@DemocraticWins Good for Cindy McCain. She, like her husband, appears to be a woman of conscience. In this chaotic world, to maintain that stance is just a gift.
BREAKING: Cindy McCain, the wife of John McCain, just endorsed and announced she is raising money for Democrat Katie Hobbs for Governor in Arizona. This is huge.
Jesus fucking Christ. This deranged fucknugget thinks Canada can just grab a fucking leaf blower and clean 350 million hectares of forest before breakfast. Every one of his fucking posts is another monument to spectacular fucking ignorance. Shove your tariffs up your asshole.
Update from the reflecting pool! The pool has been drained, and there are no signs of the giant gash that Donald Trump has been lying about. No indications of major vandalism. Just a bad paint job. The only thing that’s been exposed is that Trump has been lying about this.
@Randy59070154@JoJoFromJerz#pt-barnum lost allllllllll his court cases challenging the 2020 election. Each case: Without Merit. All that “cheating” Joe did was squashed in court every single time. Just keep up the denial 🙄
🚨BREAKING: The drained Reflecting Pool did not reveal any slices. Instead, tire marks were visible, obvious damage from Trump’s vanity drive in a fleet of 10-ton vehicles for no reason at all. He ruined his own project, then lied and blamed the citizens who paid for it.
The President of the United States said I insulted Jesus.
You want to know what insults Jesus?
Kicking the sick off their healthcare.
Bombing schoolchildren in Iran.
Deporting moms and babies.
Covering up the Epstein files.
On June 5, 1975, during the recording sessions for the album Wish You Were Here at Abbey Road Studios, Pink Floyd witnessed the sudden arrival of an unusual-looking man, visibly overweight, completely bald, and with a vacant stare.
It was only after a considerable amount of time that David Gilmour managed to recognize the visitor as Syd Barrett—their former bandmate and friend who had long been absent from the scene due to his profound mental health struggles, and to whom the group was dedicating that very album. Amidst a general sense of disbelief and deep emotion, the musicians decided to play "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" for him, the track that, more than any other, contained explicit tributes to his persona.
That same day, Barrett left the studio without saying goodbye to anyone, vanishing just as suddenly as he had appeared. He effectively cut off almost all future contact with the band members, who nevertheless forever cherished the memory of that singular and deeply moving encounter.
This is the genocidal piece of shit that all the American senators are crying over.
Let me remind you he wanted to drop a Nuclear bomb on Gaza.
Fuck him and anyone who’s crying over this monster.
Hope his passing was a painful 1.
2022 🇷🇺: “Somebody in Russia [should] take [Putin] out.”
2023 🇷🇺:“Russians are dying… best money we’ve ever spent.”
2023 🇵🇸: “Gaza should be flattened.”
2024 🇵🇸: “This is Hiroshima & Nagasaki on steroids.” “If I were Israel, I’d do the same.” “Do whatever you have to do.” “Pull the Palestinian school system up by its roots and destroy it.”
2025 🇵🇸: “We’re killing all the right people.”
2026 🇮🇷: “We will obliterate them” over Strait of Hormuz.
I’m shocked that so many people are mourning his death. Mourning a monster doesn’t humanize the monster. It dehumanizes the mourner.
The dog kept placing stones beside the hospital bed.
Small stones.
Smooth ones.
Gray ones.
One white stone shaped like a bean.
They appeared every time the nurse took him outside.
His name was Oakley, a red-brown mutt who belonged to a man named Chris, recovering from a serious accident after months in rehabilitation.
Chris had been a landscaper.
Before the accident, he collected stones from every job site and kept them in jars on his porch. He said every yard had a memory if you knew what to pick up.
Oakley had followed him everywhere.
After the accident, Chris stopped talking much.
He answered doctors.
Ignored friends.
Stared out the window for hours.
The hospital allowed Oakley to visit twice a week.
On the first visit, Oakley walked straight to the bed and placed one stone on the blanket.
Chris blinked.
"Where did you get that?" he whispered. The nurse said Oakley had picked it up outside near the wheelchair ramp and carried it in his mouth the whole way.
The next visit, another stone.
Then another.
Chris began keeping them in a paper cup beside the bed.
One day, he asked the nurse to bring the cup closer.
He touched each stone with his thumb and named what they looked like.
Driveway gravel.
Creek rock.
Garden stone.
It was the most he had spoken in weeks.
The therapist noticed.
So did his tamily.
Soon, walks with Oakley became part of recovery.
Chris would sit in the wheelchair while Oakley searched the hospital garden for one stone worth bringing back.
Not every stone.
Just one.
Carefully chosen.
Months later, Chris came home.
He moved slower now, but Oakley moved with him. On the porch sits a new jar labeled Recovery.
Inside are all the stones Oakley carried to the hospital bed.
Every one of them.
Some people need speeches to come back to life.
Others need one loyal dog, one small stone, and a reason to reach for tomorrow.