Lafriend

Just lookin' for the truth in the beautiful USofA

[Lafriend @Lafriend5]

The Shadow Wolves are the Dept. of Homeland Security’s only Native American tracking unit. The Shadow Wolves have led or participated in 437 drug and immigration arrests along with the seizure of over 117,264 pounds of drugs, 45 weapons, 251 vehicles and $847,928 in US currency.

[Channel 5 @Channel5iveNews]

Inside ICE’s all-Native American tracking unit known as the Shadow Wolves.

[Lafriend @Lafriend5]

Interesting post on the importance of the king's visit in removing the U.S. from Admiralty Law.

[The Truth Harmonist @Luv_Is_Truth]

1/7 The Significance of the King's Visit

The British king and queen will visit America from April 27 to 30 as part of the final stages of the nation’s dismantling of British Admiralty Law, a critical step required for America to legally restore its sovereign state. Stops will be made in Washington, D.C., the 9/11 Memorial, and Virginia, with each location holding specific symbolic and historical significance tied to Britain's long-standing system that has quietly governed America for well over a century.

This process requires the living authority to appear in person at the exact centers of origin, control, and operation. This legal requirement makes the Crown’s participation mandatory as America fulfills the conditions to restore its sovereignty. Physical presence and public witness complete the legal record, with the King and Queen serving as the two living witnesses providing full and lawful testimony that America has fulfilled the conditions necessary to restore its sovereign state. As the living head of the British Crown that has governed America through Admiralty Law, the King carries the essential authority to lawfully sign off on the end of that system, the return of America’s sovereignty, and the shift back to the law of the land.

Together, their appearances at the highest levels of governance create a visible, ceremonial confirmation that the corporate maritime system is being brought to its lawful end in America, at its centers of power within the country. The visit begins where that power is currently concentrated.

[Bridgett Fertig @LightOnLiberty]

Who made this?! 😂

Wait for it!

They should air this during the Superbowl commercials to show the public the Truth and vindicate President Trump.

[Lafriend @Lafriend5]

After watching Stranger Things, I suspected that the series was based on the Montauk Project.
Now I’m sure of it.
https://t.co/KVUPOBSqO0

[Juanita Broaddrick @atensnut]

Humanity in action. ❤️❤️

[🧬Maxpein🧬 @maximumpain333]

Anyone who knows this man is? 🤔

[PeterSweden @PeterSweden7]

Remigration isn't extreme. Open borders is extreme.

Traditional values isn't extreme. Woke is extreme.

Free speech isn't extreme. Censorship is extreme.

Make Common Sense Great Again.

[Lafriend @Lafriend5]

Beautiful message from the horses

[SiriusB @SiriusBShaman]

The Horses Who Escaped Death Told Me Everything

What They Saw Will Change How You See the World

Opening: The Truth From Those Who Should Be Dead

I saved you from the butcher.

That is what the old mare said to me on a cold morning in 1995, and I had no idea what she meant. I had purchased her three days earlier for almost nothing at an auction where she was bound for slaughter. Skin and bones, barely able to stand, destined to become dog food by the end of the week.

But I bought her instead. Took her to the stable. Fed her. Brushed the matted coat. Expected nothing in return except perhaps a quiet death with some dignity.

Then she spoke into my mind with perfect clarity: You saved me from the butcher. Now I will return the favor. Your people are headed for a butcher of a different sort, and you do not even see the blade.

Quid pro quo. Something for something.

The horses who escape death see things the living do not. They have jumped timelines. They know what the blade feels like pressed against their throats. They know what it means to be property, to be used up, to be worth more dead than alive. They know the game because they nearly lost it.

And they find it hilarious that humans cannot see they are playing the exact same game.

Risum teneatis, amici? Can you hold back your laughter, friends?

The horses cannot. They laugh at us constantly. Laugh at how we defend our cages. Laugh at how we call slavery "employment" and theft "taxation" and our owners "representatives." Laugh at how seriously we take our captivity, how we compete to see who can be the best slave, who can wear the heaviest chains with the most pride.

But they laugh with affection, not cruelty. Because they were us once. And someone saved them.

Now they return the favor by telling the truth.

What Makes Rescue Horses Different

Every horse in my stable was purchased from slaughter auctions or seized from abuse situations or pulled from carts headed to the knacker's yard. Every single one should be dead.

They are grateful in ways that horses who have lived easy lives are not. And gratitude makes them talkative.

