Engineer. Scholar. Entertainer. Best at at least one. Florida Man. UCF Alum (2x!). Champion of double-spacing. Aspires to do good. IG & Sky: TheMightyOx.
La Patrouille de France a offert un spectacle exceptionnel dans le ciel de New York. Les avions de voltige français ont survolé la Statue de la Liberté sous les yeux de milliers de spectateurs. #JT20h
@charise_lee One of the worst things about this is that the singer of the national anthem had his shine taken away. He performed it beautifully, but it’s like they say. Everything Trump touches dies.
@japan_nobunaga These stories are a lot like those from Three-Year Letterman, but if a notary public from northern Georgia followed the bushido code of samurai honor and dedicated his life to public service. A rare and wonderful thing in these United States.
Do yourself a favor. Follow the stories of this Japanese samurai with his slice of life stories living in America. This samurai will make you proud to be an American. And to know the Japanese are our friends.
I came to lift one weight. I left a legend. Four times over. Against my will.
It started small. A modest weight. Then a man the size of a door walked past and roared:
"LET'S GO, BEAST!"
Beast. Me. Mid-lift. From a stranger.
A beast does not set the weight down. So I did not set the weight down. (I wanted to set the weight down.)
Then — "Get it, CHAMP." A woman this time. A second rank, conferred in passing. I bowed mid-repetition, which is far harder than it sounds.
Then — "ONE MORE, WARRIOR. You GOT this!"
Warrior. That one I earned across an entire lifetime. He handed it to me for a single rep. I could not insult it by failing.
So I did one more.
Then another. Beast. Champ. Warrior. Killer. Big guy. They would not stop naming me — so I could not stop deserving it.
My arms were gone. My spirit was on fire. I said nothing. A warrior does not announce that he can no longer feel his hands.
I racked the bar. The whole corner of the room — strangers, all of them — clapped.
For the beast. For the champ. For the warrior.
The big one slapped my shoulder. "Same time tomorrow?"
"...Yes," I said, with great and total calm, while every muscle I own filed a formal complaint.
I will be there.
A man who has been called Warrior cannot, in good conscience, skip leg day.
These missiles don’t yet know where they are at all times because they don’t yet know where they aren’t. The guidance counselor will teach them about deviation. That is, the difference between where they were and where they are now.