Emma no plan

tiny fairy, giant feelings 🧚‍♀️ always follow back

[Astur Gladiator 🇪🇸 @GladiatorAstur]

Lamentable imagen en el Manchester City - Real Madrid.

La pobre niña no tiene ni 9 años.

Europa da verdadera vergüenza y los medios apestan.

[Josema Vallejo @JosemaVallejo]

A ver si lo he entendido.

Puedo decir "odio a los turistas", poner en mi bar un cartel de "no admito madrileños"; escribir en Twitter "la única iglesia que ilumina es la que arde", decir "arderéis como en el 36", llamar pederastas a todos los curas y torturadores a todos los policías. Puedo celebrar el "Ospa Eguna", día del odio a la Guardia Civil. Puedo Insultar todos los días a todo el mundo llamándole fascista, racista y nazi, puedo inventar que "la mayoría de atentados en Europa son de ultraderecha". Puedo subir a redes sociales, foros y blogs la caricatura de la familia real y decir que "haré recortes con guillotina", quemar la foto del rey y la bandera de España. Puedo llevar una pegatina en mi coche que ponga "Gora ETA". Puedo distribuir panfletos feministas radicales diciendo "castra al varón" o "si es niño, aborta" o "machete al machote". Hacer chistes sobre Ortega Lara y decir cuando fue rescatado del zulo que "Ortega vuelve a prisión". Puedo hacer chistes de Carrero Blanco y su récord de salto de altura, puedo homenajear a terroristas, vandalizar las tumbas de las victimas, acosar a vecinos hasta que se marchan del país Vasco. Puedo decir que tengo "RH diferente y hecho diferencial" y que el resto de españoles son genéticamente inferiores. Puedo negar una pandemia, después decir que "como mucho, habrá algún caso" y más tarde decir que sigo recomendaciones de expertos que, años después, jamás aparecieron. "Puedo inventarme que un "ultraderechista me ha grabado en el culo con una navaja la palabra maricon" y hacer que el presidente del gobierno y el ministro den una rueda de prensa asegurando que es verdad. Puedo decir que los "los niños tiene derecho a tener relaciones sexuales con quienes les dé la gana", puedo...

La verdad es que puedo hacer muchas cosas porque vivo en un país muy libre. Todo eso es libertad de expresión y verdad absoluta acreditada por los verificadores y los comités de expertos.

Pero no puedo decir "estoy harto de inmigración ilegal desbordada y de extranjeros que delinquen" ni que "los extranjeros cometen en proporción más delitos que los españoles" aunque los datos del ministerio del interior así lo certifiquen, porque soy ultraderecha, estoy cometiendo un delito de odio y es un bulo.

Si; lo he entendido.

[Emma no plan @lemma8209]

@LegacySiu It has to be Anelka.

[MΛRC VIDΛL @marcvidal]

El anuncio que publica este fin de semana @FT pagado por el despacho de @robertamsterdam sobre la Agencia Tributaria española.

Dice algo así como que en España, "el sistema fiscal funciona con una lógica perversa: los inspectores de Hacienda reciben bonificaciones en función de cuánto dinero logran recaudar, incluso cuando los tribunales terminan anulando sus decisiones por injustas."

Define este modelo como "casi inexistente en otras economías avanzadas, genera incentivos que favorecen la agresividad recaudatoria por encima de la precisión y la justicia. El resultado es un entorno donde proliferan conflictos de interés, investigaciones precipitadas y un impacto devastador en familias, autónomos y empresas que, aun teniendo razón, quedan atrapados en un engranaje diseñado para recaudar primero y preguntar después."

A ello se suma, dicen, que, "en España, los contribuyentes deben pagar una liquidación fiscal incluso si es manifiestamente errónea antes de poder recurrirla. Esto implica embargos, intereses acumulados y años de incertidumbre judicial que muchos no pueden soportar."

Y termina con que "más de la mitad de los recursos se ganan finalmente contra Hacienda, una cifra que revela la magnitud del problema: un sistema que no solo se equivoca, sino que penaliza a quien intenta defenderse. En definitiva, un modelo donde la Administración siempre gana… y el ciudadano siempre pierde."

#marcaEspaña

[Scorched Earth Policy @Scearpo]

A great friend of mine once described men as unfathomably terrifying automatons in the eyes of women. Street Don (for the OGs who know) spoke of the average man bursting through doors, stomping the ground, and operating at a speed and force which could crush any woman into dust.