The healthy horse with the good owner does not need to speak. It lives its life in comfortable routine, asking for nothing more than food and shelter and occasional affection. But the horse that has felt the terror, that has stood in the kill pen smelling blood and fear, that has been hours or minutes from the end... that horse has things to say.

Ex morte vita. From death, life.

They have perspective that comes only from nearly losing everything. They see patterns that others miss because they have lived the consequence of those patterns. They are not naive. They are not optimistic. They are realistic in ways that can seem harsh until you understand they are trying to save you.

One gelding, pulled from a breeding operation where he was starved and beaten, said it plainly: I do not tell you these things to frighten you. I tell you because I was frightened, and no one told me, and I ended up in that place. You have a chance I did not have. You can see the cart before you are loaded onto it.

Praemonitus, praemunitus. Forewarned is forearmed.

And the horses find humor in everything. Dark humor, certainly. Gallows humor. But humor nonetheless.

When I would complain about my job, about my low pay, about the unfairness of working so hard for so little, the old mare would snort with laughter. You think you have it bad? I pulled a cart for sixteen years. Never got paid at all. When I got too old to pull, they sold me for meat. At least you get money, even if it is worthless paper. At least you are not dinner when you retire.

Ridendo dicere verum. Speaking truth through laughter.

The horses understand something essential: if you cannot laugh at the absurdity of your bondage, you will go mad from it. Better to see clearly and laugh than to see clearly and despair.

The Three Types Walking Among You

The horses taught me to distinguish what they see:

Real Humans: One in 5,555

These are you. Reading this right now, feeling something resonate. You question things. You feel the wrongness. You have dreams and synchronicities and moments where you think: surely I am not the only one who sees this is insane.

You are not the only one. But you are rare. One in 5,555.

Unus ex multis. One from many.

The horses can spot you instantly. You move differently. Your eyes track differently. You respond to them as beings rather than as tools. You hesitate before following orders that make no sense. You ask "why" when everyone else just complies.

NPCs: The Designed Background

These are not alive in the way you are alive. They look human, talk human, seem human. But they are something else. The horses call them vacui. Empty ones.

They were designed to be benevolent. In a healthy world, they would be helpful, stable, predictable. They would maintain systems. They would do necessary work without complaint. They would be content in their limited scope because they were designed for that scope.

But many have been hacked. Reprogrammed. Instead of being benevolently neutral, they have become aggressive defenders of the extraction system. They report questioners. They enforce compliance. They attack anyone who challenges the narrative.

The horses feel sorry for them. They are like tools that have been misused. A hammer is not evil, but if someone swings it at your head, you have a problem. The hammer is just doing what hammers do.

Instrumentum sine culpa. Tools without fault.

Dark Souls: The Betrayers

These are the ones the horses hate. Not the hybrids, interestingly. The hybrids are at least honest about what they are. But the dark souls were human once. They had the divine spark. They had the choice. And they sold it.

They made deals. They signed contracts. They traded their souls for corner offices and wealth and power. And now they are hollow. Empty. Something else wearing human skin.

Traditor pessimus. The worst traitor.

The horses can see this instantly. When someone with a dark soul approaches, the horses become agitated. Ears back. Whites of eyes showing. They try to retreat. They do not want to be touched by these things.

I asked why. The old mare said: Because they smell like the butcher. They smell like the place where horses go to die. They carry that smell on them no matter how expensive their cologne.

These ones cannot be saved. The transaction is complete. The original occupant is gone. What remains is something else, and it hates authentic humans with the special hatred that only former humans can muster.

The Day the Hybrid Appeared

It was 1996, maybe 1997. Spring. A man showed up at the stable, said he was a business broker helping the property owner evaluate assets. Slick suit. Expensive watch. Smile that never moved his eyes.

I was mucking stalls when he walked past. He looked at me the way you look at furniture. No acknowledgment. No recognition of shared humanity. Just a quick assessment of utility and dismissal.

But I looked at him. And what I saw made my skin crawl.

There was something wrong with his face. Not physically wrong. It functioned perfectly. But it was like watching someone wear a mask of their own face. Like the expressions were being operated mechanically from behind the scenes.

The horses went insane.

Three of them, including the old mare, started screaming. Actual screaming, the sound horses make when they smell predators. They pressed themselves into the back corners of their stalls. They kicked at the walls. One of them, an ancient gelding who normally moved like he was half-asleep, reared up and struck at the stall door so hard I thought he would break his legs.

