BA

Retired educator. Make America Great Again as long as it takes. 🇺🇸 Ride the sarcasm highway. Few rest stops. No DMs.

[BA @bav2356]

@1Nicdar @eric_pulsifer @SenateGOP @LeaderJohnThune What’s worse, the line of succession is the same. Except for Mike Lee, T. Cruz and a few others who would not get elected to replace this guy.

[BA @bav2356]

@tuuu28283 @ladybugz443 This is a grill. The flat lid makes it run quite hot when closed. For slower cooking use some thing with an oven like cover. Secondly, the grilling surface is too low on these. Easy to burn and over cook if you don’t control the flames. Good luck.

[🇺🇸RealRobert🇺🇸 @Real_RobN]

Here it is:

A State Department official on the single largest human smuggling operation in human history.

Daniel Fitzgerald, a State Department official responsible for allocating U.S. foreign aid and bribes across the Western Hemisphere, confirms on hidden camera:

“The big issue for the Democrats on the Hill for our region is migration.”

“So, we poured a lot of money into Central America.”

Q: Like how much?

“Four billion over four years.”

USAID spent over $4 billion in four years destabilizing Latin American countries.
The “Great Replacement Theory” is real—the deliberate importation and protection of illegal aliens is intended to fundamentally alter, and ultimately overthrow, the constitutional republic of the United States, along with Western civilization.

— The State Department official, Daniel Fitzgerald, affirmed:

“Oh, yeah. So all the good, honest, hardworking Mexicans stay in Mexico, and all the pieces of garbage come to the United States… And the Mexican government has no reason to stop it because their garbage goes to another country and sends money back to them.”

— When asked about the ultimate goal behind such policies, the official responded:

“They want to change the demographics of the United States… Traditional standard Americans are not leftists. Latin Americans are all leftists. It literally is. It’s just—it literally is essential to try to change the demographics in the United States.”

📝 The losers in the Republican Congress must codify Trump’s policies into law.

[BA @bav2356]

@ScottPresler @rreeves5 Not at all. Good job at the GOP.

[BA @bav2356]

@Notwokenow @JesseMock4 But a clenched fist satisfies both.

[BA @bav2356]

@Notwokenow @JesseMock4 Malicious intent or weapon and this is a crime.

[BA @bav2356]

@TaraBull Only missing the small weapons.

[BA @bav2356]

@upsellsunshine @SholdonDaniels Here’s my last link for you. There may be others but you’re on your own now. Good luck.

[🇺🇸RealRobert🇺🇸 @Real_RobN]

Here it is:

A COURT-APPROVED forensic examination of Dominion Voting Systems CONFIRMS BEYOND A SHADOW OF A DOUBT that the system was designed to manipulate election outcomes, overthrow governments, and, on November 3, 2020, facilitate the overthrow of the United States government.

A forensic examination concluded that Dominion Voting Systems rigged the 2020 Michigan presidential election and covered it up by manually deleting the results of the 2020 election.

“We conclude that the Dominion Voting System is intentionally and purposefully designed with inherent errors to create systemic fraud and influence election results. The system intentionally generates an enormously high number of ballot errors. The electronic ballots are then transferred for adjudication. The intentional errors lead to bulk adjudication of ballots with no oversight, lead to bulk adjudication of ballots with no oversight, no transparency, and no audit trail.”

[BA @bav2356]

@DavidJHarrisJr Likely by another communist though.

[NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依 @japan_nobunaga]

A Five Guys in a strip mall. I had heard the burgers here were honest. A samurai goes where the food is described in the smallest number of words.

At the door, a barrel.

A wooden barrel, knee-high, full of raw peanuts in the shell. A small wooden scoop. A sign:

FREE PEANUTS - HELP YOURSELF

I stopped.

I read it three times.

In my country, when a host places food at the threshold of his house and tells you to take it, he is testing whether you understand the difference between hospitality and theft. The wrong man takes too much. The wrong man takes nothing. The right man takes a small handful, bows, and proceeds.

I took a small handful. I bowed to the barrel.

I proceeded.

At the counter, a young man, name tag MARCUS.

"Hey man, welcome to Five Guys, what can I get you?"

"...I have taken your peanuts."

"Yeah, that's what they're there for."

"What is the obligation."

"...The what?"

"What do I owe."

"Nothing, man. They're free. Help yourself."

"...Help yourself."

"Yeah."

"Marcus. In my country, when a stranger is told to help himself, it is a kindness given to a man who is far from home. I have not yet introduced myself. You have already addressed me as a man who is far from home. You are correct. I am."

