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Brian with a Y

@compalicious

Used to be a lawyer, but never on tv. I’m also a “liberal hack.” Ready for the Blue Wave to hit.
In Your Head, Rent Free
Joined August 2009
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356 Followers
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MatthewModine's profile image
Matthew Modine Verified account @MatthewModine
Repost + be following by Monday, July 13 for a chance to win this original photo I took on the set of FULL METAL JACKET in 1986! I’ve had it for almost 40 years! I signed the front and back and added a personal note about the photo. Apologies for the smudges! I’ll select one winner at random and announce next #ModineMonday. Good luck! https://t.co/NRdCgZxqkr
MatthewModine's tweet photo. Repost + be following by Monday, July 13 for a chance to win this original photo I took on the set of FULL METAL JACKET in 1986! I’ve had it for almost 40 years! I signed the front and back and added a personal note about the photo. Apologies for the smudges! I’ll select one winner at random and announce next #ModineMonday. Good luck! https://t.co/NRdCgZxqkr
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MatthewModine's profile image
Matthew Modine Verified account @MatthewModine
Repost + be following by Monday, July 6 for a chance to win one of these limited edition FULL METAL JACKET “War Face” Challenge Coins! Only 100 were made and each comes in a hand-signed plastic envelope! I’ll pick one winner at random and announce next #ModineMonday. Good luck! And if you’d like to support the @FMJDiary project and exhibition, you can order one of these coins with a signed envelope + get a bonus signed Kubrick Chair mini print and link to my unabridged FMJ DIARY audiobook here: https://t.co/szGrFHS4Mi
MatthewModine's tweet photo. Repost + be following by Monday, July 6 for a chance to win one of these limited edition FULL METAL JACKET “War Face” Challenge Coins! Only 100 were made and each comes in a hand-signed plastic envelope! I’ll pick one winner at random and announce next #ModineMonday. Good luck! And if you’d like to support the @FMJDiary project and exhibition, you can order one of these coins with a signed envelope + get a bonus signed Kubrick Chair mini print and link to my unabridged FMJ DIARY audiobook here: https://t.co/szGrFHS4Mi
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compalicious's profile image
Brian with a Y @compalicious
@TheCinesthetic
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johhnyblueskies's profile image
Sturgill Simpson @johhnyblueskies
johhnyblueskies's tweet photo. https://t.co/RnKBN3ztXT
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lagunadeb's profile image
☮lagunadeb
@lagunadeb
☮I'm imagining peace☮☮I myself made entirely of flaws,stitched together w/love #voteblue2024 #BLM
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Echanty
@echanty718
I'm retired & passionate about saving dog's lives. I have fostered and placed over 400 dogs. I am appalled by and disgusted with Trump's destruction of US.
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Julie Glauninger
@Caliowa
☘ Mother, grandmother, wife, Liberal, Democrat, Californian/Iowan Also on BlueSky https://t.co/3sxXnRtooY #WomensRights #Outlander #BLM
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Microinteracti1's profile image
Gandalv Verified account @Microinteracti1
Robert Mueller died last night. He was 81 years old. He had a wife who loved him for sixty years. He had two daughters, one of whom he met for the first time in Hawaii, in 1969, on a few hours of military leave, before he got back on the plane and returned to Vietnam. He had grandchildren. He had a faith he practiced quietly, without performance. He had, in the way of men who have seen real things and survived them, a quality that is increasingly rare and increasingly mocked in the country he spent his life serving. He had integrity. And tonight the President of the United States said good! I have been sitting with that word for hours now. Good. One syllable. The thing you say when the coffee is hot or the traffic is moving. The thing a man who has never had to bury anyone, never had to sit in the specific silence of a room where someone is newly absent, reaches for when he wants the world to know he is satisfied. Good. The daughters are crying and the wife is alone in the house and good. I want to speak directly to the Americans reading this. Not the political Americans. Just the human ones. The ones who have lost a father. The ones who know what it is to be in that first hour, when you keep forgetting and then remembering again, when ordinary objects become unbearable, when the world outside the window seems obscene in its indifference. I want to ask you, simply, to hold that feeling for a moment, and then to understand that the man you elected looked at it and typed a single word. Good. This is not a country having a bad day. I need you to understand that. Countries have bad days. Elections go wrong. Leaders disappoint. Institutions bend. But there is a different thing, a rarer and more terrible thing, that happens when the moral center of a place simply gives way. Not dramatically. Not with a single catastrophic event. But quietly, in increments, until one evening a president