Trump’s DOJ agreed to give him and his family immunity from the IRS. Under his administration, it’s one set of laws for Trump and his friends, and another for everyone else.
🚨BOOM!!! Rep. Schneider just EVISCERATED RFK Jr. to his face in the hearing:
"You're not making Americans healthier. You're making Americans SICKER.
"You're making our children's future less prosperous and less secure. You should be ashamed of yourself."
A conspiracy theorist with a worm in his brain shouldn't be HHS secretary. Pure embarrassment.
Donald Trump is incapable of executing the duties of President of the United States. Congress must step in to remove him from his position. I join my friend @RepRaskin to support a nonpartisan Commission on Presidential Capacity to determine this president's fitness for office.
🚨 MAJOR NEWS: Pope Leo XIV just declared the Iran War unjust.
Called it a war crime. Said it is “not solving anything.”
And told Americans directly — call Congress.
End this war.
RELEASE THE UNREDACTED EPSTEIN FILES!
RELEASE THE UNREDACTED EPSTEIN FILES!
RELEASE THE UNREDACTED EPSTEIN FILES!
RELEASE THE UNREDACTED EPSTEIN FILES!
RELEASE THE UNREDACTED EPSTEIN FILES!
@JDVance PLEASE get together with your cabinet and get him out of office now. You all know he’s batshit crazy. It’s for the good of our country and you know this JD. #25thAmendment
The president of the United States punched a 13 year old child in the face because she bit his penis while she was being forced to perform oral sex on him.
Donald Trump said to her:
“Let me teach you how little girls are supposed to be."
After the little girl bit him with her teeth, “he struck her” and said:
“Get this little bitch the hell out of here.”
The man in charge of the largest nuclear arsenals in the world is a violent child rapist.
DONALD TRUMP IS A VIOLENT CHILD RAPIST.
Kash Patel, traitor and national embarrassment, helps Donald fulfill his mission to destroy us from within— a mission that was obvious years ago.
Nuremberg now.
Arresting a former prince sends a message. And if a former president can testify on Capitol Hill, there’s no reason the current one can’t too—unless this is all about protecting Donald Trump. Insist that your representatives in Congress make that happen. https://t.co/6eC73euwsB
“He knows those computers better than anybody, all those vote counting computers, and we ended up winning Pennsylvania like in a landslide, so it was pretty good, so thank you to Elon!”
- Donald Trump
I didn’t want my late son’s dog. That’s the truth. I couldn’t stand the idea of keeping him, and I need to admit that upfront because nothing else in this story makes sense otherwise.
When my son, Ryan, died, people showed up with food trays, sympathy cards, and carefully chosen words that were meant to comfort me but never really did.
And then someone brought me his dog.
His name was Tank.
Ryan had adopted Tank from a shelter three years before the crash. I still remember the phone call. He was 17, but he sounded like a kid who’d just unwrapped the best gift of his life.
“Dad, you have to meet him. He’s amazing. You’re going to love him.”
“I’m not a dog person,” I told him.
“That’s because you haven’t met Tank yet,” he said. “Tank’s different.”
I never agreed. Whenever I met Ryan, Tank would try to climb into my lap like he weighed nothing. I’d shove him off, and Ryan would just laugh.
“He likes you,” he’d say.
“Well, I don’t like him,” I’d answer.
It became a running joke between us. Ryan adored that dog. I tolerated him because I adored my son.
Then Ryan was gone.
He died on a Sunday evening in October. A distracted driver ran a red light while he was heading home from work. He was 20 years old. The hospital called at 7:12 PM. I know because I stared at the microwave clock while trying to understand how the world could end at such an ordinary minute.
My wife, Elaine, had passed years earlier. After that, it had just been the two of us. We argued sometimes. He thought I was set in my ways. I thought he took too many risks. But beneath all that, there was love.
After the funeral, his landlord called. Someone had to clear out the apartment. That included the dog.
“I can’t take him,” I said.
“If no one does, I’ll have to contact animal services.”
Ryan’s friend, Lucas, dropped Tank off at my place the next afternoon. Tank walked in slowly, unsure, and went straight to the spare bedroom where Ryan used to stay when he visited. He jumped onto the bed, circled once, and settled his head on Ryan’s old pillow.
For two weeks, he barely left that spot. I had to bring his food bowl to him. I had to coax him outside. He would stare at the front door for hours.
Every time headlights flashed across the driveway, his ears lifted. His tail gave a hopeful thump.
Then nothing.
He was waiting for Ryan.
I thought I’d feel something watching that shared grief. Some kind of connection. But I felt hollow. Real grief doesn’t always look like crying. Sometimes it’s just numbness. Like someone carved out your insides and left you moving on instinct.
We existed in the same house like strangers bound by loss. Two creatures staring at the same door.
I tried to rehome him. I called Lucas and told him to find someone else. But we couldn't find anyone. I contacted a rescue. They put him on a waitlist.
Then one night, something changed.
I had fallen asleep in my chair and woke up gasping from a nightmare — the accident replaying in my mind. My chest felt tight. My breathing uneven.
Tank was there.
Not in the spare room. Not by the door.
He had pressed himself against my legs, resting his heavy head on my knee, looking up at me with steady, quiet eyes. Not demanding anything. Not asking to go outside. Just there.
For the first time since Ryan died, I reached down and placed my hand on that dog.
He didn’t move.
Neither did I.
The next morning, I called the rescue and asked them to remove his name from the list.
Tank started sleeping outside my bedroom instead of in the spare room. Then, slowly, he stopped waiting at the door. I stopped staring at the wall.
We began walking together in the evenings. Neighbors who once avoided us started saying hello. Tank carried himself proudly, like he had a job to do. Maybe he did.
It’s been a year now.
He still tries to sit on my lap, even though he’s far too big. And I let him.
I didn’t want my son’s dog.
But somehow, that dog saved what was left of me.
Imagine starting a new enterprise comprised of world leaders called Board of Peace - invitation only - but two of your most prominent members cannot attend the inaugural event because they'd get arrested for war crimes.
If you were trying to give Putin his dream of dreams gift, you would invade a NATO ally, launch the first war between democracies ever, and end the most powerful, enduring alliance in the history of the world.