Throating This Spanish YN D!ck 🥴💦 Whole Time His... Btchhh KEPT CALLING 😅 Had Him Moaning Loud Af Like He Was TRYING To Get Caught 😮‍💨💦#public #throat #yn #dick #staircase #nycfreaks #Dl #Trans #Rt #like #brooklyn Who Next ? 👅💦show more

"A little boy on a filthy mattress had already... learned to fear footsteps in the dark. By the time Deputy Mason Cole reached the back room, the child was clutching a dirty stuffed animal so tightly it looked like the toy was the only thing keeping him together. Neighbors had called after hearing a child crying inside a house that was supposed to be empty. The property had been in foreclosure for months, the power was cut, and the windows were boarded over. When Mason forced the door open, the smell hit him first. Trash covered the floor, and somewhere deeper in the house a thin, broken whimper kept rising through the silence. That sound led him down a narrow hallway to a cluttered bedroom in the back. Sitting on a stained mattress surrounded by snack wrappers was a 3 year old boy named Eli, his face streaked with dirt, his hair matted, and his whole body curled around that stuffed animal like it was a shield. One look at him told Mason this wasn't a child who had been left alone for an hour. Fear had sunk too deeply into him, and hunger had already pulled the strength out of his face. Later, the truth came together piece by piece. Eli’s mother was a severe addict who had broken into the empty house to squat, then walked out 3 days earlier to drink and get high and never came back. Mason didn't stay in the doorway and manage the room from a distance. He stepped across the mess on the floor, climbed onto the dirty mattress, and lowered himself beside the trembling boy so he wouldn't feel another adult towering over him. “Hey. Hey. You’re okay.” Eli flinched at first and pulled the stuffed animal tighter against his chest. Tears filled his eyes when he looked up, and the words that came out were barely louder than a whisper. “I was scared.” Mason’s voice dropped even softer. “I know that. You’re safe now.” No answer came right away. Every muscle in the boy’s body stayed tight for another second, like he was waiting to find out whether those words were true. Mason wrapped an arm around him carefully and stayed still. “Believe me,” he said. “I’m not leaving.” Something shifted in that moment. Eli stopped curling away and leaned into the deputy’s chest instead, the fear finally breaking loose in a hard, shaking sob. A partner standing nearby caught the quiet scene for a second before they carried the boy out of the dark house and into the warm patrol car. Mason kept talking to him the whole time. “We’re going to get you warm. Get you something to eat. It’s okay.” A long breath caught in the boy’s throat before he cried again, smaller this time. Mason held him close and gave him the one thing that had been missing from that house for days. “You don’t have to be scared anymore.” By the time they reached the car, Eli wasn't clutching the stuffed animal quite as hard. His head was resting against Mason’s uniform, and for the first time since anyone had found him, he looked like a child who believed help had really come. Today, Eli is in a safe foster home where he has clean clothes, regular meals, and a bed that doesn’t smell like garbage and rot. Mason still checks on him, making sure the little boy who was found crying in the dark knows somebody did come back for him after all.show more

"A little boy on a filthy mattress had already... learned to fear footsteps in the dark. By the time Deputy Mason Cole reached the back room, the child was clutching a dirty stuffed animal so tightly it looked like the toy was the only thing keeping him together. Neighbors had called after hearing a child crying inside a house that was supposed to be empty. The property had been in foreclosure for months, the power was cut, and the windows were boarded over. When Mason forced the door open, the smell hit him first. Trash covered the floor, and somewhere deeper in the house a thin, broken whimper kept rising through the silence. That sound led him down a narrow hallway to a cluttered bedroom in the back. Sitting on a stained mattress surrounded by snack wrappers was a 3 year old boy named Eli, his face streaked with dirt, his hair matted, and his whole body curled around that stuffed animal like it was a shield. One look at him told Mason this wasn't a child who had been left alone for an hour. Fear had sunk too deeply into him, and hunger had already pulled the strength out of his face. Later, the truth came together piece by piece. Eli’s mother was a severe addict who had broken into the empty house to squat, then walked out 3 days earlier to drink and get high and never came back. Mason didn't stay in the doorway and manage the room from a distance. He stepped across the mess on the floor, climbed onto the dirty mattress, and lowered himself beside the trembling boy so he wouldn't feel another adult towering over him. “Hey. Hey. You’re okay.” Eli flinched at first and pulled the stuffed animal tighter against his chest. Tears filled his eyes when he looked up, and the words that came out were barely louder than a whisper. “I was scared.” Mason’s voice dropped even softer. “I know that. You’re safe now.” No answer came right away. Every muscle in the boy’s body stayed tight for another second, like he was waiting to find out whether those words were true. Mason wrapped an arm around him carefully and stayed still. “Believe me,” he said. “I’m not leaving.” Something shifted in that moment. Eli stopped curling away and leaned into the deputy’s chest instead, the fear finally breaking loose in a hard, shaking sob. A partner standing nearby caught the quiet scene for a second before they carried the boy out of the dark house and into the warm patrol car. Mason kept talking to him the whole time. “We’re going to get you warm. Get you something to eat. It’s okay.” A long breath caught in the boy’s throat before he cried again, smaller this time. Mason held him close and gave him the one thing that had been missing from that house for days. “You don’t have to be scared anymore.” By the time they reached the car, Eli wasn't clutching the stuffed animal quite as hard. His head was resting against Mason’s uniform, and for the first time since anyone had found him, he looked like a child who believed help had really come. Today, Eli is in a safe foster home where he has clean clothes, regular meals, and a bed that doesn’t smell like garbage and rot. Mason still checks on him, making sure the little boy who was found crying in the dark knows somebody did come back for him after all.show more

