Olivia
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Joined September 2024
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HEARTBREAKING: Legendary quarterback Tim Tebow breaking down in tears feeding his dog for the final time.
💔💔💔
Dogs are some of our best friends.
JUST SO WE’RE CLEAR:
I never cared that you were trans.
Until you started rubbing it in my face.
I never cared what color you were.
Until you started using your color to get extra "rights" that none of us have.
I never cared about your politics.
Until you started condemning me for mine.
I never cared where you were born.
Until you tried to erase my vote and steal our jobs.
I never cared that your beliefs were different.
Until you declared mine wrong.
Now I care.
My patience and tolerance are gone.
And I’m not alone.
There are 80 million of us who feel the same way.
That's why we voted for Trump.
Can I be any clearer?
⭐️THIS is a GREAT read ⭐️
I’m worn out hearing people moan, “Our grandparents could buy a house on one paycheck, but now we can’t even afford rent on two!”
Yeah, maybe because Grandma wasn’t dropping half her income on $14 iced lattes and avocado toast shaped like art projects. Back then, if they wanted coffee, they boiled it at home in a dented pot. It tasted like burnt rubber and regret — but it woke you up and cleaned your pipes.
And Grandma wasn’t “out to brunch.” You think she had time for mimosas and hashtags? She was making something called whatever’s left in the fridge and feeding six people with it.
Don’t even start with Uber Eats. You think Grandpa was out here paying $38 to have a burger delivered three blocks away? Please. He grilled mystery meat on a rusted barbecue, and everyone called it dinner.
Now people cry about being broke while sitting in a house full of gadgets. Two SUVs in the driveway, six streaming services, three air fryers, and matching tattoos that cost more than their light bill. You think Grandpa had a tattoo? He did. It said “Korea, 1951,” and it came with trauma, not Instagram likes.
And the kids—Lord help us. “We can’t make ends meet, but Brayden needs the new iPhone!” No, he doesn’t. You’re handing an $1100 device to a child who still eats crayons and forgets to flush.
When we were kids, there was one phone. It hung on the wall like a family relic. The cord stretched just far enough for you to whisper secrets before someone yelled, “Get off, I need to make a call!” And guess what? We lived.
The TV? One. In the living room. With three channels and a dial that clicked like a safe. And if Dad wanted to watch bowling, you were a fan of bowling, end of story.
Now there’s a flat screen in every room, the baby’s got an iPad, the dog’s got a camera, and everyone’s wondering why they can’t afford rent.
Because you’re living like rock stars on retail salaries, that’s why.
Grandpa wasn’t leasing Teslas or buying $12 smoothies called “Green Zen Awakening.” He drove a truck that coughed smoke, rattled like a storm, and smelled like oil and hard work.
They lived within their means. Whatever Grandpa brought home on Friday — that’s what they had. They weren’t keeping up with the Joneses; they were keeping the lights on.
So yeah, Grandpa bought a house on one salary. But he also didn’t have a gym membership, three delivery apps, and emotional support crystals on his nightstand. His only support system was Grandma, who told him to quit whining and mow the yard.
Nowadays, everyone’s broke, anxious, and “manifesting abundance” while ordering tacos on DoorDash for the fourth time this week.
It’s not the economy — it’s the lifestyle.
Wake up, turn off your subscriptions, make your own coffee, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll smell the truth.
DO YOU AGREE?
My daughter got detention for defending her late Marine father — but when FOUR MEN IN UNIFORM walked into the school the next day, the entire building went silent.
"Mrs. Harrison, you have to understand: Grace’s behavior was completely UNACCEPTABLE. We respect your husband’s service to this country, but..." her teacher said.
My 14-year-old daughter sat beside me, her eyes glassy.
The day before, one of her classmates had made a joke about Grace not having a father.
He was a Marine. Grace was only three when we lost him.
So when that girl laughed and said, "Maybe your dad just didn’t want to come back," something inside Grace snapped.
She shot to her feet so fast that her chair slammed to the floor.
Through tears, she shouted,
"My dad was a HERO. Don’t you ever talk about him like that again!"
She was the one who got detention.
She barely said a word the whole way home. That night, I found her sitting on the floor in my husband’s old sweatshirt.
"I’m sorry I got in trouble," she whispered. "I just couldn’t let her say that about him."
My heart cracked wide open.
The next morning, the school called an emergency assembly.
I assumed it had something to do with Spirit Week. A few minutes after the first bell, Grace texted me from the auditorium.
Then my phone rang.
"Mom..." she whispered, her voice shaky. "You need to come."
I stood up so fast I knocked over my coffee.
"What happened? Grace, are you okay?"
