He keeps being sick on the pitch.
Not once. Regularly. Lionel Messi, the most gifted footballer anyone has ever watched, vomiting during matches, and for years nobody can tell him why. Barcelona run the tests. The tests come back with nothing.
In 2014 he stops asking the club doctors and goes to see an Italian nutritionist called Giuliano Poser.
Poser looks at what the best player alive is actually putting in his body and finds pizza, fizzy drinks and refined flour. A schoolboy's diet, carried into his mid-twenties, on top of a professional athlete's training load.
The fix was subtraction.
Out went the sugar. Out went the refined flour. Out went the processed food. Poser's line on it was blunt: sugar is the worst thing there is for a muscle.
In came olive oil, fish, whole food, water.
Messi drops around three kilos that were never meant to be there. The sickness stops. The following season he scores 58 goals and wins the treble.
The best footballer alive spent his early career quietly poisoned by the same processed, sugared, refined-flour diet a whole generation of children was raised to think was normal, and got well the week a man took it off his plate.
And this week he is in a World Cup semi-final, chasing another final, sponsored start to finish by the fizzy drink he had to quit to get there.
I'll bet @SamaHoole doesn't get sick on the poop lettuce.
Just sayin.
Maybe this is the universe's way of pointing us all to carnivore and regenerative agriculture.
A few hours ago, the Taliban auctioned off $16 million US dollars in Kabul. Senator John Barrasso can stop the cash shipments to the Taliban at any time by scheduling our Defund the Taliban bill for a vote. Call (202) 224-6441.
If your city can afford Flock cameras but can't afford to fill potholes then maybe, just maybe, your city has its priorities in the wrong place.
Can I get a Fuck Flock?
🚨#BREAKING: A bizarre scene has just occurred in court where a man accused of vandalizing Flock cameras says he has no intention of stopping.
When asked if he planned to continue taking down the cameras, he said:
“Absolutely. They are a clear threat to public safety.”
Police say he replaced the cameras with a sign saying “You’re welcome, Republic of New Mexico.”
The governor of Oklahoma raises a glass of raw milk to a camera in 2026, takes a swig, and tells the state it tastes like freedom.
He had just signed a law lifting the cap on how much unpasteurised milk a farm can sell directly to the public, from a hundred gallons a month to fifteen hundred, and making it legal to advertise the stuff. Oklahoma is one of a run of states pulling raw milk back out of the shadows. And every time one does, the same warning goes up: this was banned for a reason, have you forgotten why.
So it is worth remembering exactly why. The real reason has been quietly mislaid.
In the growing American cities of the mid-1800s, milk became a genuine killer, and the reason was an industry. Distilleries producing whiskey had a hot, sour waste left over called swill, and someone worked out you could feed it to cows packed into sheds right next to the still. The animals lived in filth, diseased and dying on their feet, and gave a thin bluish milk so poor it was doctored with chalk, plaster and molasses just to pass for milk. This swill milk poured into the cities and killed infants by the thousand. That was the scandal that built the case for pasteurising milk and regulating dairies, and it was a fair case against that milk.
Here is the part that got quietly folded in. The same wave of law that rightly killed off the distillery-slop dairies also swept up the clean stuff: milk from healthy cows on grass, on small farms, drawn into clean pails. All of it got tarred with the swill-dairy brush and pushed toward the same ban. And once the big pasteurising plants and the consolidated dairies were built, keeping the small raw producer locked out stopped being about disease at all. It became about who was allowed to sell milk.
The filthy urban swill dairy vanished a century ago. The suspicion it earned got pinned, permanently, onto a farmer selling clean milk from healthy cows at his own gate.
They banned the milk of dying cows fed on distillery waste, which was right, and then kept the ban aimed at the farm down the lane, which was never the problem.
On a videophone call through a sign language interpreter, I was told they had a senior deaf black cat who used sign language at the shelter. Because of age and deafness, they will euthanize her unless someone adopted her. I had already been pre-approved to adopt.
I arrived and...
it wasn't a cat.
It was a dog!
I signed to her, and she signed back, but she was clearly frightened and overwhelmed. My heart knew I could not leave her there.
At home with her I quickly realized...she wasn't deaf either!
I did some digging; the previous owner was a deaf woman in Houston. She had passed away.
That "deaf black cat" turned out to be a hearing black dog who knows signs.
And that's how Luna Lovegood became part of our family.
It's not the color of your skin we're tired of.
It's your culture.
It's the way you behave.
We're tired of your loud, violent, obnoxious ghetto culture, robbing, murdering, whining about everything!
Activist: "Farmers are millionaires sitting on land worth a fortune. They can afford the inheritance tax."
Farmer: "How much did I earn last year?"
Activist: "I don't know. A lot, surely."
Farmer: "Twenty-two thousand. Before the tractor broke."
Activist: "But the land's worth millions."
Farmer: "On paper. I can't eat the field or spend it. The only way to turn it into money is to sell it, and then I'm not a farmer, I'm a bloke who used to have a farm."
Activist: "So sell a corner of it."
Farmer: "A corner doesn't work as a farm. You can't run a suckler herd on the bit that's left after the taxman's had his slice. You sell one field, then the next bill comes, then another field. It ends one way."
Activist: "The land only costs that much because you won't sell it."
Farmer: "It costs that much because a hedge fund three counties over wants it for carbon credits and a footballer wants it for the view. Neither of them has ever calved a cow at three in the morning. They set the price. I get the bill."
Activist: "It's still an asset."
Farmer: "It's a workplace that happens to be expensive. You've decided the value of the shop is the same as the wage of the shopkeeper. Come back in February and watch me not be a millionaire in the rain."