The crew at Ladder 7 had just finished cleaning... the bay when Ryan sat down outside the truck for a few quiet minutes. It was the kind of slow afternoon firemen don't trust for long, with the doors open, the flag moving above the driveway, and the smell of wet concrete still hanging around from the morning washdown. Two months earlier, Ryan had carried a black Lab mix out of a burning rental house on the north side of town. Nobody knew the dog's name at first. He was coughing, scared, and covered in soot, and Ryan had stayed beside him on the curb until the animal rescue van arrived. He kept one hand on the dog's back the whole time and talked to him like they'd known each other for years. "Stay with me, buddy. You're okay." The dog's name turned out to be Max. He spent weeks recovering with a rescue volunteer named Jenna. At first, Max barely slept unless someone sat near him. Loud doors made him shake. Sirens made him hide. Still, every time a truck drove by, he lifted his head like he was listening for something familiar. Jenna wanted to bring him back to the station once he was strong enough. Not for a show. Not for photos. Just because she thought Max might remember the man who sat with him when everything around him was smoke and noise. Ryan saw them from across the driveway. Max was walking calmly at first, but then his whole body changed. His ears came up, his tail started moving, and he pulled forward so hard that the leash slipped out of Jenna's hand. She gasped, then stopped chasing when she saw where he was going. Max ran straight to Ryan. Ryan barely had time to open his arms before Max jumped into him, whining and pushing his face against his chest. The firefighter laughed once, but it broke almost immediately into something softer. He held the dog with both hands, buried his face against him for a second, and shook his head like he couldn't believe it. "Oh Max," he said. "It's been so long. I missed you so much." Jenna stood back with tears in her eyes while the flag kept moving above them. Max didn't care about the truck, the station, or anyone watching. He had found the man who brought him out. Do you believe dogs know who helped them when they needed it most?show more

rewatching ep 4 for the nth time and I... think this is going to be one of those scenes that stays with me for a very long time😭it isn’t just Pete crying, he completely breaks down like full sobbing, barely holding himself together, curling into a ball of grief hiding himself in the blanket like years of pain finally poured out at once. When you think about everything we know about Pete, he’s just 24, yet he’s been emotionally exhausted for years. His gang is younger than him, meaning he can’t really share anything with them. His sister neglects him, and the way he talks about his relatives makes it obvious that his family life is filled with distance rather than care😔 It’s the first time Pete has ever talked about his past, not running from it but actually saying it out loud while someone quietly listens to him. Niran doesn’t interrupt Pete or try to comfort him. He looks composed the whole time, but I can feel his emotions through the silence, the sigh, the way he listens. He is simply lying there but it’s a safe space for Pete to unravel, which is why Pete later says that people feel at ease around Niran. It’s not cuz Niran is affectionate, it’s cuz he says things as they are and that helps Pete feel like he can be himself around him, even at his most broken moment. The scene before where he was furious with Pete, he’s not judging Pete’s life, he’s just giving him the hard truth. He doesn’t sugarcoat things, but he also doesn’t invalidate Pete’s pain. Instead, he’s trying to make Pete realize that his life has value, but he’s letting anger, recklessness and negative emotions get the best of him. And for someone like Pete, who spent most of his life feeling unwanted and unseen, this kind of brutal honesty is what he needs to turn over a new leaf🥹show more

