Jay @captincruch63 - Twitter Profile

5 days ago

Looking for opinions on switching from Tirzepatide to Reta… Was on Wegovy tablet for about 6 months, no major change. Switched to Tirz a month ago, seeing some change but effecting gym progress. #reta #retatrutide #tirzepatide #peptides

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captincruch63 retweeted

Call of Duty Japan @CallofDutyJP

27 days ago

◢◤ Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 4 ベータ開催記念CP ◥◣ ⠀ 抽選でベータ早期アクセスコードを配布。新兵・復帰兵問わず、誰よりも早く前線へ出撃せよ。 🎮応募方法 ①フォロー＆リポスト ②DMで抽選結果が届く 📅締切 8/23(日) 23:59 8/22からベータ早期アクセス開始プレイした感想も募集中！

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captincruch63 retweeted

Signal 99 Cincinnati

@Signal99Cinci

9 months ago

This OSP Trooper took his life…and that sentence should stop every single one of us cold. Sergeant Matthew Cook was not a headline. He was a son, a husband, a Trooper, a Daddy. Matt wore the badge long enough to understand its weight—the visible weight, the symbolic weight, the kind the public romanticizes. But there is another weight the public rarely sees. The kind that settles in your chest. The kind that doesn’t come off at end of your shift. The badge is heavy on a good day. It carries responsibility. Authority. Expectations. It carries every call you ran, where you arrived too late. Every child you couldn’t save. Every death notification you delivered with a steady voice while something inside you cracked. Then…there is the mourning band—a different kind of weight. A thin strip of black fabric. Simple. Silent…yet when it’s affixed, the badge becomes heavier in a way words struggle to capture—and those that know, know. That band is not symbolic…it is personal. It means another name etched into memory. Another empty chair at roll call. Another family shattered—Blood and Blue family alike. It means the reminder never leaves your chest. It presses into it…yet still—we expect cops to carry on, without missing a beat. We train them to run towards the chaos. We teach them to compartmentalize grief. We reward stoicism—and we mock vulnerability. We still whisper about “mental toughness” while quietly punishing those who admit they’re drowning. Let’s be honest about the stigma—because it is still very real. Too many cops believe asking for help will end their career. Too many fear being benched, labeled, or quietly sidelined. Too many have been conditioned to believe that strength means silence…and tears are for the weak. So they carry it. And they carry it. Until sometimes they can’t…and 6-8 of us carry them. This is not weakness…this is accumulated weight—and it is killing our cops. If you are reading this and you wear a badge—hear this clearly: you are allowed to hurt. You are allowed to ask for help. You are allowed to say, “I’m not okay.” If you are a Leader—this is on you. Culture is not built by posters or slogans. It’s built by what happens when someone raises their hand and says they’re struggling. Do you protect them—or do you bury them? And if you are the public—this is your moment to stop talking at cops and start praying for them. Tonight, we ask you to hit your knees. We ask you to pray for Sergeant Matthew Cook. Pray for his wife. Pray for his children. Pray for his parents. Pray for his Brothers and Sisters in uniform who are quietly replaying their own breaking points right now… because this should never have happened…and because the weight of the badge—especially when wrapped in black, was never meant to be carried alone. Lord, we pray for the loss of this man…we pray for his salvation in you Lord—and we pray that you surround Matt’s family with comfort and peace. We pray for the Ohio State Highway Patrol. Comfort them Lord and keep them safe. If you are struggling…please reach out. You matter more than the silence. If you need to talk to someone anonymously, or would like details for resources, our DMs and emails are always open. Rest in heavenly peace Troop. 💔💙