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Brunettes have more fun.

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@nypost -Canada becomes largely Indian
-Starts terraforming US

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@nypost Heaven forbid he watches the game with the boys

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Heaven forbid a guy watches the game with the boys

[New York Post @nypost]

Mamdani takes in World Cup semifinal alongside Rikers Island prisoners during inmate watch party https://t.co/7bjUcAQoHk

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@BerntBornich 10 bucks that’s an H1B in a suit

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@nichochar You know who could answer that

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@BuzzingPop Damn, what did he say?

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What I say when I wake up hungover:

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@Polymarket Why is he pledging to curse? Does he have a bunch of other curses to get to first?

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@annakhachiyan Straight up thought this was a posture discourse. “These people are retarded”. But yea shnoz underrated.

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@atlanticesque plenty of good opinions tho

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@FoxBusiness Only true fans slurp that nut down

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@kitten_beloved Because ass-kissing was the undignified, perhaps necessary, subservience people (dudes) of all forms did. Dick-riding is the willing idol worship from nerds (tech).

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@pseudodark dad?!?!?

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@xwanyex Weak abs bro

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lol’d 5x

[NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依 @japan_nobunaga]

In America, a stranger will rename you in a single breath, and you are simply expected to come when called.

I went to eat at a busy restaurant. A young man at the front asked for my name, to mark my place in line. I gave it the weight it has carried for eight hundred years.

"Nobunaga."

He smiled, nodded, and wrote it down with great confidence. Then he read it back to me, to be sure he had honored it correctly.

"Perfect. Banana, party of one."

Banana. He had heard my name, held it a moment, and returned to me something rounder and more cheerful. To refuse the name a host gives is to refuse his welcome. I bowed. I was Banana now.

Then he handed me a small black disc, said it would "light up and buzz" when my table was ready, and turned to the next guest as though he had not just placed a living thing in my hands.

I held it in both palms, the way one holds a small sleeping beast that may wake. I found a place to stand. I waited, ready.

It woke.

It screamed. It flashed red. It leapt and shook in my hands like a captured spirit demanding release. A lesser man would have dropped it. I did not. I gripped it, steady, looked into its blinking lights, and told it, in a low voice, that its time had come. Then I carried it back to the host with both hands, the way one returns a hawk to its master.

He took it without looking and shouted across the entire room.

"BANANA! Party of one, your table's ready!"

A hundred strangers turned. I rose. I crossed that floor as Banana, spine straight, chin level, a man answering to his name. A child pointed at me. I gave the child a small bow. He had recognized me.

All through the meal they kept me. "How's it tasting, Banana?" "More water, Banana?" The check, when it came, said Banana, and thanked me for visiting. By the end the whole staff knew me. They waved as I left. "Night, Banana!"

So tell me honestly.

For eight hundred years my clan answered to one name. Tonight I answered to a fruit, calmed a screaming relic in my bare hands, and ate among people who were glad I came.

When the little disc lights up, is the table truly mine, or am I only keeping it warm for the next Banana?

Because I have already decided to return on Friday, and to ask, very humbly, for the same disc.

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@jarvis_best Omg he’s an oyster farmer?!?

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@Howlingmutant0 HAHA

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@PerryALPHA Real men, that respect the bean, never touch it

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@AFP @CityBureaucrat OK but how does it taste?

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@Chris_arnade What shoes you recommend for big walks on street/sidewalks?