There was a long silence on the other end.
"Mom... four men in uniform just walked into the school."
"Hide right now. What’s happening? I’m calling the police!"
But Grace laughed.
"No, Mom, they’re not doing anything bad. You have no idea WHAT JUST HAPPENED! Just get here, please!" she said, before the line went dead.
I didn't bother grabbing my purse. I threw my keys into the ignition, my heart hammering against my ribs, and sped to the high school. When I burst through the double doors of the auditorium, I stopped dead in my tracks.
The room, packed with over eight hundred teenagers, was completely, eerily silent.
Down the center aisle stood four imposing figures in impeccable Marine Corps Dress Blues. The brass buttons caught the overhead lights, and their crisp white covers were tucked sharply under their arms. I recognized the man at the front immediately. It was Staff Sergeant Miller—my late husband’s closest friend and squad leader. I had called him in tears the night before, just needing someone who understood the weight of the disrespect Grace had faced. I hadn't expected him to do *this*.
The principal, Mr. Davis, stood awkwardly at the podium, looking completely out of his depth.
Staff Sergeant Miller didn't wait for permission to speak. He stepped up to the front, taking the microphone from the stand, and his booming, authoritative voice echoed through the massive room.
"We apologize for the interruption, Principal Davis," Miller said, though his tone suggested he wasn't sorry at all. "But we received word that a young lady in this school was being disciplined for defending the honor of a fallen United States Marine."
A collective gasp rippled through the student body. The teacher who had given Grace detention slunk back into her seat in the front row, her face turning crimson.
Miller’s heavy gaze swept across the bleachers. "Where is Grace Harrison?"
Grace stood up slowly from the middle row, still wearing her dad’s oversized sweatshirt.
"Come down here, Grace," Miller commanded gently.
As she walked down the bleacher steps, the three other Marines broke formation and fell perfectly into step behind her, creating an impromptu honor guard. They escorted her to the center of the floor.
Miller turned to face the silent crowd. "Captain Mark Harrison didn't just 'not want to come back.' He gave his life pulling three wounded men out of a burning transport vehicle in the middle of a firefight. I know, because I was one of those men. None of us standing here today would be breathing if it weren't for Grace's father."
The silence in the room was absolute. You could have heard a pin drop. A few rows up, the girl who had made the cruel joke the day before was staring at her shoes, visibly crying.
Miller turned back to Grace and dropped to one knee, bringing himself to eye level with her. He pulled a small, velvet box from his pocket and opened it, revealing a gleaming Challenge Coin from their old unit.
"Grace," he said, his voice thick with emotion but loud enough for the microphone to carry. "Your father was the bravest man I ever knew. You stood your ground yesterday, just like he would have. You protected his honor, and now, his squad is here to protect yours. We have your back. Always."
He pressed the heavy metal coin into her palm, stood up, and then all four Marines snapped a crisp, perfectly unified salute to my fourteen-year-old daughter.
Tears streamed down Grace's face, but they weren't tears of anger or shame anymore. She stood tall, squared her shoulders, and returned a clumsy but beautiful salute of her own.
Suddenly, from the back row of the bleachers, a single student stood up and started clapping. Then another. Within seconds, the entire auditorium erupted into a deafening standing ovation. Even Mr. Davis and the teachers were on their feet.
I hurried down the aisle, wiping away my own tears, and wrapped Grace in a massive hug. Staff Sergeant Miller tipped his head to me, a fierce, protective glint in his eye.
Before we could leave the building, Principal Davis rushed over to us in the hallway. He looked thoroughly chastised.
"Mrs. Harrison, Grace," he stammered, wringing his hands. "I... I want to formally apologize. The detention has been completely wiped from her record. We will be handling the bullying incident with the other student appropriately, and frankly, I think our staff needs a heavy refresher on empathy."
Grace squeezed the coin in her hand, looking up at the four men in uniform who had dropped everything to stand by her side. She didn't need to say a word. The message had been delivered loud and clear.
Captain Mark Harrison had left a legacy of courage behind, and that day, an entire school learned exactly what it meant to be a hero's daughter.
Highlights: LSU beats Indiana 14-7 in the Jax College Classic:
🎥: https://t.co/GZBRi5VrM8
Four Old Men. Two Wheelchairs. One Beach. Alan Alda’s 90th Birthday
January 28, 2026.
Alan Alda turned 90.
His family planned a safe celebration at home.
Cake. Balloons. Grandkids.
Alan said no.
“I don’t want a party,” he said.
His daughter frowned.
“Dad… you’re turning ninety. This is a big deal.”
“I know,” Alan said.
“But I don’t want to celebrate here.”