Dear Everyone, The last few days have been hell.... Losing Kiyo has not been easy and I’m not ok. Kiyo gave me the best time of my life. The level of joy you brought into my word and any space he was able to exist in was incomparable. Kiyo was my lover, my best friend, and my truth. He truly saw me for who I was and I saw him for who he was. I didn’t just love him, I believed in him, prayed for his victory. I cared for him. Who would have thought that bringing back a piece of Tupperware would invite me into the world of the purest, kindest soul in the world. Kiyo would do anything for anyone. He was my hero and I was his. We both kept our capes on for each other whenever we needed to save the other person. I am grateful that I got to experience a love like his. I am grateful I got to spend some of the best moments of my life with him. I am grateful that even I grieve I still feel his warmth and care. Kiyo taught me be more patient and understanding and no matter how we came into this world and no matter how bad the world treated us, it doesn’t give us the right to exact that same unkindness to others. He loves animals, anime, a good meal, Steven Universe, a really inappropriate joke, and you never had to guess how he felt about you. As he was goofy he was charming. I still feel his hands interlocked into mine and he was fearless. He loved like no other man I have met in this world could. The first night we reconnected he gave my cat Patrick the middle name Bayard. He gave me first Christmas full of love and laughs. The first man in my life to actually pay attention to me and surprise me with gifts that he knew I would love and were true to who I was as a nerd. Anytime I could get it, I was with him. He had full access to my home and my heart. To Mike and Rico thank you for always being there for him and caring for him, Mike you coming into town in March really lit him up. First time I got to dance with him. Rico thank you for taking him to there museum. He loved every moment of it. All he could do was rave about how much made his day. To Tony, his wife and his gaming community on Destiny 2, thank you for being patient with my baby and giving him space to be man that he was and to his Dad and his brothers. He loved y’all more than you know. All he wanted was for y’all to be ok. And to all his true friends and loved ones know that he always thought of y’all. I will never say goodbye to Kiyoki-D’Andre Marcel Toliver, I will say see you later because no matter where you are I know you are watching me because what we had was Immortal. As I grieve I will try to give any notice on his memorial service which will be in NYC because his grandmother sent him here to find the best version of himself and I know he truly did. I want to share this video I made months ago because I was so proud of the man I had. I want to share also the last video he took of me before we went to Brooklyn Comic-Con. If there are typos forgive me.show more

I was planning to return him to the shelter... on Monday. It’s hard to admit, but I had reached my limit. His name is Sarge, a 110-pound Pyrenees mix, and for three weeks he had been exhausting to handle. He didn’t destroy things or bark nonstop. He escaped. A six-foot fence didn’t stop him — he dug underneath. A locked gate didn’t matter — he figured out how to open it. Every day while I was at work, he would get out. Animal control kept finding him miles away, worn out, covered in dirt, sometimes limping. I couldn’t keep dealing with the fines or the constant stress. “He doesn’t want to be here,” I told my sister. “He just keeps running.” Saturday changed everything. I was home that morning when, around 10, he started pacing. Whining. Scratching at the door. This time, I let him out — but I followed him. I needed to know where he kept going. He didn’t head toward a park. He didn’t chase anything. He lowered his nose and moved forward with quiet determination, like he had a destination in mind. We walked a long way. Across a highway. Through thick brush that tore at my clothes. Eventually, he stopped at a cemetery. He slipped through a broken section of the fence, and I climbed over after him. I found him in the far corner — the part no one visits anymore. He was lying flat in front of a small, weathered headstone. Completely still. No panting. No restlessness. Just… there. I stepped closer and read the name. It belonged to an elderly man. That’s when it clicked. Why the shelter struggled to place him. Why he kept escaping. He wasn’t running away from me. He was going back to someone. For years, Sarge had been making that same journey. Rain, heat, cold — it didn’t matter. He had somewhere he needed to be. I sat down beside him in the dirt and rested my hand on his tangled fur. He let out a long, quiet sigh and leaned his heavy head against my leg. I’m not taking him back on Monday. Instead, I bought a strong harness and a long lead. If he needs to visit his person, he won’t have to do it alone anymore. We’ll go together. Every Saturday. He’s not trying to escape. He’s just that loyal. If you want to see Sarge now — how he’s doing, how he still makes those quiet Saturday visits — comment “Sarge” and I’ll show you his update.show more

I was planning to return him to the shelter... on Monday. It’s hard to admit, but I had reached my limit. His name is Sarge, a 110-pound Pyrenees mix, and for three weeks he had been exhausting to handle. He didn’t destroy things or bark nonstop. He escaped. A six-foot fence didn’t stop him — he dug underneath. A locked gate didn’t matter — he figured out how to open it. Every day while I was at work, he would get out. Animal control kept finding him miles away, worn out, covered in dirt, sometimes limping. I couldn’t keep dealing with the fines or the constant stress. “He doesn’t want to be here,” I told my sister. “He just keeps running.” Saturday changed everything. I was home that morning when, around 10, he started pacing. Whining. Scratching at the door. This time, I let him out — but I followed him. I needed to know where he kept going. He didn’t head toward a park. He didn’t chase anything. He lowered his nose and moved forward with quiet determination, like he had a destination in mind. We walked a long way. Across a highway. Through thick brush that tore at my clothes. Eventually, he stopped at a cemetery. He slipped through a broken section of the fence, and I climbed over after him. I found him in the far corner — the part no one visits anymore. He was lying flat in front of a small, weathered headstone. Completely still. No panting. No restlessness. Just… there. I stepped closer and read the name. It belonged to an elderly man. That’s when it clicked. Why the shelter struggled to place him. Why he kept escaping. He wasn’t running away from me. He was going back to someone. For years, Sarge had been making that same journey. Rain, heat, cold — it didn’t matter. He had somewhere he needed to be. I sat down beside him in the dirt and rested my hand on his tangled fur. He let out a long, quiet sigh and leaned his heavy head against my leg. I’m not taking him back on Monday. Instead, I bought a strong harness and a long lead. If he needs to visit his person, he won’t have to do it alone anymore. We’ll go together. Every Saturday. He’s not trying to escape. He’s just that loyal. If you want to see Sarge now — how he’s doing, how he still makes those quiet Saturday visits — comment “Sarge” and I’ll show you his update.show more