To a woman, men are like wild animals or rogue factory machines. We command incomprehensibly higher levels of explosive strength and terrifying speed. We consume amounts of mass that would split your gut open and kill you, simply out of amusement and mild hunger. Left to our own devices, we play raucous games until they grow beyond simulation and wipe out entire civilizations. We were born to be killed and we're descended from those who refused to die.

Such is the disparity between genders. We are entirely a different species from women. We cannot comprehend the world they live in, one where they depend on subterfuge, charm, and social code layered in complexities beyond our understanding.

Such the same, the woman cannot comprehend the world of the man. Man and all men burrow in the comfort of trenches built by ancestors, tunnels and sluices of ritualistic behaviors meant to shelter us from ourselves in the great open killing fields of altercation.

To be a man is to learn subconscious mechanisms for survival. Many modern men don't even understand the deeper reasoning behind why they naturally do things a certain way. It's easy to piece together the arithmetic of hunter-gatherer instincts for things like physical competition or displays of machismo, but many would be fascinated to understand how important seemingly superficial, performative, or even absurd social gestures are for upholding the biological health of mankind.

To be a woman is to huddle amongst hens for warmth and protection. The sisterhood is a domed city in the radioactive wasteland, a collective at macroscale which contains fierce competition within. Womankind looks up in solidarity when the acid rain and meteors pelt the sky, but only for brief moments before scurrying through the labyrinth of treacherous status climbing and social signalling games. The female killing blow is akin to shoving the runts of the litter out of the trough to starve, their daggers are subconsciously thrust in all directions.

To be a man is to enter the wasteland itself for vast periods of time. The elements are merciless and the skin must be hardened into a chitin shell. A man swallows sewer water laden with heavy metal and diseased ash every time he faces a million microrejections a day, processing it into nutrients and shitting out defensive spite.

A man experiences varying degrees of turbulence, learning that fairness is the false promise delivered by those who have no stake or familiarity with the great game that dictates the flow of life itself. He is exposed to new thresholds of psychological pain throughout his entire life without recourse, only hardening himself to numbness.

Men learn very quickly what it means to be inherently worthless in a vacuum. Women are incapable of this feeling because they have inherent value by nature of being a woman. A woman without prospects or personality can still garner attention any moment she wishes should she choose to give up her sacred stockpile of discretion.

Men sometimes overlook that doing so isn't easy, trivial, or healthy for women to do. But women overlook that despite the debasing nature of acting out of desperation, they still have the option. It is an emergency escape button that men will never get to have. A woman who becomes desperate simply transforms into a pick-me or a whore. A man who becomes desperate can either become a rapist or die alone, neither of which are viable options to the sentient.

Men burn their ships at landing the moment they are born. They are forced to contend with the inescapable truth that they are worth nothing except for what they can accomplish, conquer, steal, or cobble together for themselves. Men are inherently expendable and except for a few fortunate himbos who were set for life, they know it.

The uninitiated and the inphallic will scoff at these descriptions like a dramatization of the mundane.
Plump dismissive wives summoning imaginary gotchas about men being wimps when they get sick.
Indignant latte slurping office drones claiming their own struggles diminish the possibility of others experiencing turmoil.
Clueless college princesses and sallow waitresses.
Single mothers and fatherhating molestation victims.
Exhausted post-partum birth pain and period cramps.
Crying in the mirror, stressing out over makeup, expectations, implications, confusions, judgement, shame, insecurity, rejection; all of the follies of female existence summoned like an army of stone golems standing against the exigent threat of feeling empathy for the primordial enemy.

I make no claim that women don't have their own burdens, but as this crying FTM troon and so many other fringe experiments have demonstrated, women are absolutely obliterated when exposed to 1% of the male experience. We are the anglerfish who occupy the crushing depths and total darkness of the deepest parts of the ocean. Surviving, withstanding, persisting.

What's most disturbing is that after enough growth, men grow a taste for loneliness. Eventually they crave it like a rare salt in a barren crag, siphoning whatever moments of peaceful nothingness they can find amongst the tumultuous humdrum of family and work life.

We seek solitude when we have adjusted too comfortably to companionship. When a man gets a momentary break from his family, gets left by his girlfriend, or takes a lone trip away from home, he feels a spark of electricity in the pit of his core. He feels the wind on his skin and an animalistic reprieve from a weight he did not fully understand he was carrying. He says to himself, "I am alone. I am alive."

The feeling is alien because to be alone is to die. Banishment was one of the most horrific things a paleolithic could experience, certain slow miserable death. And yet we covet the truly lone man as the ultimate heroic archetype, free from adhering to the will of anyone, beholden only to himself and the merciless wild. We fantasize about endless deserts, rock wastelands, arctic tundra, empty cities stretching for millions of miles to climb through for an eternity.

