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CPI(M) MP John Brittas thinks he can get away with calling a great freedom fighter derogatory names like "shoe-licker"? Not anymore. 📌 I urge everyone across the nation to step forward, file formal complaints/FIRs, and let the law take its course. Watch & Amplify 👇 [Video]

22,754 views • 1 month ago •via X (Twitter)

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A 17-year-old bullfighter got KO’d by a bucking bull. According to Levi Stewart on Facebook Yes, 1 am the kid in the orange. I am a 17-year-old bull fighter who is still learning, but I do professional rodeos. The item you see go flying from my face is my Ci Meta glasses. They unfortunately have been shattered, and I do not have the video footage. I would have to pay to get them repaired. The reason I say the glasses took a lot of the impact is because my face was perfectly fine besides a small bruise and a very small hole in my mouth, so the Lord was really watching over me. Now, for the reason why I got kicked in the face. So, when I went to step in there, from my angle, it looked like the bull rider was about to get hung up. I tried to grab the bull's head to straighten him out, but he kept going, so I figured he would keep going straight. So, I went to step in to get to that rope, but I saw his hip turn into me, so 1 threw my arms up and tried to lean back as far as possible. If you watch the video a few times, you can see that on this jump right here, the bull extends his legs, which was unexpected because the last few hops he did not. So, unfortunately, I ended up getting caught in the head, but I am perfectly fine, and it was a great learning experience. There wasn't really much I could have done differently. And the reason that we do not wear helmets is because it would take away field of view, make it harder for us to maneuver around, and it could be dangerous for the bull rider. If we have to work hangups, there are more reasons, but those are just a few.

LASHY BILLS

17,382 views • 3 days ago

So, you wanna be a big shot, huh? Well, let me tell you a secret: the key to success is being consistent, even when it's super boring and the results take forever to show up. It's like waiting for paint to dry, but instead of paint, it's your dreams. And, spoiler alert, it's not all sunshine and rainbows - there's gonna be some serious discomfort involved. But, hey, that's where the magic happens, right? The thing is, most people give up because they're not seeing immediate results. They're like, "I did the thing, where's my prize?" Well, let me break it to you: the prize is in the process. Every small step you take, every tiny effort you put in, it all adds up. It's like putting pennies in a piggy bank - it doesn't seem like much at first, but before you know it, you've got a whole lot of pennies. So, here's the deal. If you want to be a great man (or woman, or whatever), you gotta be willing to put in the work. And I don't mean just going through the motions, I mean really putting in the effort. Because, let's be real, the only way to get better is to face the discomfort head-on and keep moving forward. And, hey, don't forget to enjoy the ride. It's okay to take a step back, look at how far you've come, and be like, "Whoa, I'm crushing it!" But don't get too comfortable - there's still a lot of work to be done. Anyway, that's my two cents. Have a great week, I guess. #Web3 #DeFi #Ethereum #StarkNet #Crypto #ETH #Bitcoin #BTC #zycot

Zycot_Marketing_Agency

22,061 views • 11 months ago

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.

Crazy Moments

361,151 views • 26 days ago

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.

Crazy Moments

25,599 views • 2 months ago