Vicious Predator

An angry vicious predator

[鈴森はるか 『haruka suzumori』 🇯🇵 @harukaawake]

🇨🇳 A very good reason why you should avoid most restaurants in China. Some people might say this is on purpose. Likely, it's just an everyday, common mistake they make in China.

[@BrennpunktUA 🇩🇪🇺🇦 @BrennpunktUA]

Hello 🇷🇺 Cargo-Train on the way to Crimea

[Baba Banaras™ @RealBababanaras]

Iranian Media : Israel attacked Tehran, Karaj, Tabriz, and Kermanshah. IRGC is preparing for retaliatory action against the Israel & US targets across the Middle East.

[Baba Banaras™ @RealBababanaras]

Devil is dead !

IRGC Chief Ahmad Wahidi, who threatened to make the dead sea a graveyard for Jews this morning, as per Iranian opposition news outlet, was killed in Israeli airstrikes in Tehran, just a while ago.

Official confirmation awaited

[ANDRYULIK 🇺🇦 @Andryulik]

Хорошо горит. Сочи

[Vicious Predator @ViciousPred4592]

@Zigmanfreud @Masshopper34 then they'll be replaced

[Vicious Predator @ViciousPred4592]

@SkyNews @TrevorPTweets

[Vicious Predator @ViciousPred4592]

@visegrad24 No interference?

[Vicious Predator @ViciousPred4592]

@NotFarLeftAtAll No interference?

[WeGotitBack 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿🇬🇧🇺🇸 @NotFarLeftAtAll]

David Lammy rang JD Vance to tell him he's 'wrong' on Henry Nowak case after US vice-president partly blamed teen's murder on 'mass invasion of migrants'

After four minutes, JD Vance asked, “Who are you?”

[zerocool73🇨🇵🇺🇦🇪🇺 @ULRICH63651188]

🚨STRATÉGIQUE & HISTORIQUE

L'armée ukrainienne vient de mener sa plus vaste et plus profonde attaque de drones depuis le début de la guerre. Une vague record de 376 drones a frappé la Russie jusqu'à 1 000 km de la frontière, ciblant le cœur militaire et énergétique du pays.
🔥 Les faits marquants :
La flotte de la Baltique visée : Incendies et explosions à la base navale de Kronstadt et au 15e arsenal de munitions près de Saint-Pétersbourg.
Infrastructures pétrolières en feu : Les dépôts d'Ust-Labinsk (Krasnodar) et de Tyumen durement touchés.
Timing politique : Une riposte directe après le rejet par Poutine des propositions de paix de Zelensky, en pleine clôture du Forum économique de Saint-Pétersbourg.
Malgré la défense antiaérienne russe, la saturation de l'espace aérien a provoqué un chaos logistique inédit jusqu'à la côte Baltique. La guerre change d'échelle. 🇺🇦✈️🇷🇺
#Ukraine #Russie #GuerreEnUkraine #DroneStrike #SaintPetersburg #Kronstadt #Actualite #Geopolitique #OSINT

[Jonathan Turley @JonathanTurley]

In responding to a challenge from Sen. Fetterman to prove that he did not send naked pictures to women, Graham Platner immediately raised the Jews, declaring that Fetterman is a tool of AIPAC. It appears that the tattoo may be obscured, but a certain obsession remains...

[NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依 @japan_nobunaga]

The blender drowned out the world. Above it, the boy asked for a name to write on the cup.

I gave him the one that has outlasted empires.

"Nobunaga."

He nodded, wrote, and set the cup on the line with a shout:

"NIAGARA!"

A waterfall. He had heard the name of a man who burned temples, and written down a honeymoon destination.

(For one breath, eight hundred years went over the edge with it.)

I let it stand. His face was far too pleased to wound.

"Yes," I said. "Niagara."

And if I was to be named for a waterfall, then I would do what waterfalls do. I would give everything, and keep none of it.

Be like the falls: pour out all you have, hold nothing back, and ask for none of it in return.

So I carried my smoothie like a man entrusted with a river. I wiped a spill before a toddler could slip in it. I righted the napkin tower an old man had knocked askew. When a teenager came up a dollar short and went red to the ears, I covered it before the line could notice, and told her, gravely, that the House of Niagara does not let small droughts go unanswered.

She laughed. She had no idea what I meant. Neither, in full, did I.

A woman watched me return three carts and bow to the door on my way out.

"Sir — are you alright?"

"I have never been better," I said. And it was true. It is a fine thing to have a name to live up to.

At the threshold I raised my cup to the little shop and said, with the weight of a man who has stood beneath real waterfalls:

"A name falls on you from above. All that matters is whether you catch it with both hands."

The boy behind the counter grinned. "...come back soon, Niagara."

I will.

You cannot choose what they pour on you. Only how you carry the water.

[XpressTR @XpressTR]

İskoçya’daki Edinburgh Hayvanat Bahçesi’nde 100’den fazla Gentoo pengueni, üreme sezonu öncesinde eş seçimi hazırlıklarına başladı.

📌 Erkek penguenlerin kur ritüelinde kullandığı çakıl taşları bu yıl çocuklar tarafından boyandı.

[Attorney Sholdon Daniels @SholdonDaniels]

💥 It keeps getting worse🤣

[NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依 @japan_nobunaga]

There is a moment at the end of every American meal when a stranger in an apron offers you the chance to become a coward.

"You want a box for that?"

He nodded at my plate — half a burrito, a small company of fries, one lone onion ring — as if these were scraps.

He believed he was offering me convenience. He was offering me a test of honor.

Because I did not see leftovers. I saw survivors.