celebrates the death of an old man whose family is still warm with grief, and enough people find it acceptable that it becomes the weather. Just the weather. That is what is happening. That is what has happened. The world knows. From Tokyo to Oslo, from London to Buenos Aires, people are not angry at America tonight. Anger would mean there was still something to fight for, some remaining faith to be betrayed. What I see, in the reactions from everywhere that is not here, is something older and sadder than anger. It is the look people get when they have waited a long time for someone they love to find their way back, and have finally understood that they are not coming. America is being grieved. Past tense, almost. The idea of it. The thing it represented to people who had nothing else to believe in, who came here with everything they owned in a single bag because they had heard, somehow, across an ocean, that this was the place where decency was written into the walls. That idea is not resting. It is not suspended. It is being buried, in real time, with 7,450 likes before dinner. And the church said nothing. Seventy million people have decided that this man, this specific man who has cheated everyone he has ever made a promise to, who has mocked the disabled and the dead and the grieving, who celebrated tonight while a family wept, is an instrument of God. The pastors who made that bargain did not just trade away their credibility. They traded away the thing that made them worth listening to in the first place. The cross they carry now is a costume. The faith they preach is a loyalty oath with scripture attached. When the history of American Christianity is written, this will be the chapter they skip at seminary. Now I want to talk about the men who stand next to him. Because this is the part that actually breaks my heart. JD Vance is not a bad man. I have to say that, because it is true, and because the truth matters even now, especially now. Marco Rubio is not a bad man. Lindsey Graham is not a bad man. They are idiots, but not bad, as in BAD! These are men with mothers who raised them and children who love them and friends who remember who they were before all of this. They are not monsters. Monsters are simple. Monsters do not cost you anything emotionally because there is nothing in them to mourn. These men are something more painful than monsters. They are men who knew better, and know better still, and will get up tomorrow and do it again. Every small compromise they made had a reason. Every moment they looked the other way had a justification that sounded, at the time, almost reasonable. And now they have arrived here, at a place where a president celebrates the death of an old man and they will find a way, on television, to say nothing that means anything, and they will go home to houses where children who carry their name are waiting, and they will say goodnight, and they will say nothing. Their oldest friends are watching. The ones who knew Rubio when he still believed in something. Who knew Graham when he said, out loud, on the record, that this exact man would destroy the Republican Party and deserve it. Who sat next to Vance and thought here is someone worth knowing. Those friends are not angry tonight. They moved through anger a long time ago. What they feel now is the quiet, irrecoverable sadness of watching someone disappear while still being present. Of watching a person they loved choose, again and again, to become less. That is what cowardice costs. Not the coward. The people who loved him. And in the comments tonight, the followers celebrate. People who ten years ago brought casseroles to grieving neighbours. Who stood in the rain at gravesides and meant the words they said. Who told their children that we do not speak ill of the dead because the dead were someone's beloved. Those people are tonight typing gleeful things about a man whose daughters are not yet done crying. And they feel clean doing it. Righteous. Because somewhere along the way the thing they were given in exchange for their decency was the feeling of belonging to something, and that feeling is very hard to give up even when you can no longer remember what you gave for it. When Trump is gone, they will still be here. Standing in the silence where the noise used to be. Without the permission the crowd gave them. Without the pastor who told them their cruelty was holy. They will be alone with what they said and what they cheered and what they chose to become, and there will be no one left to tell them it was righteous. That morning is coming. Robert Mueller flew across the Pacific on military leave to hold his newborn daughter for a few hours before returning to the war. He came home. He buried his dead with honour. He served presidents of both parties because he understood that the institution was larger than any one man. He told his grandchildren that a lie is the worst thing a person can do, that a reputation once lost cannot be recovered, and he lived that, every day, in the quiet and unglamorous way of people who actually believe what they say. He was the kind of American the world used to point to when it needed to believe the story was true. He died last night. His wife is alone in their house in Georgetown. His daughters are learning what the world is without him in it. And