Marcus smiled the way you smile at someone you have decided you like.

"Hell yeah. What can I get you?"

"A cheeseburger."

"Want any toppings? They're free."

"...Free."

"Yeah. Lettuce, tomato, onion, pickle, mushrooms, jalapeños, green peppers, mayo, mustard, ketchup, BBQ, A1, hot sauce, relish. All free. Bacon's the only thing extra."

I had not been read a list this long since I was made to recite the names of my ancestors.

"...You are giving a man as many options as he has weapons."

"Pretty much. What you want?"

"All of them."

"All the way?"

"All the way."

"You got it. Fries?"

"Yes."

"Regular or Cajun?"

I stopped.

The word landed somewhere inside me that had been arranged, recently, by a different meal.

"Marcus. Cajun is a people. From Louisiana."

"...Yeah?"

"I have eaten with them. They served me crawfish on newspaper. They called me brother. I did not know I had brothers in that country."

"Damn, sir. That's beautiful."

"Then bring me their salt. I will not refuse the seasoning of a people who fed me on a table without plates."

"Cajun fries it is."

"Size?"

"The smallest. I am one man."

"You got it. Little Cajun."

I paid.

I sat at a small table by the window with my brown paper bag. The bag was heavier than I expected. The boy at the counter had told me, as I picked it up, "bag's heavier than you think, sir." I had taken this as a piece of philosophy. It was, I now understood, a literal report.

I opened the bag.

The Cajun fries were in a cup. The cup was inside the bag. Around the cup, the bag was full of more fries. Loose. Spilling. As if the cup had given up trying to contain itself, and the bag had taken the overflow without complaint.

I lifted the bag and looked at Marcus across the room.

"...Marcus."

"Yes sir?"

"You give the man who asked for little, more."

"Yeah, that's how we do it."

"That is the most American sentence I have heard this week."

He laughed. I looked at the bag again.

I lifted one fry. The seasoning came off red on my fingertips. I ate it.

I had to set the cup down.

This was not the salt of the Cajun people. This was the war salt of the Cajun people. The men who had fed me on newspaper had been holding back. Marcus was not.

My eyes filled with water. Not from feeling. From paprika.

I lifted the burger. Two patties. Lettuce, tomato, onion, mushrooms, jalapeños, green peppers, pickles, mayo, mustard, ketchup, BBQ, A1, hot sauce, relish, and cheese. The thing was a small mountain wrapped in foil. I held it with both hands, the way a man holds the head of his enemy after a long battle, with respect and a small amount of fear.

I ate.

The bun was sweet. The patty was salty. The peanut oil it had been cooked in was, by some quiet miracle, present in everything. I was eating, I realized, a burger that had been raised on the same oil the fries had been raised on, and that oil had been raised on the peanuts in the barrel at the door, which were free, which were the same peanuts that were now still in my coat pocket because I had not eaten them yet.

I stopped chewing.

"...The barrel. The fries. The burger. They are all one animal."

The man at the next table, a man in a work shirt with the name CARLOS embroidered on it, who had been eating fries with one hand and looking at his phone with the other, looked up.

"Cajun fries, huh? Those'll get ya."

"Carlos. I have been gotten."

"Right? Best in the game."

"I yield. I have been ambushed by salt three times in one meal, and twice by people I did not see coming."

Carlos laughed, the small full laugh of a man who is finally understood.

"Welcome to Five Guys, man."

I finished. I finished everything. The cup. The loose fries. The burger. Even the small flecks of seasoning that had fallen onto the paper of the wrapper. A samurai does not leave the field with the enemy's salt still on the ground.

I crumpled the foil. I rose. I bowed to Carlos. Carlos raised his half-finished Coke and tipped it slightly toward me.

I bowed once more, to the barrel at the door, which I now understood was the beginning of the meal and not merely the lobby of it. I took out the peanuts I had stored in my pocket, cracked one shell, and ate it as I walked out.

The salt of the peanut. The fourth salt.

This entire restaurant was a single quiet declaration: that a man should not be allowed to leave hungry, that nothing he eats should cost the dignity of being measured, and that the smallest order in the house is still more than one man can finish alone.

This is a country that puts a barrel at the door and trusts you with it.

This is a country that gives a man as many weapons as he has options, and charges him for none of them.

This is a country that overfills the bag of a man who asked for little, on principle.

Tomorrow I will return. I will order the same. I will eat the same. I will lose the same battle. A man does not flee from a salt that has already named him.

The Cajun fed me crawfish on newspaper. The man at Five Guys fed me their war salt on a fry. I have eaten with the same people, in two states, on two coasts, and they did not know they were the same.

