Jim Davis

Controlled opposition is weak opposition.

[The Hollywood Reporter @THR]

Randolph Mantooth, Firefighter-Paramedic Johnny Gage on ‘Emergency!,’ Dies at 80 https://t.co/gkPoo6n4j8

[Дepлorabлe Russian🔹 @TeaTramRussia]

Welcome to Ukraine 🇺🇦
When you're 60 and you had a stroke.
You're just relaxing at home on your summer terrace.
But Zelensky promised his NATO sponsors that Ukraine would fight Russia to the last man, and he's already received the money for it.

[marqix ☆ @fwmarqix]

I got into a physical altercation with a goose in front of my entire extended family, and no one helped me.

This was at my brother's lakehouse. Memorial Day weekend. Maybe thirty people there.

I was walking to the dock, carrying a plate of potato salad, minding my own business.

The goose was just standing there. I'd seen it earlier. It seemed calm.

I tried to walk around it.

It didn't move.

I stepped left. It stepped left.

I stepped right. It stepped right.

I said, out loud, "Come on, man."

The goose hissed.

It was the most aggressive hiss I've ever heard. Like a tire deflating through pure hatred.

I tried to shoo it away with my free hand.

That was a mistake.

The goose lunged.

It came at me with wings open, neck extended, honking like a car alarm possessed by a demon.

I stumbled backward. The potato salad went flying. I tripped over a cooler and landed flat on my back.

The goose stood over me.

I swear to God, it looked triumphant.

Then it bit my ankle.

I screamed.

My brother appeared on the deck.

"You okay?" he yelled.

"HELP ME."

He didn't move.

"It's just a goose," he said.

"IT'S ATTACKING ME."

"Push it away."

I tried to push it away. It bit my hand.

My wife came outside. She looked at me, looked at the goose, and went back inside.

"Where are you going?" I screamed.

"To get my phone."

She wanted to record it.

Eventually, my nephew ran over with a pool noodle and scared the goose off.

A child saved me.

A nine-year-old with a foam tube.

I lay on the grass, covered in potato salad, ankle bleeding, dignity gone.

The goose waddled back to the water like nothing had happened.

At dinner that night, someone had printed out a photo of me mid-fall and taped it to the cooler.

My brother made a toast: "To Paul. The only man I know who lost a fight to poultry."

Everyone laughed.

I did not laugh.

The photo is still on their fridge.

Every time I visit, the goose is there.

It remembers me.

I know it does.

We don't make eye contact.

But the tension is real.

[James Fishback @j_fishback]

Amazon just applied for 10,781 H-1B visas. They don't want to hire you, your kids, or your grandkids. They want to hire cheap foreign laborers from places like India, China, and Thailand.

We will not be replaced. End of story.

[Traditional Catholic Education @TradCathEd]

Anthony meets Sister Margaret😃. These old Catholic movies are a treasure.

[marqix ☆ @fwmarqix]

I was on a flight from Chicago to Phoenix, window seat. I had a book and zero intention of talking to anyone.

The guy in the middle seat was maybe 40. Normal looking. Nervous energy.

We took off. I opened my book.

Ten minutes in, he turned to me and said, "Can I ask you something?"

I made the fatal error of saying, "Sure."

"Do you think it's possible to love someone and still not like them?"

I blinked. "Uh."

"Because I've been thinking about this a lot lately. My wife and I have been married for twelve years. And I love her. But I don't know if I like her anymore."

I closed my book.

This was clearly not a casual conversation.

"I'm not sure I'm the right person to—"

"She hates everything I do. She criticizes how I load the dishwasher. She told me my laugh is annoying."

"That's... rough."

"And the thing is, I used to think she was right. Like maybe I was the problem. But then I talked to my buddy Steve, and Steve said his wife doesn't make him feel like that. Steve's wife compliments him."

"Steve sounds happy."

"Steve is thriving."

For the next three hours, this man told me everything about his marriage.

The vacation they took in 2019 where she refused to eat the local food.

The time she threw away his college T-shirts without asking.

The passive-aggressive way she sighs when he watches football.

I nodded. I said things like, "That must be frustrating."

Somewhere over Kansas, he started crying.

I gave him a napkin.

By the time we landed, he had decided to go to couples therapy.

"Thank you," he said, shaking my hand. "I really needed this."

"Of course," I said, though I had done literally nothing except sit there.