Mauro Icardi has publicly apologized to Maxi López for... having a secret affair with López’s then-wife, Wanda Nara, while he was still living with them. During an exclusive interview in Turkey, Icardi blamed Nara for what happened, claiming that she lured him into the affair. In his words: 🗣️ “I've been trying to reach out to Maxi López to apologize, but he's still very upset with me. And honestly, I don't blame him. He treated me like a brother he let me stay in his home and supported me without asking for anything in return. But during that time, Nara kept coming to me, saying things like, Lopez is weak in bed, can’t satisfy her, things that I shouldn't have listened to. I tried to stay strong, but I made a mistake and I take full responsibility for that. I know this isn't easy to hear, and maybe I shouldn't be saying it publicly, but I just needed to get it off my chest. Maxi, if you're watching this, I'm truly sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. Nara was the one who pushed me into something I never intended."show more

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.show more

Today, I received a call I will not forget.... I had just woken up after studying through the night. As I prepared to pray, my phone kept ringing. I ignored it at first, but it persisted. When I finally answered, the voice on the other end said: “Pastor… my brother has died.” Silence filled my chest. He had been sick. Sleeping outside in the cold after the rains. Trying to survive in a city that is becoming increasingly unforgiving. His sister visited him with some food. He seemed better afterwards. But then, he collapsed and was rushed to the hospital. His sister was far away working. Pain does strange things to people. Sometimes it hardens the very heart that needs help the most. By the time his sister returned… he was already fading. And shortly after, he was gone. What broke me even more was this: She said she didn’t call earlier because she knew things have been tight, and I hadn’t been able to meet many of their needs recently. That sentence pierced deeply. This was a man who struggled—yes. He battled alcoholism. He fell, rose, and fell again. But he also believed. Just last Sunday, after a long absence, he came back to church. He said his spirit was restless until he returned. He worshipped. He served. That was the last time. I wasn’t there that day. And now, he lies in a morgue—another quiet casualty of hardship, addiction, and a city that demands more than many can give. But here is what I hold onto: God is not absent in broken stories. The same grace that meets us in our strength also meets us in our weakness. The One who began a work is not blind to the battles fought in secret. We must do better—for one another. We must see more, reach more, love more. Because sometimes, what looks like “irresponsibility” is actually exhaustion. What looks like “resistance” is actually pain. And what looks like “distance” is often a silent cry for help. Rest in peace, Brother Hassan Musa. May mercy speak louder than failure. And may God help us to be more present, more compassionate, and more responsive to the burdens around us.show more

I have seen some people circulating a 2017 screenshot,... claiming that I am lying and pretending when I say that Baba was my friend and that I was like his daughter. In 2017, we were on different political sides. Like in any heated political contest, many things were said in the course of political banter, something both Baba and Uhuru openly acknowledged and apologised for, including on behalf of their supporters. From November 2018, I began working closely with Baba, shortly after his appointment as AU’s High Representative for Infrastructure Development. At the time, I was with the African Union Development Agency (AUDA-NEPAD), and our office supported his role. I was also part of his 2022 campaign, and in 2024 he personally appointed me into his AUC campaign team. Over a period of 7 years, I had the privilege of learning directly from him. He gave me numerous opportunities, travelled with me across Africa and beyond, and allowed me to sit in high-level meetings that shaped my perspective and growth. That was Baba! A man who never judged me by my tribe or my previous political positions. He saw my potential and gave me an opportunity. He often expressed how proud he was of my work and my convictions. The last time we spoke was on 8th October 2025, while he was still in India, a week before he passed on. I even made a post about that conversation on the same day. That was Baba…my friend! So, to those trying to twist this story to fit a convenient political narrative I will ask, WHO TOLD YOU? Do you claim to know me better than Baba did? And isn’t the same Ruto you now support the one who once called Baba all manner of names? Did he ever publicly apologise the way Baba and Uhuru did? What exactly explains this selective memory, this hypocrisy and these double standards? All in all, yesterday I was in Kisumu, and was so overwhelmed by the love that was expressed. On the way to the rally, so many young people kept calling me by name and saying how much they love me for supporting Baba. Others were even calling me msichana ya Baba. This is the real ground!show more

