was 13 when it started. Just a normal girl from a broken home in a northern town. They seemed nice at first — older guys in nice cars, giving me cigarettes, McDonald’s, attention no one else gave me. “You’re beautiful,” they’d say. “You’re special.” Within weeks I was passed around.They’d pick me up after school, drive me to flats, takeaways, or abandoned houses. There were always more of them. Ten, fifteen, twenty men some nights. Pakistani guys, older, speaking in their language while laughing. They smelled of heavy cologne mixed with sweat and cigarettes, breath like spice and stale smoke. They were rough, entitled, mean as hell — calling me “white slag,” “kuffar bitch,” telling me I was worthless except for what was between my https://t.co/Cf4azPZ2oz night they held me down while they took turns. I cried, I begged, I said I was hurting. They just laughed and kept going. Another time they used a broken bottle. The pain was unreal — like fire tearing me apart inside. I bled for days. They’d film it, threaten to send it to my family if I told anyone. They said they’d kill my little sister. I believed them.I was trafficked to other towns. Locked in vans with other girls, some as young as 11. I saw girls put in dog cages. They brought dogs in sometimes for their sick games while the men watched and cheered. The smell — body odor, semen, fear, cheap aftershave — it never left my nose. I still smell it in https://t.co/Oqelw41jp7 services, police, even the NHS knew. I told them. They called me a “prostitute,” said I was choosing this lifestyle. No one wanted to touch the “Asian community” issue. So it went on for years. By 16 I’d been raped by hundreds of men. I tried to kill myself more times than I can count.I’m in my 30s now and still broken. Trust is gone. Intimacy is terror. Every day I carry the shame they put on me, the rage at the men who treated me like meat, and the fury at the country that let it happen because they were scared of being called https://t.co/JSRNzVr7gY child should ever go through that hell. Not one. The ones who did this — and the ones who covered for them — robbed thousands of us of our childhoods, our safety, our futures. It’s unforgivable.
@GmagicBYU@cremieuxrecueil@RyanGirdusky I never considered how therapeutic stoning would be until now. Like throwing eggs at a tree to get your anger out, but without wasting the eggs.
1. Please read this.
2. Please share this as widely as possible.
This is the greatest betrayal imaginable by a government.
They all must get publicly tried.
Then publicly executed.
Starting with Keir Starmer.
He is Hitler-level demonic.
The year is 1949.
The Nobel Prize in Medicine has just gone to the man who invented the lobotomy. Your doctor suggests one for your sister, who has not been herself since the baby came. It is the most celebrated advance in psychiatry of the age, and he is simply current. By the time the prize curdles into an embarrassment, close to twenty thousand Americans have had the operation, and proportionally more here in Britain.
The year is 1956.
Lay the baby down on his front, the doctor says. So does the most trusted childcare book ever written, the one on every new mother's shelf. On his back he might choke, the reasoning goes. Millions obey. The advice holds for nearly thirty years, long after the evidence has quietly turned, and a generation of cot deaths is counted before anyone thinks to roll the babies over.
The year is 1966.
A bestselling book informs your wife that menopause is a disease, that she is, in the author's word, a castrate, and that a small daily pill will keep her youthful and tolerable to live with. Her doctor agrees. The drug becomes one of the most prescribed in the country. Nobody mentions that the author sat on the payroll of the company that made it. That detail surfaces decades later, in the same year the landmark trial is halted early for raising rates of breast cancer, stroke and clots.
The year is 1979.
Your ulcer is caused by stress and sharp food, the doctor explains. Calm down, drink milk, take the antacid that happens to be the best-selling medicine on earth. Two Australians are about to prove that most ulcers are caused by a bacterium and cured by a fortnight of antibiotics. The profession laughs. One of them eventually drinks a beaker of the stuff to settle the matter. The establishment takes the better part of twenty years to stop laughing. The Nobel lands in 2005.
The year is 1985.
Butter is dangerous, the doctor says. Switch to margarine, it is modern, it is heart-healthy, the experts are united. The spread he nudges you toward is loaded with trans fats, which the next decade will identify as the genuinely dangerous one, and which will eventually be banned outright. The butter goes quietly back in the fridge. No correction is ever printed at the volume of the original warning.
The year is 1992.
There is a pyramid on the surgery wall, and the very same one in your grandchild's classroom. Bread, cereal, rice and pasta form the broad virtuous base, up to eleven servings a day. Fat is exiled to the tiny tip. The chart was reportedly held back a year while the relevant industries had their say. It is wrong at the bottom and wrong at the top.
Now it is today.
Your doctor has new guidelines, new studies, a fresh consensus, delivered with precisely the steady confidence of every guideline above. He believes it, and he has good reason to. So did every doctor in this thread. None of them were villains. Each was sincere, most were kind, and all were certain, reading from a map that somebody else had drawn and handed them. That is the part worth sitting with.
So when the man in the white coat tells you what to eat, what to fear, and what to swallow every morning for the rest of your life, you are allowed to ask. Who paid for the study. What the evidence says beneath the headline. What he was just as certain about thirty years ago, and where that advice sits now.
Then make up your own mind. Call it scepticism, or call it whatever your grandmother called it when she ignored the advert, kept the butter where it was, and lived to ninety-one.
It has outlasted every consensus on this list. It will outlast this one too.
RFK Jr. Exposes Suspicious Removal of Explosive Vaccine-SIDS Study: Demands Answers on What the Journal Is Hiding
RFK Jr. sent a formal letter to the editor of Toxicology Reports, calling out the shady removal of Neil Z. Miller’s 2021 paper that analyzed VAERS data and found SHOCKING patterns: 58% of reported infant deaths clustered within just 3 days of vaccination, and nearly 78% within 7 days — strong safety signals that the medical cabal clearly doesn’t want the public to see.
The journal offered only a weak, two-sentence “notice” for yanking the paper, which RFK rightly slams as insulting and insufficient — especially on a topic as serious as sudden infant death and vaccines.
@attackdogX@SandsTexas I’m not even mad at her. I just see that she is working with an entirely different operating system. The two are not compatible.
Austin Metcalf's father was swatted 6 times.
Austin Metcalf's mother was swatted 2 times.
They had to keep all of this under a gag order.
The hell these people went through being terrorized by blacks was insane.