I knew.

I have been gotten.

[BA @bav2356]

@Daffan578648 @tuuu28283 Anything besides traditional Mexican food is fusion. Combining things with traditional. Still good, but not the original. Fusion has occupied all foods.

[BA @bav2356]

@warDaniel47 @PatrioticGrams 130 gods have spoken.

[BA @bav2356]

@JPavidis3 @ApexSeeker_ True

[NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依 @japan_nobunaga]

A sandwich shop in New Orleans. I ordered a fried shrimp po'boy. The man behind the counter, Marcus, asked me something gently.

"You want it dressed?"

I looked at the sandwich on the counter. Shrimp. Bread. Nothing else.

It was naked.

I understood at once. In this city, they do not let a sandwich go out into the world undressed. A people who give clothing even to their lunch. I was moved.

"It is not dressed now?" I asked, carefully.

"Nah, right now that's just the shrimp and the bread."

"Then yes. I cannot let it leave this counter naked."

Marcus nodded slowly. "...So, lettuce, tomato, mayo, pickle?"

"Whatever it needs to be decent."

He started building it. I watched each layer go on like a garment. The lettuce was its robe. The tomato, a sash. I bowed my head a little, out of respect for the dressing of a thing.

"You good?" Marcus asked. He had stopped, mid-mayo.

"Do the other sandwiches know," I said quietly, "that this one was almost sent out bare?"

"...They don't really, uh. Know things."

"You protect its honor anyway. You are a kind man."

He finished dressing it without another word. A patient man. He even laid the pickles on like he meant it.

I took a bite, and the shrimp were hot and crisp and the bread cracked and gave way, and the whole thing was, I will be honest with you, perfect. I ate the rest standing up, shrimp falling, mayo on my thumb, completely content.

A man, a blade, a sandwich.

None of the three should ever be sent into the world undressed.

So tell me, America.

You ask if the sandwich would like to be dressed, as if it could feel shame.

Who decided a sandwich had dignity worth protecting?

And when it sat there bare on the counter. Which of us looked away first?

[BA @bav2356]

@DataRepublican Seems like it costs lives to continue running USAID.

[NyanChuu🔮🇯🇵🍭 @tanpukunokami]

The Root Beer Float Identity Crisis

An American friend said,

“You have to try a root beer float.”

I heard the words.

Root.

Beer.

Float.

This was already three problems in one sentence.

Root sounds like medicine.

Beer sounds like alcohol.

Float sounds like something that failed to sink.

Then the glass arrived.

Dark brown soda.

Vanilla ice cream on top.

Foam everywhere.

A straw.

A spoon.

Both weapons.

I stared at them.

If something needs a spoon and a straw, it is not food.

It is a custody battle.

I smelled it.

My brain immediately opened a meeting.

Candy?

Medicine?

Toothpaste?

An antique shop?

Why does this drink smell like a grandfather’s cabinet learned how to sparkle?

I asked,

“Is this beer?”

My friend said,

“No.”

“Is it medicine?”

“No.”

“Is it dessert?”

“Kind of.”

Kind of.

The most suspicious answer in American cuisine.

I used the straw first.

Cold.

Sweet.

Carbonated.

Confusing.

My mouth said soda.

My nose said pharmacy.

My childhood memories said, “We have never been here before.”

Then I used the spoon.

Ice cream.

Foam.

Root beer.

Now the dessert was drinking the drink.

The drink was melting the dessert.

Everyone at the table acted like this was not a public food identity crisis.

A kid nearby finished one calmly.

That scared me.

American children are trained early to accept chaos in a glass.

By the third sip, I stopped trying to understand.

By the fifth spoonful, I was defending it.

“That smell is actually… interesting.”

This is how America wins.

First you are confused.

Then you are sticky.

Then you are loyal.

Root beer float is not a drink.

It is not dessert.

It is a cold civil war between soda and ice cream, supervised by bubbles.

And somehow, I lost to it.

NyanChuu will no longer mock food that cannot choose a category.

If America hands me cake soup next, I will not panic.

I will simply ask,

“Does it come with a spoon, a straw, or emotional damage?”

[BA @bav2356]

@japan_nobunaga A revolution happened. The revolution took place inside universe and EU conferences and Britain was conquered. Its leaders were conquered. Each one they replace is followed by someone worse. But the people were not conquered or even informed. Until now.they are just finding out.

[BA @bav2356]

@japan_nobunaga How do you put gas in the car?

[BA @bav2356]

@TechOperator Everyone doesn’t wait at Costco.