These soldiers had fought beside me through a long and brutal campaign. They still drew breath when the final bell rang. To abandon them on the field — to let a busboy sweep them into the dark — was a dishonor I could not carry home in good conscience.

"Yes," I said quietly. "A box. They are coming with me."

"...cool," said the waiter, who did not yet grasp the weight of what was unfolding.

When the box arrived, he moved to tip the plate and let them tumble in like refuse. I raised a hand.

"I will place them myself."

And I did. One by one, with two fingers and full ceremony. The fries I laid in a row, a fallen rank still holding formation. The onion ring — a single perfect circle, the bravest among them — I set at the head, where a captain belongs. The half burrito I wound tighter in its foil, the way you wrap a wounded officer in his own cloak, and I whispered to him that the journey would be short.

A child at the next table stared, transfixed.

"What's in the box?"

"Heroes," I said.

She nodded slowly — the way children nod at a truth the adults have forgotten.

I closed the lid the way one closes the gate of a shrine. I did not tuck it under my arm. I carried it before me in both hands — level, steady — the full length of the restaurant.

(My arms shook. I did not lower it. Heroes are not transported at an angle.)

A man chuckled as I passed. I did not mind him. A lesser man would have scraped the plate.

You do not measure a man by the feast he finishes. You measure him by the fallen he refuses to leave behind.

At my steed, I did not toss the box onto the seat. I fastened it. The belt clicked across my heroes, and only then did I breathe.

"...sir. You buckled in your leftovers."

"I have buckled in no leftovers," I said. "No man is left behind tonight. Not even the onion ring. Especially not the onion ring."

At dawn I will grant them their second life. The Americans, in their modesty, call this device "the microwave."

I call it resurrection.

Somewhere out there, even now, a perfectly good onion ring is being dropped into the dark — unnamed, unmourned, uncarried.

I hope its house can live with that. Mine will sleep in peace.

[NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依 @japan_nobunaga]

"Can I get a name for the order?"

The theater lobby smelled of butter and youth. Still, a name is a name. I straightened, and gave mine its full weight.

"Nobunaga."

The girl smiled, tapped her screen, and a minute later called it proudly across the lobby:

"NACHO! Order for Nacho!"

A tray of chips. Before a hundred strangers clutching popcorn, the Demon King had been summoned to collect nachos.

(A lesser man might have died on the spot. I merely considered it.)

But the lobby had heard it now. To deny it would make a scene — and a samurai does not make a scene over cheese.

"Yes," I said, rising like a man called to the front. "I am Nacho."

And if I was to be Nacho, I would be a Nacho of unshakable honor.

Greatness is not in the name they shout. It is in how quickly you stand when they shout it.

So I rose every time, instantly, with the readiness of a man who has waited his whole life to be needed. (It was always my order. There is only one Nacho.) I gave my place in line to a mother holding twins. I caught a falling drink before it hit the floor. When a small boy spilled his popcorn and his lip began to tremble, I knelt, gathered what I could, and told him gravely that even great houses have lost a battle of popcorn, and risen again. He laughed through his tears.

"You're really kind," his mom said. "What's your name?"

"...Nacho," I admitted.

"Cool name."

"It is from a very old family," I said, and let her keep the warmer half of it.

At the door, tray in hand, I turned to that bright, noisy lobby full of strangers chasing two hours of joy, and gave them the only line I had:

"Answer to any name they give you — but answer like the name is lucky to be yours."

A kid clapped. The girl at the counter laughed. "...enjoy the movie, Nacho."

I did.

The name was small. I decided I would not be.

[Vicious Predator @ViciousPred4592]

@BritifyUK

[Echoes of War @EchoesofWarYT]

On June 6, 1944, a 56-year-old general with a secret walked onto Utah Beach under fire, armed with a cane and a pistol.

The secret: his heart was failing. He had hidden it from the army doctors so they wouldn't pull him from the mission.

His name was Theodore Roosevelt Jr. Son of the President. He had begged three separate times to lead the first wave ashore at Normandy before his commanders finally said yes.

When his landing craft drifted 2,000 yards off course, every instinct said redirect the following waves to the correct zone. Instead, Roosevelt walked the beach himself, alone, under artillery fire, cane in hand, reading the terrain.

His verdict: "We'll start the war from right here."

He then stood on that beach and personally greeted every regiment that landed after him, pointing them inland, cracking jokes under shellfire, steadying 18-year-olds who had never seen combat. He did this for hours.

Years later, Omar Bradley was asked to name the single most heroic act he had ever witnessed in combat.

His answer, without hesitation: "Ted Roosevelt on Utah Beach."

Roosevelt's son, Captain Quentin Roosevelt II, also landed at Normandy that same morning. He was named after his uncle, Quentin Roosevelt, who had been shot down as a fighter pilot over France in World War I.

Three generations. Three wars. One family.

Theodore Roosevelt Jr. died in his sleep 36 days later. Heart attack. The thing he had been hiding finally won. He never learned he had been awarded the Medal of Honor.

He was buried at the Normandy American Cemetery.

In 1955, his family had his brother Quentin, killed in WWI, exhumed from where he fell in France and reinterred right beside him. Quentin is the only World War I soldier buried there.

Two brothers. Two world wars. The same French soil.

Their father had once said: "Do what you can, with what you have, where you are."

Both of his sons did exactly that.

[Dr. Clayton Forrester @DrClaytonForre1]

Trump hired a bunch of chuds to restore the Reflecting Pool, which they did on time and on budget. Liberals are absolutely furious because they don't want voters to see that you can just fix things.