USA. A potluck. Everyone brings one dish. I have never been so out of my depth in my life.
I was invited to a gathering. "Just bring a dish to share," they said. Simple words. I did not sleep for three days.
Because I understood instantly what this was. A summit. Every guest, a lord of their own house, arriving bearing tribute. And tribute is judged. Tribute is ranked. To bring the wrong dish to the wrong table is to fall in standing before your peers, possibly forever.
So I prepared. I made my finest dish. I carried it to the door with two hands and a straight back, braced for the weighing of my worth.
The first lord arrived with a bowl of orange powder noodles. Macaroni and cheese. The crowd roared. He set it down at the center of the table. The CENTER. I noted this. The center is the seat of power.
The second lord brought a tower of small brown meat orbs in red sauce. "Meatballs," he announced, like a man laying down a sword. They were placed beside the macaroni. A strong showing. An alliance, perhaps.
I studied the table like a battlefield map. Potato salad: defensive, reliable, old money. A vegetable tray, untouched, clearly a hostage offering no one expected to win. And then a woman walked in, raised a flat box overhead, and the entire room turned and CHEERED.
Pizza. She had brought pizza. Store-bought. Still in the box.
I was stunned. She had not even cooked it. And yet the people rejoiced as if a king had entered. I revised my entire understanding of the hierarchy on the spot. Effort means nothing here. Only the roar of the crowd decides rank.
I placed my dish down, humbly, near the napkins. A peasant's position. I accepted it.
And then a man tapped my shoulder, pointed at my dish, and said the words that changed everything.
"Whoa, did you make this? This is amazing. Everybody, you GOTTA try this guy's thing."
The room turned. The room came. The room ATE. My dish vanished in ninety seconds. The pizza woman herself took a second helping and looked at me with respect.
I had won the summit. By accident. With a dish I placed by the napkins.
I understand nothing about this country. I have never been happier. I am hosting the next one.
So tell me, America.
Is there a system to the potluck? A secret rank? A hidden law?
I have decided there is not.
You just bring the thing you love, and everyone eats it, and somehow everybody wins.
It is the most insane way to hold a war.
I will fight in every single one.
The bird singing outside your window before sunrise hasn't eaten in 8-10 hours.
The dawn chorus is a seriously costly display to a bird. Most songbirds wake up at their daily energy low point and the first thing they do is broadcast their location, fitness, and territory ownership to every other bird, predator, and rival within earshot.
Why do it at the worst possible time? Because it's an honest signal. A male that can afford to sing first, loudest, and longest before he has eaten is telling every female in the neighborhood that he is well-fed, healthy, and has access to a good territory. You can't fake that.
Research has consistently found that males who lead the dawn chorus hold higher-quality territories and attract mates faster. Birds in noisy human environments sing earlier and harder to compensate, at real metabolic cost.
The half-hour of birdsong outside your window before sunrise is the most energetically expensive 30 minutes of that bird's day. It's not background. It's a fitness audition.
My brain at 3 AM: "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, NOBODY!"
Fun fact: The Office spent $50,000 just for the song rights to the iconic "Nobody But Me" lip dub cold open. Worth every single penny.
When Paramount executives suggested changes to THE ELEPHANT MAN (1980), Mel Brooks shut the conversation down immediately:
“We screened the film to bring you up to date… Do not misconstrue this as our soliciting the input of raging primitives.”
The only thing that stops violent men from raping you and your society are other men who are equally willing to be violent in stopping the rapists. The West has decided that the highest virtue is to quietly comply with the destruction of your civilization because to do otherwise is bigoted toward the rapists. It really is that simple.
In 1974, Redbone became the first Native American rock group to reach the top 5 of the Billboard Hot 100 chart with their hit “Come and Get Your Love.”
The band used to begin their televised performances of the song with a traditional “Hail” song and dance, in order to proudly assert their Indigenous identity before a wide audience.
Imagine trying to kill spiders for a dear old lady and this kid shows up with no shirt, his hands on his hips and looking for a fight. 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😭😭😭😭
I love that he was trying to protect his gramma though. 🤣🤣🤣
It’s pretty amazing the absolute marathon of evil crap we’ve had to endure when you lump a lot of it together.
What’s crazy is this video can’t possibly get to all of it.
Download and share liberally.
Pulp Fiction broke new ground as the first independent film to gross over $100 million. But beyond the numbers lies the magic: this is what Quentin Tarantino looked like on set, directing the most iconic scene in 1990s cinema.
@XFreeze Neuralink is a much bigger breakthrough than most people realize.
Enabling people to control a computer with their mind and the completely blind to see are Jesus-level miracles.