We dream of being shoved into gray metal crevices in the underbellies of forgotten starships, drifting into the space between galaxies as time rips past comprehension separating us from everything that was ever human by millions of lightyears and thousands of centuries. Young men will create fantasies of dying in war from movies they've watched and stories they've read. Old men who have known war will denounce these ideations while forever harboring their experiences as the most defining moment of their lives.

A mother looks into the eyes of her children and feels boundless love and supernatural affinity for them in a way she's never felt about anything before.

A son looks into his fathers eyes and sees a strange, faintly glimmering stare he cannot fully comprehend, feeling it means something but he cannot read what it says.

The father's stare is the future. A long path of sweat, blood, pain, and triumph waiting to swing itself into his son's chest like a sledgehammer. His son will know total desolation.
The taste of blood in his mouth from a freshly struck nose.
The torment of a thousand paper-thin nagging bureaucrats crushing him for the sin of existing throughout his entire education.
The government who robs him of his hard earned bounty in exchange for trying to recruit him into dying wastefully for the interests of parasites.
The reckless hateful cruelty of a scorned love, half wanton from a clueless girl, half inflicted on himself by unchecked projections.
The sinking emptiness of wasted sloth compiling around to suffocate him in shame like a shrine of unsorted refuse in a smelly bare room.
The stale hours in the dead of early morning in a parking lot of a gas station triggering the hairs on the back of his head like an antelope hearing a twig crunch.
The looming dread of responsibility, failure, evaporating bloodline, and decaying society all swirling into a gargantuan tempest blocking out the sun and enshrouding him into total hopeless darkness until he learns to wield his anger so brutally that he self immolates into a dense burning star to carve out his own path.
The promise of freedom dangling on the periphery of his vision as he claws his way out from under the ruins.

The father sees a river of blood far beyond the horizon waiting for his son to drown in. He knows there is nothing he can do except teach him to swim, like his father taught him, and like his father's father taught him, and so on and so on and so on.

The father looks into his son's eyes and knows that one day he will die. He has thought about death every single day of his life in some way or another. He knows that there will come a day where he is turned into dust and until then he must give his son everything he can to survive this world as he survived. He knows that it will crush his son beyond comprehension and become a life defining scar for him to hide from loved ones like all the others.

This is the way of man. Death is what it means to be a man. The strongest and hardest of men face true death. The average still know death as a shadow inflicting its essence onto the mundane actions of day to day life. The weakest of men hide from death, perfuming it and painting pretty colors on its face while distracting themselves with idleness and consumption. But all men know death, whether they understand it or not.

Woman's inherent purpose is to bring life to this earth.

Man's inherent purpose is to take it away.

These are the roles we have occupied throughout the entirety of existence, the gatherer and the hunter.

Attempting to cross the sacred biological line brings suicidal misery to those who attempt it. Beyond the obvious signs such as overly trimmed eyebrows and androgynous soft round faces, FTM's reveal themselves through displays of tears and torment when they get a true glimpse of being man.

It's an exceptionally cruel thing to do to yourself, playing life on hardmode and you don't even have the controller to move properly. Entering the gladiator's arena with no weapon to defend yourself and no crowd to cheer even if you somehow win.

No amount of tasteful Ed Hardy font tattoos and pullover hoodies will protect your soft untempered body and fragile attention driven psychology from the challenges men don't even consciously realize exist. You are alone in the wasteland and you are going to die very quickly from exposure, and we will pick your carcass clean for bone marrow.

[Spainball @Espball]

Creía que era fake, está Marruecos holocausteando a los perros, lloro

[Tommy Robinson 🇬🇧 @TRobinsonNewEra]

The guardian reported "110k" at our London rally today.

Yet, literally had their own helicopter showing the millions of patriots 🤡

Legacy media proving again they'll just lie to your face for their own agenda.

This is why nobody trusts them.

We are the media now.