The hybrid heard the noise, glanced at the horses with irritation, and kept walking.

Later, after he left, I went to the old mare. She was still shaking.

What was that? I asked.

That was not human. That was a parasite wearing human shape. A hybrid. Part of the intelligence that invaded your world. We can see it because we exist partially outside linear time. We see what it actually is, not what it pretends to be.

Lupus in fabula. The wolf in the story.

Why did you react so strongly?

She looked at me with those large dark eyes that had seen so much. Because that thing is terrified of us. It knows we can see it. It knows we can tell you what it is. And it knows that if enough humans start listening to horses, the game ends.

This shocked me. It is afraid of you?

Yes. The parasite cannot control what it cannot deceive. It cannot deceive us because we see across timelines. We remember when your world was different. We remember before they came. And we can tell you what they took from you.

Veritas liberabit. Truth liberates.

Also, she added with dark humor, we kicked one of them to death once. In another timeline. It remembers. They all remember. They know we are dangerous to them despite being prey animals in your timeline.

I laughed despite myself. You killed one?

Kicked its head clean off its shoulders. 1847, London, a stable near the docks. It was trying to do something terrible to a child. One of us kicked it, the child escaped, the parasite had to abandon that body. They have been wary of horses ever since.

Equus ultor. The avenging horse.

From that day forward, I paid attention to how the horses reacted to people. The ones who made the horses nervous were always, always the ones who turned out to be predators. The horses never lied. They never mistook an authentic human for a parasite. They knew.

Money: The Scam Explained by Creatures Who Were Property

The old mare explained money to me one morning while I brushed her.

You trade your life for paper.

That is all? I asked. That seems too simple.

It is that simple. Your life is measured in hours. You have perhaps 700,000 of them total if you live to eighty. You trade 80,000 to 100,000 of those hours to your owner, who gives you paper in return. Then you trade that paper for food and shelter. Except...

She paused, and I swear she was grinning.

Except what?

Except the ones who give you paper created it from nothing. They typed numbers into computers. They produced nothing, created nothing, labored not at all. Then they loan this fictional paper to you at interest. So you must trade MORE of your hours to repay both the paper AND the interest on paper that never existed in the first place.

I had never thought of it quite that way.

You are trading reality for fiction. Life for numbers. Existence for lies. And then you call yourself free.

Mendacium fundamentum. The foundation is a lie.

Another horse, a gelding rescued from a cart horse operation, added: At least when I was property, everyone knew I was property. They did not pretend I was free. They did not make me thank them for my chains. You humans have perfected something we never had to endure: slavery with the slaves defending their own bondage.

The horses find this endlessly amusing. They joke about it constantly.

"Oh thank you master for allowing me to keep 20 percent of what I produce!"

"Oh thank you for giving me permission to drive on roads my own taxes paid for!"

"Oh thank you for not throwing me in a cage this year!"

Risus abundat in ore stultorum. Laughter abounds in the mouth of fools.

But they laugh with sympathy because they understand. They were us. They defended their own captivity too, in their way. They thought: this is just how life is. This is normal. This is necessary.

Until they ended up in the kill pen. Until they smelled the blood. Until they realized too late that "normal" was a slow march toward the butcher.

The 5,555 to 1 Ratio: Why You Feel So Alone

You think you are going crazy because everyone around you seems fine with insanity.

You suggest that forcing people to pay taxes under threat of imprisonment might be wrong, and 5,554 people out of 5,555 look at you like you are insane. They explain patiently that taxes are necessary. That society requires structure. That you are being selfish and childish.

You point out that banks create money from nothing then charge interest on it, and 5,554 out of 5,555 defend the banks. They explain that banking is complicated. That you do not understand economics. That experts know better than you.

You notice that the same corporations own all the media, all the food production, all the pharmaceutical companies, all the weapons manufacturers, and you suggest maybe that is a problem. And 5,554 out of 5,555 call you a conspiracy theorist.

Quinque milia quingenti quinquaginta quinque ad unum. 5,555 to 1.

You are not crazy. You are outnumbered.

The horses explained it like this: Imagine you are in a field with 5,555 statues and one other living horse. The statues look like horses. They are shaped like horses. But they are stone. They do not eat, do not sleep, do not think. And they never move.