somewhere in the particular hush that falls over a family in the first hours of loss, the most powerful man and the biggest loser on earth sent a message to say he was glad. The world that loved what America was supposed to be is grieving tonight. Not for Robert Mueller only. For the country that produced him and then became this. For the distance between what was promised and what was delivered. For the suspicion, growing quieter and more certain with each passing month, that the America people believed in was always partly a story, and the story is over now, and there is nothing yet to replace it. That is all it needed to be. A man died. His family is broken open with grief. That is all it needed to be. Instead the President said good. And the country that once stood for something looked away 🇺🇸 Gandalv / @Microinteracti1
Microinteracti1's tweet photo. Robert Mueller died last night. He was 81 years old. He had a wife who loved him for sixty years. He had two daughters, one of whom he met for the first time in Hawaii, in 1969, on a few hours of military leave, before he got back on the plane and returned to Vietnam. He had grandchildren. He had a faith he practiced quietly, without performance. He had, in the way of men who have seen real things and survived them, a quality that is increasingly rare and increasingly mocked in the country he spent his life serving. He had integrity. And tonight the President of the United States said good! I have been sitting with that word for hours now. Good. One syllable. The thing you say when the coffee is hot or the traffic is moving. The thing a man who has never had to bury anyone, never had to sit in the specific silence of a room where someone is newly absent, reaches for when he wants the world to know he is satisfied. Good. The daughters are crying and the wife is alone in the house and good. I want to speak directly to the Americans reading this. Not the political Americans. Just the human ones. The ones who have lost a father. The ones who know what it is to be in that first hour, when you keep forgetting and then remembering again, when ordinary objects become unbearable, when the world outside the window seems obscene in its indifference. I want to ask you, simply, to hold that feeling for a moment, and then to understand that the man you elected looked at it and typed a single word. Good. This is not a country having a bad day. I need you to understand that. Countries have bad days. Elections go wrong. Leaders disappoint. Institutions bend. But there is a different thing, a rarer and more terrible thing, that happens when the moral center of a place simply gives way. Not dramatically. Not with a single catastrophic event. But quietly, in increments, until one evening a president celebrates the death of an old man whose family is still warm with grief, and enough people find it acceptable that it becomes the weather. Just the weather. That is what is happening. That is what has happened. The world knows. From Tokyo to Oslo, from London to Buenos Aires, people are not angry at America tonight. Anger would mean there was still something to fight for, some remaining faith to be betrayed. What I see, in the reactions from everywhere that is not here, is something older and sadder than anger. It is the look people get when they have waited a long time for someone they love to find their way back, and have finally understood that they are not coming. America is being grieved. Past tense, almost. The idea of it. The thing it represented to people who had nothing else to believe in, who came here with everything they owned in a single bag because they had heard, somehow, across an ocean, that this was the place where decency was written into the walls. That idea is not resting. It is not suspended. It is being buried, in real time, with 7,450 likes before dinner. And the church said nothing. Seventy million people have decided that this man, this specific man who has cheated everyone he has ever made a promise to, who has mocked the disabled and the dead and the grieving, who celebrated tonight while a family wept, is an instrument of God. The pastors who made that bargain did not just trade away their credibility. They traded away the thing that made them worth listening to in the first place. The cross they carry now is a costume. The faith they preach is a loyalty oath with scripture attached. When the history of American Christianity is written, this will be the chapter they skip at seminary. Now I want to talk about the men who stand next to him. Because this is the part that actually breaks my heart. JD Vance is not a bad man. I have to say that, because it is true, and because the truth matters even now, especially now. Marco Rubio is not a bad man. Lindsey Graham is not a bad man. They are idiots, but not bad, as in BAD! These are men with mothers who raised them and children who love them and friends who remember who they were before all of this. They are not monsters. Monsters are simple. Monsters do not cost you anything emotionally because there is nothing in them to mourn. These men are something more painful than monsters. They are men who knew better, and know better still, and will get up tomorrow and do it again. Every small compromise they made had a reason. Every moment they looked the other way had a justification