[Antonio Portero @ParmenioOle]

Para llegar a este proyecto de paz ha sido necesario demostrar a la cúpula de Irán que pueden morir en cualquier momento, ha habido que acabar con la capacidad operativa de Hamas, Hizbulah y el ejército sirio; ha habido que soportar la presión interna de no ceder a pesar de los secuestrados, vivos y muertos. Ha habido que entrar en Gaza y asumir nuevas pérdidas propias y de civiles inocentes para cercar y crear la amenaza creíble de la desaparición de Hamas hasta el último hombre; ha habido que soportar a la Liga de los Fracasados haciendo política doméstica reconociendo una nación inexistente; a Barbie Hamas haciendo caja sobre los cadáveres, a Irene Montero siendo Irene Montero, a la niña loca sueca poniendo cara de mala hostia, a la SER y sus genocídicos sincopados; a aguantar, en fin, a tanto mierda y tanto idiota. Pero se ha llegado hasta aquí, a una puerta que abre un camino muy difícil y que ojalá lleve a un periodo de paz en Oriente Medio. Bien por quienes han ayudado y que se joda el resto. A mamar, payasos.

[Salvador Cruz Quintana @boroscq]

El Gran Wyoming incurre en un error habitual, el de convertir un problema político en un relato moral.

Decir que los inmigrantes son personas como nosotros es una obviedad, pero una obviedad que no resuelve nada.

También lo son los franceses, los rusos o los chinos, y sin embargo los Estados deben gestionar sus llegadas de acuerdo con criterios como soberanía, capacidad económica y cohesión social.

El debate no se resuelve apelando a la compasión ni a metáforas sobre fantasmas, sino preguntándose cuántos entran, en qué condiciones, con qué efecto sobre el mercado laboral y sobre la sanidad, la vivienda o la seguridad.

La política empieza cuando se asumen esos límites, no cuando se evaden con sermones sentimentales.

Acusar de sembrar odio a quienes plantean objeciones es otra falacia. El miedo no siempre es irracional. Puede ser perfectamente lógico si se basa en hechos, como la sobrepoblación en barrios concretos, la presión sobre servicios públicos o las diferencias salariales que alimentan la precariedad.

Ignorar estos datos bajo la etiqueta del odio es una forma de censurar el debate real.

Tampoco se puede presentar la regularización masiva como un acto de bondad o una obligación moral.

Es, en todo caso, una decisión de poder del Estado. Cuando Felipe González, Aznar o Zapatero llevaron a cabo regularizaciones extraordinarias no lo hicieron por filantropía, sino para legalizar mano de obra, aliviar tensiones en la economía sumergida o ganar apoyos políticos, teniendo en cuenta que estos movimientos de personas siempre benefician al gran capital

Confundir esto con un deber universal es simple propaganda.

Y lo mismo ocurre con frases como vivimos en un sistema injusto y obsoleto. ¿De qué sistema hablamos? ¿Del capitalismo global? ¿De la Unión Europea? ¿Del Estado español? Esta vaguedad no aclara nada, solo sirve para agitar emociones en un mitin.

El núcleo del problema es la soberanía. Un Estado debe decidir quién entra, bajo qué condiciones y con qué finalidad.

Si no lo hace, si delega su control a otros o si lo sustituye por discursos moralizantes, acaba perdiendo su propia consistencia política.

Y un Estado que no controla sus fronteras ni su población no es un Estado justo ni injusto, es un Estado en vías de disolución.

[Charlie Kirk @charliekirk11]

This article needs to be spread and read by every single liberal

Idea of "white privilege" is racist
Black only dorms are racist
Latino segregated math classes are racist

Science is quite clear, we are all human beings

Race is made up. Stop using it

https://t.co/CzqFYNJXMV

[Emma no plan @lemma8209]

@Ice_Landic @_naxotellado Joder Ice, te das cuenta de cual es el nivel cuando el 90% no entiende cual es tu comentario y siguen hablando del hombro.

[Emma no plan @lemma8209]

@JoseMiguelSerra @wallstwolverine Para que tengas algo de perspectiva con lo que es Topuria, el "otro tío" es uno de los mejores en la historia de su categoría y un favorito del aficionado a las MMA. Ese es el nivel de Ilia, hacer que leyendas parezcan novatos.

[Emma no plan @lemma8209]

@RealSeasonNT1 Ya que no existe lo futbolístico nos queda lo psicológico. Nosotros con el "Y si sí?" y ellos, si marcamos, con el "no, no será posible, otra vez no, no?".

[Emma no plan @lemma8209]

@RealSeasonNT1 Siempre en ese barco. Incluso tras el mayor esperpento de los últimos 15 años. Sólo nos queda la mística.

[Pablo Haro Urquízar @pabloharour]

Vicente Vallés ha dedicado 16 minutos a retratar cómo de jodidos están el PSOE por el informe de la UCO y aún así le han faltado muchos detalles por contar

[Emma no plan @lemma8209]

@Jorge_Most_ Mi colegoncio @_waguita