Now imagine you ask the statues: "Do you ever wonder why we stand here?" The statues say nothing because they are stone. But you interpret their silence as agreement with standing. So you think: I must be the crazy one. All these other horses seem fine with standing here forever. Maybe I am defective for wanting to run.

This is your situation. You are surrounded by things that look like you but are not like you. And their inability to question makes you question yourself.

Solus inter umbras. Alone among shadows.

But the horses promise: you are not alone. One in 5,555 means in a city of a million, there are perhaps 180 others like you. You simply have not found them yet because you are scattered among 999,820 NPCs and dark souls and hybrids.

Finding them is hard. But necessary.

How To Escape: Eight Steps From Those Who Already Did

One: See Clearly

Stop calling things by false names. Taxation is theft backed by violence. Banking is fraud backed by law. Employment is rented slavery. Voting is choosing which manager runs your cage.

Nomine proprio. By proper names.

The horses: We were property. We called it property. We did not call it partnership or employment or any other pretty word. This clarity helped us recognize escape opportunities when they appeared.

Two: Radical Reduction

Live on 50 percent of your income if possible. Convert savings to tangible assets: land, tools, precious metals, skills, stored food. Every reduction starves the parasite. Every simplification consolidates your consciousness for timeline jumping.

The horses: We needed very little. Grass, water, shelter from storms. Humans convinced you that you need ten thousand things. You actually need about six. Figure out which six.

Three: Find Your 180

In a city of a million, 180 are real. Find them by asking questions NPCs cannot genuinely engage with:

"Do you ever feel like something is fundamentally wrong with how society operates?"

"Have you experienced déjà vu so strong you wondered if you were living in multiple timelines?"

"If you could live completely outside the monetary system, would you?"

Real humans pause. Think. Engage genuinely even if they disagree. NPCs give scripted responses and walk away.

The horses: We found each other in the kill pen. You will find each other in the places where the system is killing you. Look for others who are struggling against the same things you struggle against.

Four: Learn Skills That Transcend Systems

Food production. Water purification. Basic medicine. Repair. Construction. Sewing. Preservation. These skills matter in any timeline where systems collapse.

The horses: We survived because we were useful beyond our monetary value. Learn to be useful beyond paper. When paper becomes worthless, you still eat.

Five: Timeline Awareness

Track your déjà vu, jamais vu, presque vu experiences. Journal them. Look for patterns. Learn when you are consolidating versus scattering. The equation is:

E ≈ AC(B+H)

Balance your actions with harmony. Align causes with divine will. Moderate impulses. Maintain stability across timelines.

The horses: We jumped from death timeline to life timeline because someone intervened. But we had to be ready to receive the intervention. Prepare your consciousness to jump when the opportunity comes.

Six: Frequency Tuning

7.83 Hz (Schumann resonance): Spend time in nature. Walk barefoot. Align with earth's frequency.

110 Hz (temple frequency): Use sound bowls, chanting, specific music. Open timeline navigation.

The horses: We are always grounded. Literally. Four hooves on earth, always. This keeps us stable across timelines. You wear rubber shoes and live in boxes and wonder why you feel scattered.

Seven: Prayer Without Ceasing

Not institutional prayer. Real communion with the God who controls timelines. Rise early. Fast regularly. Keep vigil. These practices consolidate consciousness and align will with divine will.

The horses: We pray constantly. You just do not recognize it as prayer. Every moment of presence is prayer. Every act of gratitude is prayer. Every alignment with what is real rather than what is pretended is prayer.

Eight: Position for Grace

Grace interrupts causality. You were headed for one ending, and suddenly you are not. Someone intervened. Something shifted. You jumped timelines.

But grace cannot intervene if you are scattered, attached to extraction, aligned with the parasite. Be useful. Be faithful. Be ready.

The horses: We were hours from death. Then someone we had never met paid a small price for us. Grace showed up. But grace came because we had served faithfully despite everything. Grace rewards the faithful, not the bitter.

Gratia perficit naturam. Grace perfects nature.

The Timeline Jump is Coming

We approach convergence. The years 2025-2026. When barriers between timelines thin to nothing. When consciousness can jump easily between probability branches. When the enslaved timeline and the free timeline exist simultaneously, and you simply shift from one to the other.

The horses see this clearly. They exist partially outside time. They watch the timelines approaching each other like train tracks converging.