“Then where?”
Alan didn’t hesitate.
“I want to go to the beach.”
The room went still.
“The beach?”
“Dad, you’re in a wheelchair.”
“You can barely stand.”
Alan smiled.
That smile.
The Hawkeye Pierce smile — the one that always meant something stubborn was coming.
“So?”
By that afternoon, he had already decided who was coming.
“The four of us,” he said.
“The last four.”
Gary Burghoff.
Jamie Farr.
Mike Farrell.
And himself.
The final survivors of the 4077th.
“No cameras. No interviews. No speeches,” Alan said.
“Just us.”
The phone calls began.
Gary answered first.
“Happy birthday, old man! Ninety!”
“Thanks. I need you to drive.”
“Drive where?”
“To the beach.”
A pause.
“Alan… you’re in a wheelchair.”
“So are facts. They don’t stop me either.”
Gary laughed.
That Radar laugh Alan had known for over fifty years.
“Fine. But I’m not pushing you through sand.”
“I’ll crawl if I have to.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m Hawkeye. Same thing.”
Jamie Farr was next.
“The beach?” Jamie said.
“I’m ninety-one and in a wheelchair.”
“Then we’ll have two wheelchairs at the beach.”
“Like a parade?”
“Like a victory lap.”
Jamie laughed until his voice cracked.
“You haven’t changed since 1972.”
“And you’re still Klinger.”
“Fine. I’m in.”
Mike Farrell sighed the moment he answered.
“Let me guess,” he said.
“You want me to push your wheelchair.”
“Yes.”
“I’m eighty-six. I use a cane.”
“BJ Hunnicutt once saved a man with dental floss,” Alan said.
“You’ll manage.”
Long pause.
“…Fine.”
January 28. 6:00 a.m.
Gary arrived in a rented van.
Two wheelchair spaces.
He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt.
At Alan’s house, his daughter hovered.
“Dad, are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
“What if something happens?”
“Something is always about to happen at ninety,” Alan said.
“Might as well happen at the beach.”
Jamie was waiting outside his house.
Wheelchair. Sunglasses.
Hawaiian shirt.
“You coordinated outfits?” Gary asked.
“It’s tradition,” Jamie said.
“The 4077th always matched.”
Mike showed up next.
Also in a Hawaiian shirt.
Four old men.
One van.
Heading west.
On the drive, memories filled the air.
Harry driving too fast.
Larry bringing his own wine.
Radar making everyone cry.
Klinger never sleeping.
When the MASH* theme song came on, no one spoke.
After it ended, Alan said quietly,
“That song used to annoy me.”
“Now?”
“Now it just reminds me how lucky we were.”
At Malibu, reality hit.
Wheelchairs don’t work on sand.
Jamie grumbled.
Mike rubbed his back.
Alan stared at the ocean.
Gary disappeared.
Fifteen minutes later, he returned with two lifeguards and two beach wheelchairs.
One lifeguard whispered,
“My grandmother watched MASH* every night.”
It took time.
Transfers were slow.
Hands trembled.
Bones protested.
But they made it.
To the water.
Alan closed his eyes.
The sound of waves.
Salt in the air.
Sun on his face.
“I forgot what this felt like,” he said.
They talked about the ones who weren’t there.
McLean.
Wayne.
Larry.
Harry.
Bill.
David.
Loretta.
Jamie finally broke the silence.
“Let’s race.”
Two wheelchairs.
Two pushers.
One rock.
They raced.
They tied.
People on the beach stared.
A teenager asked, “What are those old guys doing?”
His mother said, “Living.”
As the sun set, Alan spoke.
“This might be the last time.”
No one argued.
“That’s why it matters,” he said.
“Because we know.”
He made a wish.
“One more year.”
“One more adventure.”
“Korea. Together.”
They promised.
Must Watch! Budweiser just released its new Super Bowl LX commercial!
It's amazing and patriotic! 🇺🇸
It's gonna drive the America hating left batshit crazy!
2019 LSU Tigers
15-0, National Champions
Beat 7 Top 9 teams, the most in a season ALL TIME
Heisman winner Joe Burrow responsible for a record 65 touchdowns
Average Margin of Victory was 26.5 Points per Game
THE GREATEST TEAM OF ALL TIME!
Please bookmark this for when folks inevitably lose their minds tonight.
We can put this argument to bed … 2019 LSU by a million
I’m worn out hearing people moan, “Our grandparents could buy a house on one paycheck, but now we can’t even afford rent on two!”
Yeah, maybe because Grandma wasn’t dropping half her income on $14 iced lattes and avocado toast shaped like art projects. Back then, if they wanted coffee, they boiled it at home in a dented pot. It tasted like burnt rubber and regret — but it woke you up and cleaned your pipes.
