotate endlessly on chrome rollers like condemned souls. There is a smell, a horrifying chemical fusion of burned coffee, windshield washer fluid, and vague biological alarm.
You stagger in expecting another convenience-store crime scene. Instead you find... something less disapointing. Notcivilization, but not ruin, either.
Not real civilization, Not Paris or Kyoto or even a decent roadside diner. Compared to the radioactive sinkholes scattered across the interstate system, Buc-ee's hits the nervous system like morphine. The bathrooms are clean. Not "gas station clean." Actually clean.
Gleaming tile. You could do surgery off this floor in an emergency if you had to. You don't want to, but you could. You walk in tense and suspicious, waiting for the inevitable horror show, and after thirty seconds you realize: nobody has threatened your soul here.
This is how they get you.
That's how it starts. After the bathroom comes the food. Brisket sandwiches hacked apart by cheerful employees under fluorescent lights bright enough for surgery. Beaver nuggets sold in industrial quantities. Jerky counters stretching to the horizon like some deranged carnivore stock exchange. In that moment? Sunburned, exhausted, running on caffeine and bad decisions? It feels transcendent; A holy oasis built by maniacs putting WAY TOO MUCH sugar in the BBQ sauce.
And the thing is? In the desert of the Interstate highway sustem? It works.
The human mind adapts quickly to suffering. After enough horrifying truck stops where the toilet paper hangs like surrender flags over apocalyptic wastelands, merely finding a place with functioning plumbing feels like witnessing the Second Coming. Buc-ee's understands this better than any psychologist. They are not selling gasoline. They are selling relief. the cute t-shirts are just icing. They promise that for fifteen minutes you can stop clenching every muscle in your asshole and just RELAX.
Then you return home, back to ordinary life. Back to cities with perfectly adequate grocery stores and restaurants and bathrooms that don't require emotional preparation. You reflect on the experience with a clearer head.
Was the brisket really that good?
No. Not really.
Was buying a three-pound sack of caramel corn shaped by a cartoon beaver actually rational human behavior? Absolutely not.
But out there on the open highway, deep in the feverlands between Dallas and the lack of civilization, Buc-ee's feels less like a gas station and more like stumbling onto an illuminated oasis in the desert while wolves howl somewhere beyond the parking lot.