Her own district, which she serves on the council, didn't vote for Raman. If her own constituents wouldn't even support her, why would anyone else? Now she's magically "surging" while the rest of the field is flat? This is election fraud, plain and simple.
Nobody is surprised that Spencer Pratt is losing ground in the mail-in vote. That’s not the anomaly.
The anomaly is Nithya Raman dominating the mail vote and even outperforming Karen Bass.
It’s open and brazen cheating.
“Late votes are disproportionately for Democrats” struck me as believable.
“Late votes are disproportionately for whichever Democrat needs to come in 2nd to keep a Republican out of a two-man runoff” is not.
If you have witnessed potential election fraud, we want to hear from you.
People have been contacting our office wanting to provide information. We have established a dedicated email address for this purpose.
Email tips to: [email protected]
Please do not send rumors, theories, or second-hand information. We require direct evidence. Examples of what to report:
• A ballot arrived at your home for someone who has never lived there.
• You were told someone already voted in your name.
• You witnessed someone filling out ballots for others without their knowledge.
During this endless ballot "counting" in the LA Mayor's race, 3rd place finisher Nithya Raman is suddenly surging. She polled in single digits and got crushed in the debate, yet she's the only one gaining ground now? What a total crock of shit!
@SoundDobad I know this may sound petty, but I can’t stand it when people put photoshop a meth pipe in my mouth. A crack pipe doesn’t have that little bowl at the end. This is why we can’t trust AI. Please make the appropriate edit. Thank you for your attention to this matter.
I ordered one pancake in America. The waitress wrote it down and said, "one short stack."
Short. I am a small and humble man. A short stack sounded perfect for me. I waited with a calm heart.
She returned carrying three pancakes, each the size of my face, stacked into a tower, with a block of butter on top sliding down the sides like slow lava.
This was the short one. I did not dare ask what the tall one looked like. Some knowledge a man is not ready for.
I ate for forty minutes. I was not full. I was afraid. The tower did not shrink. I am fairly sure it was growing back faster than I could eat it.
I had to surrender. I left half. In Japan, leaving food is a deep shame. So I leaned in close and apologized to the pancakes directly, in a low voice, one by one.
The waitress asked if I wanted a box. I did not know food could be taken into custody. I declined. I did not want it following me home.
In America, is the short stack truly the small one?
I need time to prepare my spirit before I ever face the tall one.