And Grandma wasn’t “out to brunch.” You think she had time for mimosas and hashtags? She was making something called whatever’s left in the fridge and feeding six people with it.
Don’t even start with Uber Eats. You think Grandpa was out here paying $38 to have a burger delivered three blocks away? Please. He grilled mystery meat on a rusted barbecue, and everyone called it dinner.
Now people cry about being broke while sitting in a house full of gadgets. Two SUVs in the driveway, six streaming services, three air fryers, and matching tattoos that cost more than their light bill. You think Grandpa had a tattoo? He did. It said “Korea, 1951,” and it came with trauma, not Instagram likes.
And the kids—Lord help us. “We can’t make ends meet, but Brayden needs the new iPhone!” No, he doesn’t. You’re handing an $1100 device to a child who still eats crayons and forgets to flush.
When we were kids, there was one phone. It hung on the wall like a family relic. The cord stretched just far enough for you to whisper secrets before someone yelled, “Get off, I need to make a call!” And guess what? We lived.
The TV? One. In the living room. With three channels and a dial that clicked like a safe. And if Dad wanted to watch bowling, you were a fan of bowling, end of story.
Now there’s a flat screen in every room, the baby’s got an iPad, the dog’s got a camera, and everyone’s wondering why they can’t afford rent.
Because you’re living like rock stars on retail salaries, that’s why.
Grandpa wasn’t leasing Teslas or buying $12 smoothies called “Green Zen Awakening.” He drove a truck that coughed smoke, rattled like a storm, and smelled like oil and hard work.
They lived within their means. Whatever Grandpa brought home on Friday — that’s what they had. They weren’t keeping up with the Joneses; they were keeping the lights on.
So yeah, Grandpa bought a house on one salary. But he also didn’t have a gym membership, three delivery apps, and emotional support crystals on his nightstand. His only support system was Grandma, who told him to quit whining and mow the yard.
Nowadays, everyone’s broke, anxious, and “manifesting abundance” while ordering tacos on DoorDash for the fourth time this week.
It’s not the economy — it’s the lifestyle.
Wake up, turn off your subscriptions, make your own coffee, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll smell the truth.
Credit to original author, unknown
This perspective gives a whole new meaning to the song.
Oh, this is the biggest compliment a daughter could ever give to her mother. You’ve done something right Mom!
@bourbonpodcast1 Weller Red label
WOW 🚨 DC Lobbyist exposes the real reason Democrats are keeping the government shutdown is because they’re being paid off “It has to do with dark money from the billion dollar health insurance companies”
Also, even while the federal government is shutdown, the Big Health Insurance Companies are getting funneled our tax money
“I understand why this shutdown is happening because I've been scratching my head, like, why would the Democrats be shutting down the government, depriving federal workers in the military of basically pay in food and then depriving the military of their health care through TRICARE. — It has to do with the f*cking insurance companies.”
“So I found out these people, even Even though the government shut down because of the ACA, their payments every month are coming directly from the Treasury to their bank accounts. So the insurance companies, UnitedHealthcare, Aetna, Molina, Kaiser, they are getting paid right now, mandatory pay every single month while the federal workers and the military get nothing. And so now it's finally making sense. This has nothing to do with healthcare.
“It has to do with dark money from the billion dollar insurance companies. Because keep in mind, if they lose the ACA credits for next year, they're not going to get any of that money. They won't get any of that money. So even though the tax credits are tax credits, what actually happens is these tax credits get paid on behalf of you, the insured, and they go directly to the insurance companies. So that's why the Democrats are fighting so hard on this.
That's nothing. It has to do with people's premiums. It has to do with the fucking insurance companies not getting billions and billions and billions of dollars in January and next year.”
“It's about the billion dollar insurance companies. And so everyone in, at least the talking points of the Democrats are like, oh, the premiums are going to go up. Why don't you hold the insurance companies accountable?
These are not market rates. They're setting the premiums. They're the ones that are deciding to keep human beings without Health Care. That has nothing to do with what the government does. — They own the hospitals, and the providers are setting. These obscene rates for procedures. And so then they're making money off of the hospitals. This entire shutdown has nothing to do with health care and everything to do with the billion dollar corporations United Health Care, Aetna, Kaiser, Molina, they are the ones that are keeping the government shut down right now”
We were warned almost 40 years ago...
We gonna listen this time?
BREAKING 🚨 Donald Trump just now posted this VIRAL video wanting you to know this is not a both sides issue
MIC DROP 🔥
I’m sorry, but how can you not think he’s hilarious? 🤣
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