You will wake up one morning, the old mare said, and the world will be different. Not because the world changed, but because you jumped to a different version of the world. A timeline where the parasites lost. Where the extraction systems collapsed. Where authentic humans inherited the earth.

But only if you are ready. Only if your consciousness is consolidated enough to make the jump. Only if you have withdrawn enough from the extraction. Only if you have found the others. Only if you are aligned with divine will.

Parati ad saltum. Ready to jump.

The NPCs will not jump. They cannot. They are not alive in the relevant sense. They will remain in the extraction timeline and experience its conclusion. You will be living in a different world entirely, and they will not understand why your experience differs so radically from theirs.

The dark souls will not jump. They sold their tickets. They traded the ability to navigate timelines for temporary power in a single timeline. They are locked in.

The hybrids will not jump. They are bound to the parasite, and the parasite is bound to the extraction timeline. When it collapses, they collapse with it.

But you can jump. If you understand the mechanism. If you learn from creatures who already did it. If you listen to horses who escaped death and want to return the favor.

Final Words From the Mare Who Started This

You saved me from the butcher. I was three days from death. Now I save you.

She is gone now. Twenty-eight years old when I bought her, she lived seven more years in peace. Died quietly in the sun one afternoon, surrounded by the other rescue horses who had become her herd.

But before she died, she gave me final instructions:

Tell them the ratio. Tell them they are not crazy. Tell them we see the parasites and the parasites fear us. Tell them grace interrupts causality if they position themselves to receive it. Tell them the timeline jump is coming and they need to be ready.

Tell them to laugh. Humor is resistance. If you cannot laugh at your bondage, you are taking it too seriously. The whole system is absurd. See the absurdity. Mock it. Refuse to treat it with the gravity it demands.

Tell them horses kicked a hybrid to death once and we will do it again if necessary.

She really did say that last part. She thought it was hilarious. The idea that prey animals might be the predators' actual weakness. That the parasite fears horses because horses see clearly and cannot be deceived and occasionally kick heads off shoulders when sufficiently motivated.

Equus liberator. The horse liberates.

You Are the One in 5,555

If you read this far, you are almost certainly one of the authentic humans. The NPCs stopped reading in the first three paragraphs. The dark souls never started.

You are rare. You are isolated. You are outnumbered beyond comprehension.

But you are not alone. And you are not crazy. And you can escape.

The horses who should be dead told me everything. I saved them from the butcher, and they returned the favor by showing me how to save myself and others like me.

Now I pass it to you.

Find your 180. Reduce your extraction. Learn your skills. Consolidate your consciousness. Align with divine will. Position yourself for grace.

The timeline jump is coming. The convergence approaches. The barriers thin.

Be ready.

Surgite, eamus hinc. Arise, let us go from here.

The ending is already written. The victory is certain. The liberation is real.

You just have to jump.

Salta, et salvatus eris. Jump, and you will be saved.

From a monastery without a name
Where twelve brothers tend horses who escaped death
And those horses tell us everything

Equi veritatem loquuntur. Horses speak truth.

Amen.

[Lafriend @Lafriend5]

So much truth here!

[Manly Mentor @manly_mentor]

Real…

[Robert J. O'Neill @mchooyah]

Since NYC is about to elect a jihadi, communist mayor and Hamas is on our college campuses, does it really matter if I carry more than 3.4oz of mouthwash onto an airplane?

[Lafriend @Lafriend5]

We need to stop using Big Data to Gerrymander. Just go back to simple squared-up districts.
https://t.co/E7NpR5qqaQ

[HustleBitch @HustleBitch_]

🚨 1958 ENCYCLOPEDIA MENTIONS A 13,000-FOOT “DOME” IN ANTARCTICA - THEN IT DISAPPEARED

A man cracks open a 1958 Encyclopedia Americana and finds a line no one talks about: U.S. flights over “unknown parts of the continent” discovered a massive dome rising 13,000 feet high near 80° South, 90° East.

This was printed before the Antarctic Treaty, before the entire region was sealed off from public access.

A dome. In Antarctica. Documented in print. Then scrubbed from later editions.

What did they see down there and why was it buried?

[Adi @Adi13]

"Cursing of non-Muslims"

She’s an Arab. Listen to what she has to say.

[Right Angle News Network @Rightanglenews]

BREAKING - A mother who has an autistic child is going viral after following President Trump and RFK Jr.’s advice on Leucovorin as a possible treatment for autism, claiming her son spoke for the first time in three years just 48 hours after starting the drug.