I think some people are just not ready to... read this, so feel free to skip🫴🏼 The thing is, you don’t want to admit that Serhat is a human too just because he’s a man. And I will stick to that sentence and repeat it as much as I can. Not to convince you, but because it’s a fact. If you ask Ercan the last 2 episodes could literally be titled: “How to emotionally break Serhat in every possible way.” If you’ve been paying attention from the beginning, you would already know how his character is built. He’s someone who was never allowed to express his emotions. Yes, he was treated “better” as the heir but what does “better” even mean here? He wasn’t protected, he was programmed. Forced to suppress everything, to carry responsibility, to stay in control at all times. And that stayed with him. And when you grow up like that, you attract people who treat you the same way. That’s exactly what happened with M. She treated him in that same controlled, restrictive way. The only person who didn’t was Yıldız. From the very beginning, she saw the real him the vulnerable him. No matter how high he built his walls, she could still see through him. And that scared him. Not because he doubts her, but because he’s not used to being seen like that. Every time someone saw even a fraction of his softness, they used it against him (Akif, Sultan, M…all of them.) Yıldız wouldn’t do that, he knows it. But that doesn’t change the fact that having someone understand you that deeply feels overwhelming. It’s human. Now, about the hospital incident and the lack of communication… Both of them are right and wrong at the same time. This isn’t about blaming one side. Some situations are just the result of circumstances, not fault. And if you actually watch the show because you care about the characters, you’ll understand that. The lack of communication from the previous episode clearly showed in the office scene this episode. Yildiz moved forward, trying to hold onto their promise to trust each other, to let their word be one. But he was still stuck in that moment. Not because he held grudge against her, but because he knows that one small action( her taking the gun) led to much bigger consequences. And they both know that. And most importantly they are exhausted! Everything started when he went to kordağli’s mansion last ep . Then M told him she would marry his enemy and give his child his name. Then his Ortak was shot, and he had to carry him to the hospital and operate on him while injured!(an injury that was caused my Aşir himself!) almost losing him. He broke down alone!! no one even saw that because this is how Serhat is used to be🙂‍↕️ Then he started suspecting his own brother. Then yilidz rose the gun in front of the other ağas and that’s when all the pressure and the responsibility of maintaining control and respect not just in his family, but as an Ağa, crushed him at once! Then Yıldız was jailed because of M & the next day it was confirmed that Akif shot Aşir and he discovered his betrayal with nida and hast to give his own brother to death! Because that’s what morally correct! And then Hicran First, she was someone he was supposed to protect cuz Aşir told him to protect her. Then suddenly, she is his sister. And just as quickly, she was dying. He found out his own mother was behind her suffering. He didn’t get time to process any of it. The guilt alone is enough to destroy someone. Knowing she was always there, part of his life, and he didn’t know. That he couldn’t protect her. That he couldn’t repay her. And it didn’t stop there… He lost his status. He was manipulated by M. He was pushed further and further. Then came the final blow Hicran’s brain death. And right after that, he had to face the reality of her being an organ donor. And then… her heart goes to her killer… Anyway, since you’re all acting like superhuman creatures and these situations wouldn’t affect you at all if you were in his place then go ahead, have at it.show more

Lafda between Ajit Agarkar and Virat Kohli 🚨 As... we all know, Rohit was about to get removed from the Indian team and Ajit Agarkar was very much keen on it. He was one of the major voices raising the issue that Rohit wasn't fit enough to play ODI cricket. When this news leaked into the dressing room, Rohit felt very much disheartened. Kohli got to know about it and had a face to face conversation with Ajit Agarkar. He even told him after the South Africa series that Rohit still had the potential to play well in the 2027 World Cup. And if Rohit doesn't play, “I would also like to remove my name.” This is where everything changed. The whole management wanted Kohli, as the senior, especially after his tremendous form in the IPL. Looking at this, the management had to keep Rohit in the squad. But Ajit Agarkar was still ready to remove Kohli from the team just to get Rohit out. As a result, major authorities have decided to end Ajit Agarkar's term next month and Ajit Agarkar has accepted it gracefully, as he doesn't want to be part of a system that can cross its values just to keep an unfit man in the team. What do you think about this? I believe everyone is right in their own place. Also respect for Kohli for standing up for Rohit in his toughest time 🙏show more

