Armenians should not serve in Congress.
Neither should Somalis.
Or Guatemalans.
Or — wait for it— Israelis.
If you are a citizen of a foreign country, you shouldn’t serve in ours.
We need to pass my bill to stop the invasion of dual citizens in Congress.
NOW.
I am posting from inside Iran, bypassing several layers of blockage to post this. The Iranian people want this regime gone and are willing to pay the price, because the price of the regime staying in power is higher. That is all. That's the tweet.
@LLinWood My sincere condolences on the loss of your dear friend, Sal. Over the years it has become obvious how much you caref for him and his wife. May God's bring your heart peace during this difficult time. 🫂❤️🫂
If you’re having trouble accessing YouTube right now, you’re not alone — our teams are looking into this and will follow up here with updates: https://t.co/7iTU5S9AgT
The Flight Home I was flying home from my dad’s funeral. I was a wreck. I was sitting in the middle seat. I couldn't stop sniffling. The man next to me, a big guy in a business suit, put down his laptop. "Rough week?" he asked gently. "My dad died," I said. He didn't say "I'm sorry." He pulled out a deck of cards. "Do you know how to play Gin Rummy?" he asked. "Yeah," I said. "My dad taught me." "Good," he said. "I'm tired of working. Play with me?" We played cards for three hours. We laughed. We argued about the rules. For three hours, I wasn't a grieving daughter. I was just a card player. When we landed, he handed me the deck. "Keep 'em," he said. "Teach your kids." I looked at his business card later. He was the CEO of a major tech company. He could have worked. He chose to play cards with a stranger. Time is the greatest gift you can give.
@ThomasMurphy4SC Praying for a win in this molecular war for you. My friends suffering from aggressive forms have incorporated MOTS-C and Thymosin A peptides and have seen great results
Human beings, Rob Reiner and his wife Michelle have been tragically killed today.
I am deeply saddened. Every life is sacred and given by God, our creator.
One of the most accomplished American directors who ever lived, his movies have been adored by generations, but I will remember him most for making me laugh my guts out with my Dad watching the greatest American tv show of all time, “All In The Family.”
I will be praying for his friends and family that they may find solace and peace.
I've been helped more times than I can count by a trucker. Thank you to those that stopped, the ones who let me "rocking chair", the ones who guided me through swamp fog and stayed with me to my exits watching my back. Gratitude & love to all. #keepontrucking#truckers#love
"I'm Big Joe. 58. Long-haul trucker.
Been driving 18-wheelers for 34 years. Sleep in my cab. Eat at truck stops. Talk on CB radio to stay awake.
Lonely job. But someone's gotta move America's stuff.
Two years ago, I'm driving through Nebraska. 2 a.m. See a car pulled over. Hazards on.
Woman standing outside. Looking scared.
I pulled over. She backed away when she saw me. I'm 6'4", 280 pounds, covered in tattoos. I get it.
"Ma'am, I'm not stopping to hurt you. I'm stopping to help. What's wrong?"
Her car died. Phone dead. She'd been there three hours. Nobody stopped.
"Where you headed?"
"Hospital. Omaha. My daughter's in emergency surgery. I have to get there."
No hesitation. "Get in. I'll take you."
"In your truck?"
"Safest vehicle on this highway."
She hesitated. Then got in.
Drove her 60 miles out of my way. Got her there in time. She hugged me hard.
"Nobody stops anymore," she cried. "Thank you for seeing me."
Got back on the road. Couldn't stop thinking about it.
Got on the CB. Told other truckers. "We see everything out here. We should do something."
Started a code. "Code Angel" we call it. When truckers see someone broken down, stranded, in trouble, we stop. We help.
Word spread. Truckers across the country joined.
Last year, we helped 1,200 people. Dead batteries. Out of gas. Medical emergencies. Domestic violence victims escaping. Runaways needing safe transport to shelters.
We've got a network now. Truckers, CB radio, truck stops. Someone needs help? We mobilize.
Saved six lives last year. People broken down in dangerous spots. Diabetics in crisis. A kidnapping victim we spotted and reported.
But here's my favorite story.
Last month, I'm at a truck stop. Young kid approaches me. Maybe 19. Scared.
"Are you Big Joe?"
"Yeah."
"You know how to ride in a truck?"
His eyes filled. "You'd help me?"
"That's what we do."
I didn't go to San Francisco. But I got him to a trucker who was. She took him the rest of the way.
He made it. Safe.
Now there's 4,000 truckers in Code Angel. We've got an app. Dispatchers. Resources.
News called us "Guardian Angels of the Highway."
But we're just truckers. Doing what's right.
That woman in Nebraska? Her daughter survived surgery. She sends me Christmas cards every year.
The kid I helped? He's in college now. Studying social work. Says he wants to help invisible people like truckers helped him.
I'm Big Joe. I drive a truck. Sleep in parking lots. Smell like diesel.
But I learned something.
The loneliest roads are where people need help most. And the scariest-looking people are sometimes the ones who stop.
So tomorrow, if you break down, if you're stranded, if you're running from something bad,
Look for the trucks. We're watching. We're listening.
We might look rough. But we'll get you home.
Because the highway doesn't have to be lonely.
Not when 4,000 truckers refuse to drive past people in trouble."
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Let this story reach more hearts....
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Ai image is for demonstration purpose only.
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By Grace Jenkins
Lessons of 2025:
Sometimes life puts people in our path who carry storms inside them.
And sometimes, without realizing it, we stand in the rain with them longer than we should — not because we’re naïve, but because we hope the lightning might finally turn back into light.
When someone’s pain echoes a loss we once lived through, we try to rewrite the ending. We give, we support, we offer grace… and occasionally, we end up hurt for it. That’s not something to hide in shame. It’s proof that even after everything we’ve survived, our instinct is still to help, not harm.
Mistakes aren’t moral failures.
They are reminders that our compassion is still alive — and that boundaries, once learned, become armor.
I’m stepping forward with clarity, not guilt.
If anyone tries to distort my truth or weaponize my vulnerability, I want this here in my own words:
People heal. People relapse. People choose. And sometimes, choosing yourself is the only way to stop someone else’s chaos from becoming your burden.
No shame. No fear. Just closure — and the quiet strength of someone who finally walked out of the storm.
Tore
Raise your hand if you think Congress should pass single bills that your elected representatives have the chance to read and debate in the light of day, instead of passing bills that are thousands of pages long in the middle of the night, that no one has had the time to read.
I tried doing it the right way tonight, and the Washington Swamp objected. SAD!