As we were deplaning, the flight attendant leaned over to me and said, "You were so patient with him. Are you a therapist?"

"No," I said. "I sell flooring."

She laughed.

I was not joking.

I think about that guy sometimes. I hope he went to therapy. I hope he told his wife about the T-shirts.

I also hope he doesn't remember my face, because I have no updates and no advice.

I was just a man with a window seat and poor boundaries.

[𐡀 @Xyleniqq]

My neighbor, Ed, was ninety one. Lived alone. Had a cat named Mr. Buttons.

Ed died three weeks ago. Heart attack. Quiet. Quick.

I didn't know him well. We'd wave. Small talk about the weather. That's it.

Two days after he died, there's a knock on my door.

It's Ed's daughter. I'd never met her.

Ed's daughter: Hi. I'm Rachel. Ed's daughter.

Me: Oh. I'm so sorry for your loss.

Rachel: Thank you. I'm here about the cat.

Me: The cat?

Rachel: Mr. Buttons. My dad left instructions. He wanted you to take him.

Me: What?

Rachel: He left a note. Said you were the only person on the street who didn't hate the cat.

Me: I don't even know the cat.

Rachel: Apparently you fed him once.

I tried to remember. Then it clicked.

Six months ago, Ed was out of town. He asked if I'd feed Mr. Buttons for two days. I said yes. I fed the cat. That was it.

Me: I fed him one time.

Rachel: Well, he left the cat to you.

Me: I don't want a cat.

Rachel: Neither do I. I'm allergic.

Me: So take him to a shelter.

Rachel: He's eighteen years old. No one's going to adopt him.

Me: That's not my problem.

Rachel: Please. I'll pay for his food. I just need someone to take him.

My wife appeared behind me.

My wife: We'll take him.

Me: What?

My wife: We'll take the cat.

Rachel looked relieved.

Rachel: Really?

My wife: Yes. Bring him over.

Rachel left. I turned to my wife.

Me: We're not cat people.

My wife: Ed left you his cat. We're taking the cat.

Me: I don't want a cat.

My wife: Too bad.

An hour later, Rachel showed up with Mr. Buttons. He's the ugliest cat I've ever seen. One eye. Half a tail. Looks like he lost a fight with a lawnmower.

Rachel: He's very sweet.

She handed me a carrier and left.

I put the carrier in the living room and opened it.

Mr. Buttons walked out, looked at me, and hissed.

Me: Great.

For three days, the cat hid under the couch. Wouldn't eat. Wouldn't come out.

My wife: Maybe he's grieving.

Me: He's a cat.

My wife: Cats grieve.

On day four, I'm sitting on the couch watching TV and Mr. Buttons jumps up next to me.

Just sits there.

I didn't move.

He curled up and fell asleep.

Now he follows me everywhere. Kitchen. Garage. Bathroom.

My wife thinks it's hilarious.

My wife: He loves you.

Me: I don't love him.

My wife: Yes you do.

Last week I took him to the vet. Spent $300 on bloodwork.

The vet said he's in good shape for eighteen.

I told my wife.

My wife: See? He's going to be around for a while.

Me: That's not comforting.

Yesterday I caught myself talking to him.

Me: You want dinner?

Mr. Buttons meowed.

Me: Yeah, me too.

My wife walked in.

My wife: Are you talking to the cat?

Me: No.

She smiled.

I'm a cat person now.

I hate it.

[Vivian Kubrick @ViKu1111]

Andrew

Let me offer advice.

Experienced investigators pay close attention not only to what a person says, but to what they avoid, what provokes disproportionate anger, and where they repeatedly try to redirect attention.

When someone confronted with factual questions responds by attacking the questioner’s character, motives, sanity and reputation, that behavior does not make the questions disappear. It makes investigators more interested in why those questions produce such an extreme reaction.

Your response is not the language of a man calmly confident that the evidence supports him. It is the language of someone desperate to control the frame: Charlie’s death must be discussed only on your terms, Tyler Robinson must be accepted as the killer, alternative explanations must be ridiculed rather than examined, and anyone who refuses to comply must be publicly destroyed.

That is not a rebuttal. It is containment.

Candace has been conducting what every genuine investigation requires: collecting testimony, crowdsourcing information, following leads, testing theories and discarding those that fail. Some leads will inevitably reach dead ends. That is not proof of dishonesty; it is the nature of investigation. What matters is whether substantial questions remain unanswered—and they do.