The volunteer warned her three times before she even... reached his kennel: "Don't get your hopes up with this one. He's been returned four times. Something's just… off about him. People bring him back within a week." But Karen had only come to walk dogs that Saturday — she wasn't adopting anything — so she figured a brindle mutt nobody wanted was as good a dog as any to take around the block, and she had no idea she was about to lose an argument with an animal who had already made up his mind. His name on the kennel card was Buster, crossed out and rewritten three times in three different handwritings. Four returns in two years. The notes were a quiet little tragedy: Too anxious. Won't settle. Cries when left alone. Not a good fit. Each family had brought him back a little more shut down than the last. He was the kind of dog shelters lose sleep over — not aggressive, not sick, just somehow always the one handed back. By the time Karen clipped the leash on, he wouldn't even look at her. He walked beside her like a dog who had learned that walks end in goodbyes. But something happened on that loop around the block. He started glancing up at her. By the halfway point he was leaning into her leg at every stop. And when she brought him back to the shelter and bent to unclip the leash, Buster did something he had never done in two years of returns. He sat down on her feet. And he would not move. The volunteer tried to coax him back into the kennel. He pressed harder against Karen's legs. When she crouched to say goodbye, he climbed half into her lap and pushed his head under her chin and let out a low whine that sounded, to everyone standing there, exactly like please. "He's never done that," the volunteer said quietly. "Not once." Karen had walked in that morning wanting nothing but a few hours of fresh air and a dog on a leash. She knelt on that concrete floor with a dog who had been given back four times refusing to let go of her, and she felt something in her chest simply give way. "Okay," she whispered into his fur, half-laughing, half-crying. "Okay. You win. I'm not going anywhere either." She filled out the paperwork that afternoon. Buster never spent another night in a kennel. And the dog who "wouldn't settle" for four families slept soundly the very first night — because, his whole body seemed to say, he'd finally found the one who wasn't going to bring him back.show more

More revelations are coming out about Jim Goad, including... the revelation that the criticism people leveled at him online---including myself---may have played a role in the crushing depression that led him to take his own life. In his podcast yesterday memorializing Goad, Gavin McInnes states that he believes Goad's 2024 debate with Owen Benjamin broke Goad mentally. Not only is he visibly tired and flustered during the debate, Benjamin accused Goad of abandoning his severely autistic son. According to McInnes, after the debate, Goad told McInnes, "He's right. I did abandon my son." Apparently this was the first time Goad ever conceded that one of his critics was right about him. McInnes---a close friend of Goad's---also claims "in many ways, he was already dead. Last time I spoke to him, I had solutions to his problems, but he wasn't interested." I was the one who discovered what Goad did to his son all the way back in 2018; around the time of the infamous Luke Ford stream (where me, Nick Fuentes, Baked Alaska, and a bunch of others clowned on Goad for hours), a local Atlanta TV station ran a story about how Goad's then ten-year-old son had formed a bond with a local Santa. Goad had split up with his wife Shannon some years before, admitting in one of his podcasts that he was the one who filed for divorce. Goad was so angered by this expose that he recorded and published a phone call with his ex-wife where he refuted the idea that he was a "deadbeat dad." Nobody accused him of being a deadbeat. He was accused of abandoning his disabled son to be raised in a broken home. Goad's self-image of a dedicated truth-telling emotionally unaffected loner and his critics being jilted fans was a carefully constructed lie. He was extremely sensitive to criticism and carefully curated his online image. This included trying to deplatform his critics (as he tried to do to me; in addition to false-flagging my YouTube channel, he successfully got me banned from Medium and may have gotten my website taken down in 2019 through false reports to my webhost), viciously attacking anyone who criticized him even mildly, no matter how obscure they were (as Andy Nowicki reveals in a recent video), and manipulating others into defending him publicly. If you ever got into an online argument with Jim Goad and he felt like he was losing (aka every argument), you'd immediately get dogpiled by a bunch of his friends and exes backing him up. Goad even severed relationships with people he felt were insufficiently willing to defend his honor. For years, he bragged that my ex Ann Sterzinger was going to write a tell-all book about me that would completely destroy my reputation, most recently in a 2022 podcast with Greg Johnson (I believe he ALSO brought it up in an 2023 interview with Ethan Ralph, but don't quote me on that). Sterzinger confessed in private messages that Goad pushed her to write the book to "save his reputation" and became violently angry with her when she never finished it. She also denounced him as a narcissist following the end of their friendship, accused him of lying, said he would complain about "how the fame he pretends he never really wanted never really came his way," and claimed that in 2018, he manipulated her into "pretend[ing] to be OK after being raped" so he could use her as a weapon in his upcoming "debate" with me. Sterzinger also admits that Goad would privately shit-talk his supposed "friends," claiming he shit-talked Gavin McInnes to her and shit-talked her to McInnes. This is corroborated by emails I exchanged with Goad's former friend/co-host Keith Lee. Keith also stated back in 2018 that Goad was "losing control" due to his inability to curate how he was perceived online. Does any of this diminish Goad's influence as a writer? No. But the reality that he lied about himself and others constantly and sought to destroy anyone who criticized him was a consistent feature of his personality. The fact that me and others may have played a role in his depression and suicide makes me feel terrible, even if I was justified in attacking him for what he tried to do to me. I discussed this with a friend and he hypothesized that as Goad's health worsened, it stripped him of his usual coping mechanisms and forced him to confront his personal traumas and lifelong abusive behavior, and he simply couldn't cope. The real bomb in his brain was not his tumor, but his guilt. In any event, if there's an afterlife, I hope he's found some peace.show more

