Dear professional baseball players,
ANY player in ANY professional LEAGUE who is FINED by their league for refusing to be FORCED to participate in WOKE LEFTIST AGENDAS, who refuses to wear ridiculous uniforms (or cleats), @TPUSA and I will PAY any and ALL of your Fines!
You signed a contract to play baseball, you didn’t sign a contract to go against your deeply held Christian religious beliefs.
Baseball is our National Pastime, not Drag queen story hour.
Sincerely yours,
Rob Schneider and Turning Point USA!
🔻 Trump just moved the man who has seen every mortgage, every bank record, and every financial transaction of his enemies — into the chair that controls all 18 intelligence agencies.
Bill Pulte. Head of Fannie Mae. Head of Freddie Mac. The man who oversees every home loan in America.
Today he was appointed Acting Director of National Intelligence.
The media is laughing. "A housing guy running intelligence?" They think it's incompetence. They think Trump made a mistake.
They don't understand what just happened.
For 18 months, Pulte has had access to the mortgage files of sitting congressmen. Exposed fraudulent property claims by political operatives. Opened investigations into financial records that were supposed to stay buried.
One congressman filed a federal complaint last week — claiming Pulte accessed his CONFIDENTIAL mortgage files without authorization.
He didn't deny it.
Now that same man sits above the CIA. Above the NSA. Above the FBI. Above every classified database in the United States.
A man who already knows WHERE they live, WHAT they own, WHO paid for it, and WHICH names are on the deeds — now has access to WHERE they travel, WHO they call, and WHAT they hide.
Tulsi didn't leave because of her husband. She left because her part was FINISHED. The intelligence community has been restructured from the inside. The next phase does not require a diplomat. It requires a forensic accountant with top-secret clearance.
The hunt doesn't begin when you see the arrest. It begins when the man reading the files changes.
The man just changed.
June 9. First sealed indictment unsealed.
⟁
Forward this before it disappears.
5 years old - Dad knows everything!
7 years old - Dad knows.
10 years old - Maybe dad doesn’t know?!
12 years old - Dad doesn’t know.
14 years old - Dads gone crazy!
16 years old - Can’t take dad seriously.
18 years old - What does dad know?!
22 years old - Dads talking rubbish!
24 years old - I know more than dad!
26 years old - Dad seems to know some things after all.
30 years old - Think I should ask dad about this?!
40 years old - It’s amazing how dad went through all this!
45 years old - Dads been right all along.
50 years old - If dad was here, I could have learned a lot from him.
Your father is the only man who's proud to see you doing better than him.
Have you noticed how the Honor Guard pays close attention to folding the flag? The flag is folded exactly thirteen times in remembrance of the original 13 colonies. There is also a specific meaning to each fold. Here they are...
Here is what each fold of the flag means (I think you'll see an important theme from all thirteen.):
The first fold symbolizes life.
The second fold represents a belief in eternal life.
The third fold is made in honor and remembrance of the veterans who gave their lives in defense of the country in order to help attain peace throughout the world.
The fourth fold is in recognition of the nature of the country’s citizens to trust in God.
The fifth fold is a tribute to the United States... According to Stephen Decatur, S. Naval Commander during the American Revolution and War of 1812, “Our country, in dealing with other countries, may she always be right, but it is still our country, right or wrong.”
The sixth fold symbolizes where people’s hearts lie in keeping with the words of our pledge of allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
The seventh fold pays tribute to all of our Armed Forces.
After all, through our Armed Forces, the United States is protected against all enemies.
The eighth fold is a tribute to those who died, and as Psalm 23 states, “Entered into the valley of the shadow of death.”
The ninth fold honors womanhood.
The 10th fold is a tribute to fathers.
The 11th fold represents the lower portion of the seal of King David and King Solomon and glorifies, in Judaism, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.
The 12th fold represents an emblem of eternity and glorifies, in the eyes of Christians, God the Father, the Son and Holy Ghost.
The 13th and last fold reminds us that when the flag is completely folded, in the uppermost corner signifies our national motto, “In God We Trust.”
Additionally, when the flag is completely folded and tucked in, the resulting shape appears like a tricorne hat and represents the soldiers who served under General George Washington, the sailors and marines who served under Naval Commander John Paul Jones and the many who have followed them in order to preserve the rights, privileges and freedoms we enjoy today.
So in the future when you see a flag folded, hopefully we will all now have a deeper understanding and appreciation of the importance and meaning of the folds.
God Bless You and God Bless America
An old pastor lay dying. He sent a message for Joe Biden and Barack Obama to come to the hospital. When they arrived, they were ushered up to his room.
As they entered the room, the pastor held out his hands and motioned for them to sit on each side of the bed. The pastor grasped their hands, sighed contentedly, smiled, and stared at the ceiling.
For a time, no one said anything. Both Biden and Obama were touched and flattered that the old man would ask them to be with him during his final moments.
They were also puzzled because the pastor had never given any indication that he particularly liked either one of them. Finally, Obama asked, “Pastor, why did you ask the two of us to come here?”
The old pastor mustered all his strength, and then said weakly, “Jesus died between two thieves… and that’s how I’d like to go.”
Three men parked down on the road in front of our property a couple nights ago. They had bolt cutters and a plan to break into our shop. What they didn’t have was respect for brambles.
The first man hit the property line at a jog. He made it four steps. The canes took him like a cat takes a mouse — not quick, but certain. One barb in the jeans, then another in the jacket, then three in the scalp. He yelled. That was mistake one. Sound carries in a holler.
The second man tried to go around. Blackberries don’t “around.” They’d swallowed the old deer path in ’09. He pushed in with his forearm and came back with his sleeve in ribbons and blood running down to his elbow. The thorns are recurved, built to keep prey from backing out. Every time he pulled, they bit deeper.
The third was smarter. He had a machete. He swung once, twice. The canes sprang back. Blackberry is whippy, green wood. Cut one, three more slap you in the face. He got ten feet in and realized he couldn’t see the road anymore. Couldn’t see his feet. Couldn’t see anything but thorns and the dark. That’s when the yellowjackets came up from a nest he’d stepped on. They didn’t care who was trespassing.
Now, I didn’t call the sheriff until sunrise mind you and we all slept just fine. The dogs didn’t even bark — they knew the briars were working.
The Sheriff found them at 6:40 AM, picking their way out to the road looking like they’d lost a fight with fifty cats. One had to cut his own boot off to get his ankle free. The bolt cutters were still in the thicket somewhere. Nobody was going back for them.
The Sheriff walked the edge with me, looked at the scratches on those men, looked at the wall of green and purple.
“You do this on purpose?” the Sheriff asked as
he popped a berry in his mouth. July-sweet, still warm from the night.
“No sir,” I said. “I just quit mowing. The mountain did the rest.”
I offered the Sheriff a hatful to take to the station. He took it. Evidence, he said.
Folks in town started saying those folks up on Big Dog Reserve had the best security system in Smyth County. No wires, no batteries, no subscription. Just pays you back in cobbler.
And if you ask me about it, I'll tell you the same thing my Dad said: “A fence tells a man he’s not wanted. A blackberry patch convinces him.”
That's security.