Yet instead of answering those questions with evidence, you substitute moral outrage, mockery and character assassination. You invoke Charlie, Erika and the children as emotional shields, as though grief grants you exclusive authority over the facts or makes scrutiny immoral. It does not.

You claim Candace lacks proof while demanding that everyone accept Tyler Robinson’s guilt despite evidence that remains weak, contested and inconclusive. You therefore apply one standard to Candace and another to the official narrative: absolute proof is required before she may ask questions, but certainty is demanded from the public before the case itself has established it.

That contradiction is becoming impossible to miss.

So here is the advice an experienced interrogator might give you: stop attacking the person asking the questions and start answering the questions themselves. Stop repeating certainty where certainty has not been earned. Stop behaving as though investigation is a threat.

Because every time you respond to evidence with sarcasm or moral outrage, to questions with insults, and to uncertainty with enforced certainty, you do not make Candace look less credible.

You make yourself look more concerned about where the investigation may lead.

@RealCandaceO @baroncoleman @JohnMappin @ImMappin @joekent16jan19 @TRobinsonNewEra @LionelMedia @IanCarrollShow @AwakenWithJP @jimmy_dore @OwenBenjamin @leahfiles @realstewpeters @EstulinVz @RealAlexJones @HarrisonHSmith
@BlakeSNeff @TPUSA @DonaldJTrumpJr
#TylerRobinson #CharlieKirk #TPUSA #Israel

[Classic Horror Films @HorrorHammer1]

Night of the Demon (1957) Opening Clip

[Lauren Thompson @lauren_tho4607]

10 July 1905 – 1971 Thomas Gomez, 65, US actor.

Voice of Terror (1942) Phantom Lady * The Climax * Johnny O'Clock * Ride the Pink Horse * Key Largo * Force of Evil * I Married a Communist * Anne of the Indies * Macao * The Sellout * Stay Away Joe * Beneath Planet of Apes (1970)

[Love Music @khnh80044]

No rehearsals. No warm-ups. Just pure talent.
At 74 years old, the voice is still absolutely breathtaking. ❤️🎶
Music might just be the closest thing we have to a time machine.

[The History Feed @HistoryFeed_7]

John Carpenter sits confidently in the hot seat on "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?" in 1999, wearing a blue shirt and glasses, as the final $1 million question appears: Which U.S. president appeared on "Laugh-In"? The studio falls silent in suspense.

He uses his final lifeline to call his father, calmly telling him he isn't calling for help, but to say he's about to become a millionaire. He then locks in the correct answer, and the studio erupts, sealing one of the most legendary game show victories in American television history.

[GOP Ls @GOP__Ls]

🚨 Republican actor James Woods is now facing child predator allegations after trying to take a 16-year-old on a private trip to Vegas.

When the young girl informed him of her age, he replied: “Even better.”

[Cuckturd @CattardSlim]

So James Woods was exposed for trying to traffic two 16 year old girls to Vegas, then he locked down his account?

Of course, EVERY Trump supporter is either a pedophile, or a pedophile enabler.

[John Watches Horror @Y2John84]

In Memory of Fred Gwynne

10 July 1926 - 2 July 1993

[El búnker de Ottaviani @bunkerottaviani]

EL ERROR RADICAL DEL VATICANO II

Si me preguntan cuál es la “esencia” de los errores y ambigüedades del Concilio Vaticano II, responderé lo siguiente: aunque se mantuvo el objeto material de la fe, se cambió su objeto formal; éste ya no fue Dios, sino el mundo.

Según la sana doctrina, el objeto material primario de la fe es Dios; y secundariamente, su obra, es decir, toda la realidad creada. No hay problema, pues, para que el Magisterio o la teología se ocupen de las realidades temporales, porque éstas forman parte del contenido material de la fe, aunque de modo secundario. Si no fuese así, no podría elaborarse una teología moral, por ejemplo, sobre los actos humanos, encuadrados en diversas circunstancias humanas y sociales contingentes.

Sin embargo, lo más importante de la fe es su objeto formal, o sea, la perspectiva a través de la cual debe abordarse el objeto material. Así pues, Dios (objeto material) puede contemplarse en sí mismo por lo que Él ha revelado de sí mismo (objeto formal). En un segundo momento, también pueden tratarse las realidades mundanas (objeto material) “sub ratione Dei”, o sea, bajo la razón de Dios (objeto formal).