I stepped inside the shelter and asked a question... most people never voice: "Which dog here has been waiting the longest?" eg The woman at the front desk didn't smile or reach for paperwork. She exhaled slowly, as if the weight of that question pressed down on her. "Okay," she said quietly, then grabbed a set of keys and started walking without checking if I was following. We passed the bright, bustling areas first-puppies bouncing with excitement, friendly dogs pressing against gates, that hopeful energy that makes adoption feel easy. But we kept moving. Down a quieter hallway. Somehow colder, even though it was the same building. The lights buzzed overhead I, every sound echoing off the concrete. "Most people don't come back here," she said. Her name tag read Maya. "I figured," I replied. She nodded slightly, as if she'd already known. At the very end, she stopped at a kennel that felt too big for the dog inside. He had that look older dogs get-not small or fragile, just worn down by time. His coat was faded, gray settling around his face. One ear drooped slightly, as if even holding it up had become too much. His eyes were cloudy, but not empty. They were still searching. Not for toys or attention. For something that mattered. Heaned closer to read the card. Max. 16 years old. Pitbull mix. Quiet. Senior. Overlooked. Notes about needing a calm home, soft food, patience-the kind of words shelters use when they're trying to stay neutral while quietly hoping someone will care. Sixteen. For most people, that number feels like a ticking clock. Max didn't try to impress me. No barking. No jumping. He just sat there. Still. Steady. Like he'd already decided he wouldn't beg to be chosen. Maya spoke softly. "He's been passed over more times than I can count." "Why?" I asked, even though I already knew. She glanced at the card. "Because people don't want something that comes with an ending they can already see." That stayed with me. Because it wasn't just about him. We all tend to choose what feels safe. What won't hurt too soon. What doesn't ask too much. But Max wasn't safe. He was real. Maya unlocked the kennel. I expected hesitation-maybe fear. But Max stepped out slowly, like he wasn't sure he was allowed to anymore. He paused, looked at me, and let out a long, quiet breath. Not frustration. Relief. I knelt without thinking. He didn't rush. He moved carefully, like every step mattered. When he reached me, he didn't jump or wag wildly. He simply rested his head against my chest. Not asking. Just... leaning. Like he'd been holding everything in for so long and finally didn't have to anymore. Maya cleared her throat. "He does that sometimes," she said, though her voice wavered. I noticed a folded piece of paper tucked behind his kennel card. "What's that?" I asked. "It came with him," she said softly. "I forget it's there sometimes." I didn't open it yet. Max was still leaning into me, and I didn't want to break the moment. The drive home was quiet. He didn't whine or pace. He curled up beside me like he trusted the motion of the car. At a stoplight, I glanced over-his paws tucked neatly under him, completely still. He wasn't trying to leave. He was trying to stay. When we got home, he stepped inside slowly, taking it all in like he was memorizing it. Then he came over to me. And leaned again. Just contact. Like he needed to know I wouldn't disappear. I finally unfolded the paper. If someone chooses him, please tell him he was a good dog. He wasn't left behind because he wasn't loved. Life just got in the way. Please let him rest somewhere he can feel seen. I read it twice. Then I looked at Max. He had climbed onto the couch, turning in a slow circle before settling down with a soft sigh. I sat beside him and placed my hand near his head. He leaned into it and closed his eyes. And in that moment, something became clear. Max didn't need a new life. He needed peace. " That night, he slept on something soft. No noise. No cold floors. 👇show more

