Here’s a thought experiment for all you people horrified that we are blowing up boats full of drugs being carried to the United States…
1. You say it is illegal to destroy drug boats full of drugs, headed to our country, correct?
2. Could we destroy boats that were carrying barrels of mustard gas headed to our country?
3. Now, if you want to take the position that we cannot destroy boats carrying barrels of mustard gas headed towards our country, you can stop right here. Please make that case to the American people, and we will make the case that we can.
4. If you agree that we can destroy boats carrying barrels of mustard gas headed to our country, can you tell me the difference between the drugs and the mustard gas?
5. I submit that the only meaningful difference is that drugs have killed nearly 100,000 Americans in the last year, and mustard gas has killed zero Americans.
6. Please provide any other reason you think we should be able to destroy ships carrying barrels of mustard gas to the United States, but not vessels carrying drugs.
@C_3C_3 Sure. Rewrite math rules, go ahead. EVERY payment is the interest accrued on the balance plus a principal portion, calculated to make the payments even during the term. Want less loan cost, PAY OFF principal. C’mon man, be better. Liberals are the ones who defy math, not us.
Pres Trump, you inherited this mess from people who were truly evil. They not only abandoned our allies & sent many to their deaths, they set them up, lied to them & they’re still lying to the American people about what they did, blaming you for their betrayal.
I was on the ground in Afghanistan year after year for well over a decade. I saw with my own eyes the sacrifices & commitment. I saw people who believe in freedom rise from nothing to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the very best of our Special Operations troops. I saw men & some incredibly brave women go into battle time & again, agst all the odds, at an operational temp US commanders told me no one could sustain & yet they did. By sheer force of will & faith in the American ideal & their love of freedom. And I saw may fall.
I cannot answer the call of every Afghan pleading with me to help. I cannot erase the images of Afghans who served alongside us wrapped in funeral shrouds or lying where they were murderers, some battered & tortured, some beheaded. When they cannot find the father, these terrorist monsters often kill the wife, children and grandparents. It is a nightmare that has no end. And in spite of your Executive Order ending the shipments of millions of US tax dollars to this terrorist regime every week, payments have continued. This has been confirmed to me by US officials & Afghans on the ground & some in the diaspora. Who is subverting your legal order? And the will of the American people? And why?
The last time I begged for help, you heard the cries of Afghans in a refugee camp who were being sent back to Kabul to their deaths because the Biden admin abandoned them there. Thanks to you and to Glen Beck/Suzanne Grisham & his foundation Mercury One, and Rudy Atallah of White Mountain Rescue, those families are now safely in Africa, struggling but alive. The Taliban thought they were coming back to Kabul as they had demanded & I have video of the men sent to kill one of the families, surrounding their house & searching for them. So much for the promises of amnesty which any reasonable person knows is a lie. There is no doubt in my mind that had they been sent back they would now be dead. You saved their lives.
Please find a way to help those in Qatar and Pakistan who are now facing a similar fate with deportations. May God forgive us all for what we have done.
@jeffgiesea “Fat guy” who’s tossing around a 100 lb. girl like she’s a loaf of bread. He’s not some couch potato. He may be a larger person than most, but he’s in very good shape.
My father was a foreign medical graduate. He was highly qualified and did orthopedics residencies on three continents. After over 15 years of training, and earning his board certification in orthopedics, with special focus in hand and spine surgery, he was the only orthopedic surgeon for over 15 years in a rural North Carolina farming county, which was served by several other foreign medical graduates as well. He served his thousands of patients well, maintained his board certification throughout, and when he retired did volunteer work around the world teaching advanced surgical techniques to medical students in several countries.
My uncle is a doctor like this also. He provided outstanding urological speciality care in another rural county for decades, board certified and highly respected. Throughout America, there are shortages of qualified specialists, whether foreign born or otherwise.
Our medical system is broken. American medical schools teach that gender is a social construct, that sex is not determined at birth, that drugs can fix everything. Worse, admissions to these schools are based on affirmative action and not merit. Hardworking white and Asian Americans are disadvantaged in admissions.
Perhaps we can address the problems with American medical education and the artificial supply limitations without scapegoating the foreign-born doctors who provide a critically necessary service throughout the country. Lying about and generalizing concerning the quality of their care (all board certified doctors have to pass the same tests every 10 years) or falsely claiming that H1-Bs are taking the medical school places of Americans, doesn’t advance any intelligent discussion about the issues.
There once was a General named Clapper,
By trade a clandestine wiretapper,
But he joined the Steele Hoax,
Now his rep is a joke,
And his life is going down the crapper.
June 5th, 1944. England.
You're twenty-something and barely slept. But you’re up now—facepaint on, gear checked, re-checked, and triple-checked by you and your buddy. You tighten your chinstrap and stretch out your chute straps one more time. You’ve trained for this moment for what feels like forever, but now that it's here, time is moving strange. Slow and fast at once.
You get some hot chow—barely taste it. A cup of coffee, thick as motor oil. You sit on your pack and sip it slowly, soaking in the heavy British air thick with the smell of aircraft fuel, wool uniforms, and nervous sweat. Someone lights a cigarette. Someone else is writing a last-minute letter. Your sergeant cracks a joke you’ve heard before, and everyone laughs louder than they normally would.
You get a letter from home. Mom. Maybe a girl. You read it. You fold it. You put it close to your chest. It means something—but it’s not what’s weighing on you. What’s heavy in your chest is something more primal.
You wonder if you’ll freeze when the shooting starts. You wonder if you’ll even make it to the ground. That chute opens—or it doesn’t. You know too many stories. But then you look around at your brothers—those Screaming Eagles on their shoulders—and the fear doesn’t vanish, but it transforms. You’re not just doing this for the cause. You’re doing it because you can’t be the one who lets them down. You fear looking like a coward more than you fear death. And your momma didn’t raise no b*tch.
Then comes the call.
Final gear check. Static line ready. You line up with your squad, waddling under the weight. Your platoon leader comes down the row, picking each of you up one by one—like a coach sending fighters into the ring. "See you on the drop zone." The handshake lasts a beat longer than usual.
You trudge across the tarmac under the dim lights, the wind picking up, that awful sound of engines spinning up behind the birds. You climb aboard, packed in tight like ammo in a magazine. Bench seats. Nervous knees bouncing. The red light overhead stares back like an eye that doesn't blink. There’s a stillness now. You can’t turn back. Nobody’s saying much anymore.
Then the engines roar. The aircraft lurches forward.
Wheels leave the tarmac. You're airborne.
This is it. The Rendezvous with Destiny. No turning back.
Only forward. Only down. Only into history.