Lavender

[Lavender @JLavender11]

I still root for Canada when the are not playing the US #WorldCup2026USA

[SleeperWizards @SleeperWizards]

28 years old 27 years old
$185m/4yr $212m/4yr
0x All-NBA 1x All-NBA
0x All-Star 4x All-Star

“Lakers up” “Lol Wizards”
“Amazing deal” “Horrible deal”
“Young star” “Old washed”

[New town every hour (ret.) @TownsUsa]

world cup announcer just said "the English have struggled historically here in Massachusetts" lol

[angeltbh @notyourhom60332]

Everyone when you start doing what’s best for you instead of what’s convenient for them.

[Lavender @JLavender11]

America 🇺🇸

[Legion Hoops @LegionHoops]

BREAKING: The Big3 refs are forced to end the game after multiple ejections.

Michael Beasley ejected for dust up with Dwight Howard. Lance Stephenson ejected for throwing punches at Jordan Crawford.

This led to a forfeit due to Miami not having enough active players. Pure chaos.

[Lavender @JLavender11]

LETS GO @japan ⚽️

[Lavender @JLavender11]

George always looks like he’s happy he gets invited to things

[Barack Obama @BarackObama]

To George and Laura, Bill and Hillary — we're grateful for your friendship, counsel, and devotion to this country. And to Joe and Jill, thank you for being on this journey with us.

[Polymarket @Polymarket]

NEW: TSA warns World Cup visitors not to pack oversized bottles of ranch dressing in their carry-ons, as ranch mania spreads among foreign fans.

[voided @voided]

When I was a kid, I thought by 27 I'd be married, have a kid and own a house.

Me at 27 in reality:

[Lavender @JLavender11]

Alright this has to be an industry plant at this point 😂

[Freddy🇩🇪 @FreddyLA7]

We just called the International Space Station😭😭😭

[Lavender @JLavender11]

Lord knows what I could do with $5k a week

[My Mixtapez @mymixtapez]

Dolphins CB Darrell Baker Jr. reveals he would make only $5,500 per week on an NFL practice squad:

'Everybody thinks we're rich...' 💰🏈

[johnna paige. @lowkeyjohnnap]

Please get addicted to thinking everything will always work out for you.

[Jedi @dhe3g]

Seven hours. All children.

[NSR-9J @gofastmotorcycl]

Meep meep ass locale

[Jerry🇲🇽🇺🇸 @concacafjerry]

Not winning in your first game as host IS CRAZY

[Matt Reeves @mattreevesLA]

#FirstShot #TheBatmanPart2 CC:@E_Messerschmidt Here We Go…

[NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依 @japan_nobunaga]

USA. On Saturday mornings, a parking lot near my home becomes a VILLAGE, and I have been studying its lords.

The farmers market. Tents rise at dawn. And beneath each tent: a specialist of absurd, magnificent depth.

There is a man who sells ONLY honey. Forty kinds. I asked one polite question and received the complete doctrine of bees — their politics, their travels, their work ethic. "Better than ours," he ruled, and looked at me until I agreed. He had me taste spring honey against autumn honey from THE SAME BEES. They were different. I said so.

"THANK you," he said, loudly, vindicated against enemies I could not see but absolutely believe in.

Beside him: the tomato woman, whose tomatoes are lumpy, scarred, magnificent. "Ugly ones taste better," she declared.

America, I nearly wept. In Japan, we have spent four centuries teaching that the crooked tea bowl outranks the perfect one. Wabi-sabi, we call it. Whole books. Tea masters. Museums.

Your version is one woman at a folding table saying UGLY ONES TASTE BETTER, and she is COMPLETELY CORRECT, and the lesson costs three dollars a pound.

I bought seven.

And then there is the bread man. The bread man REMEMBERS. "How'd that sourdough treat you?" It treated me well, sir. "Told you. Try the rye." This is not commerce, America. This is SERIALIZED. Each Saturday continues the last, and skipping a week has consequences — I missed one, ONE, and the bread man said:

"Thought we lost you."

THOUGHT WE LOST YOU. I apologized like a soldier returning late from leave. He let me. Then he gave me an extra roll, which I understand now was both forgiveness and a warning.

The supermarket sells the same foods, cheaper, in air conditioning, with no one watching your loyalty.

The market sells the foods PLUS the lords of the foods. There is no contest. Saturdays, dawn, cash in envelope, as is proper.

A man does not ask the bread man for forgiveness twice. He shows up Saturday. Dawn. Cash in envelope.

This week, the honey man is bringing me something he calls "the buckwheat." His exact words: "Not everyone's ready for the buckwheat."

I have trained all week, America.

I will be ready for the buckwheat.

[Robert Sterling @RobertMSterling]

European soccer players 30 seconds after landing in America

[Lavender @JLavender11]

Best thing I’ve read this week

[NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依 @japan_nobunaga]

USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving.

Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free.

I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these."

"They just come with the table, man."

They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner.

This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat.

I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared.

"Did we…?"

"Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless."

Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined.

My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude."

Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man.

I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy.

Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived.

I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most.

Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.

[NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依 @japan_nobunaga]

USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving.

Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free.

I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these."

"They just come with the table, man."

They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner.

This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat.

I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared.

"Did we…?"

"Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless."

Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined.

My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude."

Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man.

I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy.

Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived.

I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most.

Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.