95% of Republicans in Congress are RINOs.
They let Trump fight to pass the Save America Act, the border, Iran, and every other battle by himself while they hide behind Thune, the filibuster, and “we don’t have the votes.”
Never seen a more worthless bunch of lazy, weak cowards in my life.
We're taking full control of this narrative and will call it what it is.
It's not "Drag Queen Story Hour" — it's a children's strip show.
It's not "Gender Affirming Care" — its child mutilation and sterilization for profit.
It's not "inclusion" — it's porn in schools. PORN. IN. SCHOOLS.
This is a crisis and social epidemic. It is the largest child abuse scandal ever seen in America. It's time to treat it as such.
#GaysAgainstGroomers
So in the past 36 hours, the Washington Post has published articles based on:
1. Illegal leaks of highly classified military planning data, obtained by someone who almost certainly knew they were committing a serious felony with possible punishments including death. Do you think the Washington Post cares? Do they have a conscience?
2. Illegal access by WaPo's Dastardly Dam Lamothe of sensitive personnel data on the "Pentagon system" (Dastardly Dan's words, not mine) of former temporary federal "Special Government Employees" who were and are now private citizens. I'm guessing the person who granted such illegal access has no idea he or she committed a criminal misdemeanor. Do you think Dastardly Dan or anyone else in the WaPo warned that stooge of the possible consequences of what he or she was doing? Probably not. Do you think the Washington Post cares? Do they have a conscience?
Do you understand now why it is that the Pentagon needed to shut off unaccompanied Pentagon access to cretinous "journalists" who care not one bit about national security, or the lives of our dedicated service men and women, or statutory privacy rights of private citizens?
Does it finally make sense?
🚨 THEY WON’T ANSWER THE SIMPLE QUESTION.
“Somebody making $100,000 a year… how much of every dollar should they be able to keep?”
Watch them squirm. They refuse to give a number.
Here’s why:
There aren’t enough billionaires.
977 of them. Combined net worth around $9.24 trillion.
Our national debt just blew past $40 trillion.
One year of federal spending alone is $6.3 trillion.
Math doesn’t lie. Confiscating every dollar from every billionaire still doesn’t cover it.
So who gets hit?
The couple making $150k.
The recent grad making $85k.
They’re coming for your paycheck.
And the arrogance behind it is the real tell: they actually believe government (run by the AOCs of the world) spends your money better than you do.
Look at California under Newsom if you need proof of how that experiment is going.
Socialism always starts with “tax the rich” and ends with taxing you.
I always understood why the Second Amendment was constitutionally protected.
What I never really understood was why people called it a natural right.
Then I moved from New York to Florida.
I didn’t own a gun yet.
One afternoon I was loading things into the trunk of my car outside a HomeGoods when a man approached me.
“Excuse me.”
He must have thought he’d startled me, because he immediately added, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to get close.”
I laughed.
“I’m a New Yorker. I’m used to close. How can I help you?”
He started telling me that he needed money for gas.
At some point while he was talking, I got into my car.
And sitting there, with the conversation still unfolding, I suddenly realized something:
He didn’t know whether I had a gun.
Not somewhere at home.
Not hypothetically.
For all he knew, I could have had one right there in the car, tucked under the steering wheel or within reach.
I didn’t.
But he couldn’t know that.
Schrödinger’s gun.
And in that instant, before I even knew whether his story was true, something changed in the space between us.
I thought about New York.
I thought about my friend who had been murdered in his own apartment during a burglary gone wrong.
Would those men have gone into his apartment if they had believed he might be armed?
I don’t know.
I thought about the time I was mugged at gunpoint, with a gun pressed against my temple.
Would that man have approached me with the same confidence if he had believed there was even a possibility that I could defend myself?
I don’t know that either.
But sitting there in that Florida parking lot, listening to this stranger talk, I suddenly understood deterrence in a way I never had before.
Not as military theory.
Not as constitutional law.
As something intimate.
My body. My life. The few feet between one person and another.
For years I had thought about guns primarily as objects: who had one, who shouldn’t have one, what laws should govern them.
Suddenly I understood the question from the other direction.
What changes when another person cannot simply assume that I am defenseless?
I felt taller.
Not because I had a gun.
I didn’t.
But because, for the first time, I understood that someone approaching me could not automatically assume that being physically stronger meant having power over me.
There was uncertainty.
There was a boundary around my body that had to be taken seriously.
Then his story began to fall apart.
I told him I didn’t have cash, but offered to help another way. I could put some gas in his car.
He took off.
So apparently, yes, it was a scam.
But by then I had already understood something much larger than the scam.
The phrase natural right finally made sense to me.
The Constitution had not given me ownership of my body.
It had not given me my life.
It had not invented my right to protect either one.
Those things came first.
What I understood that afternoon was the thing underneath them.
I had once been completely helpless while another human being held a gun against my temple.
Years later, without a gun in my possession at all, I understood what it meant for the person approaching me not to know whether I was helpless.
That uncertainty changed the space between us.
And that was the moment I finally understood the natural right behind the Second Amendment:
My life is mine, and
the right to defend it has to exist before anyone gives me permission to do so.
Dolly Parton is dead, and the church never knew what to do with her.
Half my feed is posting rhinestones today. The other half never trusted her, because she would not wear the uniform.
She never preached a sermon.
She just did the works.
One man. Fifty-eight years. In an industry that eats marriages. No scandal reel, no reality show, no trading up. Just Carl, and a promise kept until death did them part.
She could have built towers in Nashville. Instead she built in the mountains she came from, so the people she came from could work.
Two hundred million books. Given away to children, free, no strings, while the rest of us argued about what to read.
A million dollars for a vaccine in the middle of a plague, and she called it what it was: helping.
She was a feminist who never used the word, a superstar who never left home, and a believer who never made you watch her pray.
"Yea, a man may say, Thou hast faith, and I have works: shew me thy faith without thy works, and I will shew thee my faith by my works." James 2:18.
We spent years asking whether she was one of ours.
She never asked whether we were one of hers. She was too busy feeding children.
I do not know her heart. That was never my job. I know her works, because the whole county she came from lives on them.
"Wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them." Matthew 7:20.
You want to honor her today? Put down the tribute post. Put a book in a kid's hands. Stay married. Do the works.
That was the whole sermon. She just never said it out loud.
Mayor of Charlotte, NC asks
that we not post about this
lady murdered on a Charlotte train
by a repeat offender with 14 prior arrests
I say in Iryna’s memory please share
and make this go viral!
We will never forgot her ever