❤️DO YOU REALLY KNOW KIM SEOKJIN? If you know... more about him, read this❤️ Op introducing a comment found on Kian’s B& B YouTube It’s 2019 KBS Song Festival BTS Stages she ‘s talking about, and here’s the video clip of the jacket moment, watch SeokJin at the end of the clip! 🗣️ I am writing this comment because I want to record something I remember about SeokJin ☺️ In the winter of the year the pandemic hit, the last year-end before the pandemic, I was lucky enough to win a spot for the pre-recording of a year-end stage, and I spent almost 5 to 6 hours with BTS. What was even luckier was that my assigned spot was in top 10%, so I was quite close to the stage. That year, the time given to BTS for the year-end stage was over 30 minutes, it was like a mini concert. They did pre-recordings for several songs while changing the stage sets and also did rehearsal for the next day’s live broadcast, so I was able to watch them closely for a long time. And the one who left the strongest impression on me, even more than my bias, was SeokJin. When the PD-nim had messages or directions to convey to the members about the stage, or when he had something to discuss, he mostly communicated with SeokJin. And SeokJin took on the role of relaying all the messages to the other members. While managing the stage, if there were small details like, for example, if a jacket taken off during the performance was left there when it might get caught on camera and look messy, so make sure to throw it over to the back of the set, things like that. Jin relayed all those messages and directions to the members, and if there were members who couldn’t follow that direction, he quietly took care of small details behind the scenes, like quickly tossing away the jacket that was left behind when the camera was on other members. He was handling those little details behind the scene quietly alone with care, that was my impression. Even though he's the eldest, he's not the leader, not the main vocalist, nor the choreography leader, so when BTS is all together, I personally feel that the spotlight rarely shines on him. Also, since he's not the type of hyung who bosses around other members, saying, "I'm your senior," it’s probably not easy for SeokJin to leave a strong impression (*to casual viewers/general public) But the deeper you look into BTS, the more you see that SeokJin is a true gem, quietly working behind the scenes and taking good care of his younger members with a genuinely beautiful heart. While watching SeokJin for hours in moments that weren’t captured on camera, what I felt was that he’s truly sincere, attentive and meticulous, leading by examples with a strong sense of responsibility. And while taking care of everything like that, he’s not interested in taking credit for the things he did, he just quietly accomplished everything without drawing attention, his presence was like salt and light, I felt. I think this is why there are so many heartwarming stories about SeokJin in the entertainment industry. Seeing his good characters that I saw get recognized in detail through this variety show, and feeling like many people will come to appreciate his integrity, somehow it makes me feel really happy. #Jin #방탄소년단진 #진 방탄소년단show more

Our son's teacher used to call us weekly with... complaints. Last Friday during his parent/teacher check-in, she asked what we did to transform him. The answer: Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu (BJJ). It all started with him not being able to burn his additional energy. Our kid was and still is hyperactive, couldn't fall asleep before 12am/1am, fidgeted through every school lesson, constantly snappy with us and his teachers. Some of our friends were calling him the duracell bunny (in reference to the battery ad) and we were genuinely worried this was just who he was. We tried a few different sports as our idea was that he didn't have any activity that involved burning his energy. Football, swimming, running him around the park until dark. He'd come home exhausted but his mind would still be racing at bedtime. The energy was there, but nothing seemed to actually settle him. My brother has been training and coaching kids BJJ since he was young. He kept telling us to bring our son. Tbh, we were skeptical - how would a combat sport help a kid who already couldn't sit still? But we were desperate as school was getting worse and the nightly battles were exhausting everyone. So at 5 years old, we signed him up. The first 6 months, he started falling asleep faster and not just because he was tired (he'd been tired before), but because BJJ teaches you to control your body and your mind simultaneously. He was learning to actually settle himself. The 11pm bedtime battles turned into peaceful 9pm nights. But what really caught us off guard was the respect. Every single class - bow when you enter/when you leave, wait your turn, shake hands with your opponent, listen to your coach. It gets drilled in through pure repetition. Not lectures, not punishment..just practice. 100 times per class, every class, for years. His teachers also noticed the change. He could finally sit through lessons, pay attention, actually remember what was discussed. Homework became manageable because he'd developed the patience to learn. He was less snappy and more willing to listen. The hardest part were in the first couple of years as he wanted to quit constantly. The usual kids reasons - i'm tired of BJJ, I don't want to train anymore etc. There were nights we genuinely questioned if we were pushing him too hard, if we were doing the right thing. But we kept him going. My brother being his coach helped, but honestly it was just us trusting that something would click eventually. And then in year 4, it did. He found his training partner, made real friends at the gym. Suddenly he was asking when his next class was. Going to support his teammates at competitions even when he wasn't competing himself. This year, the transformation was complete. His teacher went from calling us weekly to pulling us aside asking what we did. The fidgety, unfocused kid who couldn't sit still was competing in tournaments, winning medals, excelling at school, and genuinely looking forward to training. Here's what we got wrong for years: we kept trying to calm him down. Turns out, he didn't need calming.. he needed somewhere to put that energy. Other sports just tired him out. BJJ gave him an outlet that required both physical exhaustion and mental focus. And here's the thing few people talk about: BJJ is teaching him to lose. Not avoid failure but to face it. He still gets frustrated sometimes, still has moments where the tears come after a tough roll or a competition loss. But he's getting better at it. He processes it faster now, gets back up quicker. Most kids' activities try to avoid failure or sugarcoat it. BJJ makes you face it every single class and there's no hiding from it. That resilience is slowly building, and it's showing up everywhere. Homework frustrations don't spiral like they used to. Mistakes are becoming learning opportunities instead of total meltdowns. And he's even getting better at maths due to his concentration levels improving. If your kid can't sit still, can't focus, struggles with sleep, and school is calling home weekly do give BJJ a shot before assuming it's just who they are. Not for the discipline but for the outlet. The discipline comes later. Here's my son at his last competition. That's the kid who couldn't sit still for 5 minutes.show more