It is quite apparent that there’s a paid and organized campaign surrounding this specific cgi video
Which is hilarious that they’re in that much damage control.
Woops.
Take note of the accounts posting it.
I’ll soon be sponsoring a bill to withhold federal money from municipalities and police departments that deploy Flock (and other style) cameras to surveil law abiding citizens.
Here, the brilliant @Miss_Snuffy from London explains Zoran Mamdani Mania better than anyone in America has so far done so…
This is a great, but terrifying speech…
😱🤦♂️🤮🥲
I did not see this coming, but my election has become an inflection point for our whole country. Today we make history.
Will you be part of this historic day by voting, calling friends who can vote, posting to social media, or making a donation?
Spread the word fellow patriots!
Do you ever discover someone in your feed and you're like "I need to remember this person for later," and then later you've already forgot and you have like 10,000 people you follow so there's not chance you're ever finding them again?
What if you could just save them?
🚨 PLEASE LISTEN
I am tagging just as she asked, and I would ask all of you to please repost and tag …this needs to be done ASAP!
@POTUS@realDonaldTrump
🚨 This runs deep!
They painted over the crayon marks last week, and with them, they erased the proof that I was once needed.
I didn’t stop them. Didn’t say a word. Just stood in the hallway, watching a brush erase what I spent a lifetime building.
A blue squiggle from Jenny, who used to think the wall
was her canvas. A shaky “DAD” from Bobby, written with a broken red crayon and a proud, crooked smile.
Those walls once echoed with Nerf darts, midnight giggles, and someone always yelling, “Don’t run in the house!”
Now it’s just me and the hum of the refrigerator.
I used to hate the noise. Now I chase it. Turn on the TV, the fan, the radio, anything to make the silence feel
less permanent.
And I remember the chaos, the sticky floors, the toys that made walking a battlefield.
I remember rushing bedtime stories, half-listening to jokes I’d give anything to hear again.
Back then, I thought I’d always be the guy who fixed the bikes, who packed the lunches, who held little hands across the parking lot.
I didn’t know you don’t get a goodbye to your usefulness. It just fades, like the crayon on the wall.
Now, I sit on the porch with two mugs of coffee,
though one’s always cold. Old habits, I guess. I still make enough for two.
If you’re in the middle of the noise, the mess, the long days with short tempers, don’t wish them away.
Because one day you’ll walk into a quiet house, see a blank wall, and realize you’d give anything for one more scribble you weren’t supposed to love.
(Author unknown)