that sounded, at the time, almost reasonable. And now they have arrived here, at a place where a president celebrates the death of an old man and they will find a way, on television, to say nothing that means anything, and they will go home to houses where children who carry their name are waiting, and they will say goodnight, and they will say nothing. Their oldest friends are watching. The ones who knew Rubio when he still believed in something. Who knew Graham when he said, out loud, on the record, that this exact man would destroy the Republican Party and deserve it. Who sat next to Vance and thought here is someone worth knowing. Those friends are not angry tonight. They moved through anger a long time ago. What they feel now is the quiet, irrecoverable sadness of watching someone disappear while still being present. Of watching a person they loved choose, again and again, to become less. That is what cowardice costs. Not the coward. The people who loved him. And in the comments tonight, the followers celebrate. People who ten years ago brought casseroles to grieving neighbours. Who stood in the rain at gravesides and meant the words they said. Who told their children that we do not speak ill of the dead because the dead were someone's beloved. Those people are tonight typing gleeful things about a man whose daughters are not yet done crying. And they feel clean doing it. Righteous. Because somewhere along the way the thing they were given in exchange for their decency was the feeling of belonging to something, and that feeling is very hard to give up even when you can no longer remember what you gave for it. When Trump is gone, they will still be here. Standing in the silence where the noise used to be. Without the permission the crowd gave them. Without the pastor who told them their cruelty was holy. They will be alone with what they said and what they cheered and what they chose to become, and there will be no one left to tell them it was righteous. That morning is coming. Robert Mueller flew across the Pacific on military leave to hold his newborn daughter for a few hours before returning to the war. He came home. He buried his dead with honour. He served presidents of both parties because he understood that the institution was larger than any one man. He told his grandchildren that a lie is the worst thing a person can do, that a reputation once lost cannot be recovered, and he lived that, every day, in the quiet and unglamorous way of people who actually believe what they say. He was the kind of American the world used to point to when it needed to believe the story was true. He died last night. His wife is alone in their house in Georgetown. His daughters are learning what the world is without him in it. And somewhere in the particular hush that falls over a family in the first hours of loss, the most powerful man and the biggest loser on earth sent a message to say he was glad. The world that loved what America was supposed to be is grieving tonight. Not for Robert Mueller only. For the country that produced him and then became this. For the distance between what was promised and what was delivered. For the suspicion, growing quieter and more certain with each passing month, that the America people believed in was always partly a story, and the story is over now, and there is nothing yet to replace it. That is all it needed to be. A man died. His family is broken open with grief. That is all it needed to be. Instead the President said good. And the country that once stood for something looked away 🇺🇸 Gandalv / @Microinteracti1
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compalicious  retweeted
covie_93's profile image
Covie Verified account @covie_93
I'm apologizing in advance for the person i'll become when trump dies.
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compalicious's profile image
Brian with a Y @compalicious
@TheCinesthetic Schindler’s List
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compalicious  retweeted
AncapAir's profile image
𝘼𝙣𝙘𝙖𝙥 𝘼𝙞𝙧 🛫 Verified account @AncapAir
TTTTTTT TTT TTT TTT TTT RRRRRR RR RR RRRRRR RR RR RR RR UU UU UU UU UU UU UU UU UUUUU MM MM MMM MMM MM MM MM MM MM MM MM PPPPPP PP PP PPPPPP PP PP RRRRRR RR RR RRRRRR RR RR RR RR AAA AAAAA AA AA AAAAAA AA AA PPPPPP PP PP PPPPPP PP PP EEEEEEE EE EEEEE EE EEEEEEE SSSSS SS SSSSS SS SSSSS CCCCC CC C CC CC C CCCCC HH HH HH HH HHHHHHH HH HH HH HH IIIII III III III IIIII LL LL LL LL LLLLLLL DDDDD DD DD DD DD DD DD DDDDD RRRRRR RR RR RRRRRR RR RR RR RR EEEEEEE EE EEEEE EE EEEEEEE NN NN NNN NN NN N NN NN NNN NN NN
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Brian with a Y @compalicious
@DOBrienATL That album is non-stop straight through listen. One of the greatest of the 70s.
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compalicious  retweeted
covie_93's profile image
Covie Verified account @covie_93
Good thing Congress isn't alive to see this.
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Brian with a Y @compalicious
@BeaneaterB @MikeASperrazza @BbleuRL @FBI
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TheAuthorGuy's profile image
Christopher Moore @TheAuthorGuy
and vice versa?
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TheAuthorGuy's profile image
Christopher Moore @TheAuthorGuy
@ProjectLincoln and vice versa?
