Hey, so rape is actually always 100% the rapists fault. There is no level of shared responsibility. This is true. Always. Thank you for coming to my talk.
FUN FACT: In July of 2013, after Trevon Martin's murderer walked, Stevie Wonder said he wouldn't perform in Florida again.
He has not performed in Florida since. It's really not that hard, Ed.
After reading Macklemores statement on him getting dropped from the tour I just have a few things left to say
First: Fuck you Ed Sheeran for not having a spine.
Second: being “apolitical” and “not taking a side” is choosing a side, and it is in fact the wrong one.
Third: FREE PALESTINE 🇵🇸
morgan wallen had a crash out where he used racial slurs against black people and venues still allow him to perform. kanye west praised nazis, said slavery is a choice and venues allow him to tour. chris brown is always beating women and he's being allowed to perfom...
Someone in the “Died Suddenly” Facebook group just described her entire family being hit with “the exact sickness we all got in November 2019.”
“Weeks of severe sickness” and it’s a “horrible experience!”
-High fevers. Her husband’s hit 106.5 F!
-Chest tightness
-Croup like cough
-Shortness of breath
-Low O2 levels
-Racing heart
-“Full body inflammation.”
She lives in Ohio. Current Covid wastewater levels in Ohio are VERY HIGH!!
And the comments are incredible:
“It’s poison they’re spraying on us!”
“Boost your immune system.”
“Everyone needs to fast. ANY food feeds the sickness.”
“Look into urine therapy.”
“Did you take the 🥕?”
“Clean your air conditioner, that’s the source of reinfection.”
“It’s all in your head.”
At what point do we allow the most obvious explanation to exist?!
It’s almost impressive. We can describe Covid in perfect clinical detail and still refuse to say the word and come up with the most ridiculous excuses.
But sure…. It’s poison spray from the planes! Or carrots. Or the HVAC system plotting revenge.
And I’m sure urine therapy, fasting, and “immune boosting” will fix everything except the one thing it obviously is. 😉
When I see tweets like this, I know they’re too young to know about Jade Goody.
Diagnosed with cervical cancer in August 2008 and died March 2009 aged 27.
Go and get your smear test!
I remember the time I went to the ER 3 months postpartum because I couldn’t stop vomiting and my chest felt tight. I kept telling them: this isn’t anxiety. Something is wrong.
The nurse glanced at my chart and said, “A lot of new moms feel overwhelmed.”
A resident came in, barely looked at me, and said, “It’s probably a panic attack. Try to relax.”
They left me in a hallway bed. No monitor. No urgency. Just that look that says you’re being dramatic.
I whispered, “I think I’m going to pass out.”
He laughed and said, “You’re safe here. You’re not dying.”
Ten minutes later I stood up and collapsed.
Suddenly there were doctors everywhere. Suddenly they checked my oxygen. Suddenly they rushed me to imaging.
CT scan: pulmonary embolism. Blood clots in my lungs.
The same doctor who told me to “relax” came back acting shocked.
He said, “Good thing you came in.”
I looked at him and thought: I didn’t just come in. I begged to be taken seriously.
Why am I telling you this?
Because if I didn’t collapse in front of them, I genuinely think I would’ve been sent home with “anxiety” and a pamphlet about breathing exercises
So let’s be clear.
You cannot cancel a World Cup ticket once you have one.
However what is happening, is that people are cancelling their APPLICATIONS for tickets. 17,000 so far.
25,000 hotel booking cancellations too.
However. Search engines have shown an increase of
I'll never forget Palestinian fathers carrying the remains of their children in plastic bags.
A weeping mother refusing to wash blood off her hands because that was all that was left of her son.
Orphans sleeping on top of their parents' graves. I don't know if they're still alive today.
The nightmares from Gaza continue.
"They found the coats on Thursday morning.
Fifteen winter coats. Good ones, not garbage. Hanging on the chain-link fence outside Lincoln Elementary. No note. No explanation. Just coats, zipped up like ghosts waiting for bodies.
Principal Morris freaked out. Called the police. "Could be stolen," she said. "Could be some kind of prank."
But then Kayla Martinez, eight years old, said her mom worked nights cleaning offices and couldn't afford a winter coat this year. She'd been wearing three hoodies layered up. She touched a purple one on the fence, the right size, and whispered, "Can I?"
Mrs. Alvarez, the PE teacher, said yes before anyone could stop her.
By lunch, all fifteen coats were gone. Fifteen kids who'd been shivering through recess were warm.
The next Thursday? Twenty coats. Different fence, same neighborhood, outside the community center. Then thirty coats appeared at the downtown shelter. Then blankets. Then winter boots.
No cameras ever caught who did it. No social media claims. Just... coats. Every Thursday. All winter long.
The news picked it up. Called them "The Fence Angel." Interviewed grateful families. But nobody knew.
Until March.