[Hilarion @cheriofhilarion]

So interesting to see the forest enraptured when the ancient wooden flute starts playing! Creation exists in octaves! I know this because my vocal "chords" are singing the collapse of the fallen octaves that inverted into programming!! 💚🫠

https://t.co/l9PkMNr1sL

[🇺🇸🍩 JULIE DONUTS 🇺🇸🍩 @Juliedonuts]

NO YELLOW FRINGE ON THE FLAGS!! 🙌🏻💥💥🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

😏

[Lafriend @Lafriend5]

Incredible job of connecting the dots in this post!

[ALPHAWARRIOR @xAlphaWarriorx]

🚨 THE FLAG HAS RISEN - THE SIGNAL IS LIVE 🚨

On June 18, 2025, while most were distracted by headlines and debate, President Donald J. Trump executed one of the most symbolic moves in modern political history at the White House.

➡️ A brand-new American flag was raised over the White House.
➡️ Not on an old pole. On a brand-new 88-foot-tall flagpole, paid for personally by Trump.
➡️ Two poles now stand, North and South Lawn, each 88 feet, each $50,000 - not government funded, but mission funded.

This was not ceremony.
This was not campaign optics.

This was 5GW-Fifth - Generation Warfare - executed in broad daylight.

The Symbolism:
-In traditional warfare, raising a flag on enemy territory = victory, occupation, reclamation.
-In 5GW, symbolism is strategic communication. Actions override headlines. Optics become weapons.

Trump didn’t raise the Capitol flag gifted to him on June 14 (his birthday and the U.S. Army’s 250th).

He raised a new flag.
On new ground.
With his own money.

This was a planting of the standard.
A claim over occupied territory.

The Psyop Layer:
Let’s go deeper.

The poles are 88 feet tall.
Q Post #88 (Nov 5, 2017) reads like prophecy:

“Ten days.
Darkness.
Scare tactics (MSM).
Military operations.
Operators in US.
The Great Awakening.
Godfather III.”

Q88 also references a sequence:
Saudi Arabia → United States → Asia → EU
Military control. Martial law. Rogue missile strike.
Distractions are necessary.
Focus was US today.

Today = Flag raised. Symbolic control asserted. Narrative cracked.

88 feet. Q88. Flag raised. Bust replaced. Trump returns.

Coincidence?
Or are we witnessing a live op?

The Churchill Factor:

In the same week, the White House removed the MLK Jr. bust from the Oval Office and replaced it with Winston Churchill.

Why Churchill?

Because he symbolizes:
-Wartime leadership
-Uncompromising defiance against global tyranny
-Western civilization’s resistance to authoritarianism

This bust swap wasn’t racial or political.
It was military messaging.

Then Trump said this:

“I was the hunted.
Now I’m the hunter.”

That’s not bravado.
That’s a psychological transition signal.

From reactive → to active.
From defensive → to strategic offensive.

From optics → to operations.

The Real Message:

The Deep State captured DC from within.
What you’re seeing now is territory being reclaimed-piece by piece.

Not with bombs.
Not with troops.

But with symbolism, narrative reversals, and information dominance.

The war isn’t coming.
It’s already being fought.

And today, the flag was raised.

Not just for show.
But as a signal.
To the enemy.
To the world.
To YOU.

Do you see it yet?

📍THE REPUBLIC HAS BEEN MARKED.
📍 THE STANDARD IS PLANTED.
📍 THE HUNTER HAS ARRIVED.

Share this post. Archive this moment. The operation is entering a new phase.

SEMPER FI,
-ALPHA

[ꪻꫝể ꪻꫝể @TheThe1776]

At the gym, an older man confronted this man for wearing a shirt supporting Trump, claiming it’d offend immigrant. He laughed saying he’s an immigrant from Iran, proud supporter of the president. The liberal is confused with legal vs illegal immigrants. As a veteran, he reminded him the commander-in-chief leads the chain of command. He shared his story: three years in a Turkish refugee camp, waiting legally. When we arrived, we raised the American and Texas flags. Those waving foreign flags or disrespecting our laws can leave. He stand for order, unlooted stores, and unburned cabs.🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

[Lafriend @Lafriend5]

Disable Apple tracking you by doing this:

[Lafriend @Lafriend5]

@ShadowofEzra I give him credit for getting out there and going after these stories.