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Grey_0G's profile image
LHGrey™️ Verified account @Grey_0G
THE FUCKING PLOT THICKENS... You thought the diary was bad? You thought the ultrasound trophies and the ripped-away newborn were the bottom? No. That was just the fucking appetizer. The 2026 files peel back another layer, and the stench is suffocating. Victim after victim...over a hundred now...describing the same script: flown in as teens, drugged, impregnated, monitored like livestock. Little St. James wasn’t just a rape island; it was a goddamn laboratory. Epstein and his inner circle talking about “genetic lines,” “select breeding,” “future assets.” They kept spreadsheets. Spreadsheets of pregnancies, outcomes, disappearances. Babies born in 2001, 2002, 2003...vanished into private adoptions or worse. No paper trails. No names. Just redacted voids where children used to be. And the enablers? They weren’t just looking away. They were investors. Names you know. Names you cheer for. Names you vote for. Household names that still get invited to Davos, still get softballed on Sunday shows, still get to play “thought leader” while the machine scrubs their tracks. They flew down, partied, left with “gifts.” Some took girls home. Some took more than girls. The flight logs were the tip; the real ledger was encrypted, offshore, guarded by people who kill for a living. Bannon wasn’t some curious journalist sniffing around for a documentary. That’s the fairy tale he sold the rubes. He was in the house. Multiple times. Hours at a stretch. Closed doors. No cameras. No notes released. Just Epstein...fresh off the 2008 sweetheart deal...coaching Bannon on how to weaponize resentment, how to ride the populist wave while protecting the real predators at the top. Bannon gave him legal tips, crisis PR, introductions to fixers. They texted like old war buddies. “Hey buddy.” “See you in Paris.” “Let me know when you’re back in NY.” This wasn’t research. This was alliance. And when Epstein got pinched in 2019? Bannon went quiet. No outrage. No exposé. Just silence while the “documentary” footage conveniently disappeared. Funny how that works. He still screams about the “globalist pedophile elite” on his little podcast, voice cracking with righteous fury, while he was literally breaking bread with the king of the castle. Still rails against the “deep state” that...guess what...gave Epstein his slap-on-the-wrist plea, let him keep his passport, let him keep trafficking until the very end. The hypocrisy isn’t just rank. It’s radioactive. That 24-year-old daughter...Epstein’s blood, stolen at birth...could be anywhere. Walking among us. Or buried in an unmarked grave on that cursed island. And there are others. Dozens, maybe hundreds. A hidden bloodline seeded by a monster and protected by a system that decided some lives are worth more than truth. The DOJ sat on this for years. Years. Waited until the heat died down, until memories faded, until the public got bored and moved on to the next outrage. Then they dribbled it out in February 2026 like it was just another Friday document dump. This isn’t incompetence. This is coordinated cover. Every institution that was supposed to protect these girls...cops, prosecutors, judges, media, intelligence agencies...looked the other way or actively helped. They all got their taste. Left, right, center...it doesn’t matter. The apex predators wear every jersey. They play every side. They fund every revolution that keeps the herd distracted while they feast. You want to know why nothing ever changes? Because the people screaming loudest about draining the swamp were swimming in it with their mouths open. Burn it the fuck down. All of it. Then salt the fucking earth. 💀⚖️🗡️
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Brian with a Y @compalicious
@BeaneaterB He was definitely in Slytherin house.
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compalicious  retweeted
RepJackKimble's profile image
Rep. Jack Kimble Verified account @RepJackKimble
I'm trying to tell you something 'bout my life Maybe give you insight between black and white And the best thing I've ever done for you Is to cast illegal votes for a bill or two It's only voting after all, yeah Well, I've got a hunger that's insatiable And my voice has a tone that's painful to hear I sailed the ship of state until I sank it And I wrap my fear around me like a blanket I'm still hiding on the floor. And I went to the doctor, my heart was really poundin' I defunded children, allegations were mountin' I give more than one answer to these questions I'm following a crooked line And the less I seek my source for some definitive (The less I see my shoes) They call me Randy Fine, yeah They call me Randy Fine, yeah
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compalicious's profile image
Brian with a Y @compalicious
@BeaneaterB It keep getting worse every single day. First Amendment? Yeah, not anymore.
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juliesaysthings's profile image
Julie @juliesaysthings
Welcome to my halftime show 🦅🦅🦅
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dog_rates's profile image
WeRateDogs Verified account @dog_rates
we need to talk about that Ring Super Bowl ad
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Brian with a Y @compalicious
@WaldrepSplitter I just started following you…
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