Old man died, Earl Hutchins, seventy-one, lived alone in a basement apartment on Fourth Street. When they cleaned out his place, they found receipts. Thrift store receipts. Hundreds of them. He'd been buying every decent winter coat he could find, spending his entire disability check, and hanging them up at night.
His nephew found a journal entry, "Lost my son to exposure in 2004. He was homeless, prideful, wouldn't take handouts. Froze to death behind a dumpster wearing a T-shirt. If I put coats on a fence, nobody has to ask. Nobody has to admit they need help. They just take it. Dignity intact."
I'm Kayla Martinez. I'm sixteen now. That purple coat got me through fourth grade. I never knew Earl. Never got to say thank you.
But last November, I took my babysitting money to Goodwill. Bought six coats. Hung them on that same fence.
My friends saw. They bought coats. Then their parents did. Then the high school started a coat drive, not for a bin, for the fence.
Last Thursday, there were 200 coats. Scarves too. Gloves. We call it "Earl's Fence" now. There's one in Detroit. One in Manchester. One in Vancouver.
I never met the man who saved me from freezing. But I'm becoming him, one coat at a time.
Because the best kind of help doesn't ask for credit. It just hangs there, quiet, waiting for cold hands to find warmth."
.
Let this story reach more hearts....
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Ai image is for demonstration purpose only.
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By Mary Nelson
So Samantha Fulnecky admitted to throwing together the assignment in 30 mins, didn't read the article she was suppose to respond to & didn’t even follow the guidelines, yet Oklahoma Univ. fired the teaching assistant who gave her a failing grade because she was suppose to get 100% for simply quoting the Bible????
They won’t marry divorced people or same-sex couples but this is apparently grand…And the Catholic Church wonders why so many people are continuing to ditch them
@reddit_lies The male loneliness epidemic really is self-inflicted 💀 reverse the genders here and every dude would be shitting on the guy for dumping her over this because its a childish thing to dump someone over. It shows emotional immaturity on OPs side.
🏆🏆Brilliant take down … from the real Miss Piggy
Dearest Donald,
It is moi, Miss Piggy, and I am writing because you have committed a sin so grotesque, so tasteless, so fundamentally idiotic that even the Muppet chickens gasped. You called a reporter—an intelligent, courageous, unflinching professional—“piggy.”
Let’s pause, darling.
Let’s breathe.
Let’s let the stupidity of that choice settle into the air like the unmistakable scent of a bargain-bin cologne worn by a man who thinks intimidation is a personality.
You were asked about the Epstein files. A serious question. A necessary question. A question every decent human with a pulse should want answered. And instead of behaving like anything resembling an adult, you snapped. You barked. You lashed out like a startled sewer rat cornered under a bridge with too much hairspray and not enough self-control.
You didn’t insult her.
You exposed yourself.
She stood there in the truth.
You stood there in panic.
She held the line.
You lost your mind.
And then—mon dieu—you invoked moi.
You said “piggy.”
At a woman who was doing her job with more professionalism in one sentence than you have shown in your entire, overcooked, chaotic lifetime.
There is ONE Piggy.
ONE.
And she does not answer to you.
I built that name with talent, beauty, star power, and a legendary karate chop feared by icons and monsters alike. You? You hurl it as an insult because a woman dared to speak to you without bowing first. How fragile you must be to crumble under the weight of a question delivered by someone infinitely stronger than you have ever been.
That reporter showed courage. She showed integrity. She showed the world what a real professional looks like. Meanwhile, you flailed like a collapsing parade float struggling to stay inflated. You weren’t “fighting back.” You weren’t “being tough.” You were simply terrified. Terrified of a woman, a microphone, and the truth you keep trying to stuff into a closet full of your old scandals.
Calling her “piggy” didn’t diminish her. It diminished you.
It made you look cheap.
It made you look weak.
It made you look like a coward thrashing in quicksand of your own making.
And let’s be clear: A man who calls a woman “piggy” because he cannot withstand a factual question is not strong. He is not clever. He is not bold.
He is a big, loud, pathetic problem. A problem the size of a collapsing casino.
A problem wrapped in insecurity, hairspray, and whatever the hell those suits are made of—polyester? denial? both?
So here is your final lesson from moi:
The reporter you tried to belittle stands taller today than you ever have.
She asked for truth.
You served up fear.
She did her job.
You embarrassed yourself.
She kept her dignity.
You lost yours somewhere between the plane door and your next tantrum.
My name is not your shield.
My title is not your insult.
You are not worthy to utter the word “Piggy” unless you are referring to your own reflection.
Consider this your warning, your education, and your verbal karate chop to the soul:
Do not use my name to attack a woman who is braver than you.
Do not weaponize my legacy to mask your cowardice.
And do not mistake your insecurity for strength.
You wanted to shame her.
Instead, you shamed yourself.
Furiously, fabulously, and forever out of your league,
Miss. Piggy