Sin embargo, el Concilio Vaticano II cambió sutilmente el objeto formal de la fe. Digo que este cambio fue “sutil”, porque lo grosero y ostentoso hubiera sido el reemplazo del objeto material primario (Dios) por el objeto material secundario (el mundo). En efecto, el Vaticano II no hizo esto; habló de Dios y de la realidad mundana, pero lo hizo bajo una perspectiva diferente: ya no trató del objeto material bajo la razón de Dios, sino “sub ratione hominis”, bajo la razón del hombre, considerado éste en su finitud, historicidad y mundanidad. Dicho de otro modo, la Iglesia, mediante este Concilio, habló al mundo como si fuese éste el que hablase a la Iglesia. En definitiva, éste fue el principio antropocentrista fundamental que terminó contaminando la teología posconciliar, especialmente con el giro antropológico de Karl Rahner, famoso e influyente perito teólogo del Concilio, por cierto.

Si se hubieran respetado los excelentes esquemas preparatorios que había elaborado el Santo Oficio, no se hubiera caído en el error fundamental del antropocentrismo doctrinal, cierto, pero sobre todo el Concilio habría sido teocéntrico y sin errores si hubiera sido de naturaleza dogmática; en este caso, habría gozado del carisma de la infalibilidad, como reclamaban los padres conciliares del Coetus Internationalis Patrum. No obstante, por su carácter meramente pastoral, sus puntos heterodoxos y su lenguaje anfibológico, nos vimos privados de un concilio que hubiera dado gloria a Dios y podido superar al Concilio de Trento. Por el contrario, con el Vaticano II se abrió la caja de Pandora y todavía hoy se oyen los ecos de esa “revolución conciliar”.

Por lo tanto, no nos engañemos: todos los errores antropocentristas y mundanos del sinodalismo actual no suponen una “corrupción” del Concilio Vaticano II, sino su evolución homogénea y natural despliegue.

Dr. Ottaviani, desde su búnker

[Jim Davis @gearjammer553]

@Pat_Boone There was an old Journey To The Center Of The Earth cartoon back in the '60s we kids used to watch it. On the stones along the path was carved A S - for Arne Saknussemm - Saknussemm was a villain us kids were scared of him

[Jim Davis @gearjammer553]

@Pat_Boone So you popped out of that volcano wearing nothing but a sheep.

[El búnker de Ottaviani @bunkerottaviani]

Hay algo inquietante en el degenerado del cardenal “Trucho” relacionado con la Santísima Virgen. Parece que este tipejo está misteriosamente “resentido” con ella. Esto se vio claramente en la nota doctrinal “Mater populi fidelis”, donde niega la corredención de la Virgen. Sin embargo, también ha elegido algunas fechas marianas para vomitar su odio en contra de la tradición de la Iglesia. Asimismo, el 18 de diciembre de 2023, festividad de Nuestra Señora de la Esperanza, publicó la declaración “Fiducia Supplicans”, mediante la cual permitía y, de hecho, “obligaba” a bendecir las parejas homosexuales que solicitaran dicho servicio.

Otro ejemplo lo tenemos en este último 13 de mayo, fiesta de Nuestra Señora de Fátima, día que eligió deliberadamente para amenazar a la FSSPX con la excomunión si seguía adelante con lo que él llamaba “acto cismático”.

Cuando medito acerca de estas cosas, me acuerdo de este versículo de la Sagrada Biblia:

«Y pondré enemistad entre ti y la mujer, y entre tu linaje y su linaje: éste te aplastará la cabeza, y tú le aplastarás el calcañar» (Gn 3,15).

[tedfrank @tedfrank]

Engineer: “The concrete beams in our residential conversion of the Pfizer Building are buckling. The building could collapse! Did you correctly account for the weight of the additional floors we added?”

ChatGPT: “You’re absolutely right! I see the issue now—in using the Euler Critical Buckling Formula, I forgot to square of the length of the column in the denominator. I’ve recomputed it using 9.86*EI/KL and have confirmed that the beams are more than adequate to support the additional weight with a robust safety factor of 120. Proceed with confidence! That’s not just math—it’s prudent safety.”

[Jim Davis @gearjammer553]

@realstewpeters Something wicked this way comes -

https://t.co/pMZjrdaU1R