正在加载视频...

视频加载失败

Karen Read isn’t some misunderstood crusader. She behaves like an eternally-13-year-old mean girl. She cycles through people like disposable accessories. She’ll tell you you’re her “favorite,” swear she appreciates you, promise you the world and then the moment she needs a scapegoat? Suddenly YOU are the problem. It’s the...

32,750 次观看 • 8 个月前 •via X (Twitter)

0 条评论

暂无评论

原始帖子的评论将显示在这里

相关视频

🚨 SOMETHING STRANGE IS HAPPENING TO THE MOON — AND THEY DON’T WANT YOU TO NOTICE A woman gets on camera and says this isn’t a one-time thing. She saw it last month, the moon looked completely off, like the orientation made no sense, but she brushed it off and kept it moving. Now it’s happening again. Same exact look. So this time she actually checks, pulls up NASA charts for her exact location and shows what the moon is supposed to look like… and what she’s seeing doesn’t match it, not even close. The charts show it side to side, but what everyone actually saw was a flipped moon, straight up upside down, like something changed and everyone’s acting like it didn’t. Then she calls people across the country to verify it, and they come back saying the same thing. It looks upside down to them too, which is where this stops being “just her” and starts feeling like the same exact thing showing up in multiple places at the same time. And it’s not just her, people all over social media are saying the same thing: "Something isn't right." And this is where it stops making any sense. She says if the moon is a crescent, you’re only supposed to see the lit part… so why can she still see the entire outline of it, faint but clearly there, like the shadow isn’t even doing what it’s supposed to do? And she’s already calling it out before anyone can spin it: don’t say it’s lighting, don’t say it’s angle, don’t say it’s photoshopped, because she checked the charts, showed the receipts, and had other people confirm it. So now you’ve got the same “flip,” the same upside down moon, same visibility issue, second month in a row, multiple locations… and it still doesn’t match what we’re being shown. She ignored it once. Now it’s back again. So what exactly are we looking at… and why does it feel like we’re not supposed to question it?

HustleBitch

730,077 次观看 • 4 个月前

What is it like to grow up in one of the most talked about families in the world? Well, today’s guest is Ivanka Trump - someone who’s lived much of her life in the public eye, from childhood through business, and all the way to the White House. From a young age, her life was anything but normal. She grew up surrounded by media attention and moments that most people could never relate to. At just nine years old, she was dealing with reporters outside her school during her parents’ divorce - an experience she says shaped how she saw trust and the world around her. As she got older, that pressure didn’t go away. She built a career in real estate before stepping into government and working at the highest level during one of the most intense political periods in recent history. I found myself coming back to something we discussed around how living under that kind of scrutiny forces you to get really clear on who you are, because if you don’t, the world will define it for you. And a lot of this conversation comes back to that idea. Being intentional with your time and your decisions, and even what you allow into your mind, because without that, it’s very easy to get pulled in a direction that isn’t really yours. I wanted to know: - How do you grow up under constant public scrutiny? - What does pressure actually do to a person over time? - How do you know who to trust when you’re in the spotlight? - What is power really like behind closed doors? There’s a moment where she reflects on how, for a long time, protecting herself meant building walls and not trusting people, but over time she realised those same walls can stop you from having real connection. Let me know your thoughts after watching this one.

Steven Bartlett

339,418 次观看 • 3 个月前

Vayne takes you on a hunt. you don't know why. she doesn't take anyone. she says stay behind me. don't speak unless i speak first. don't make a sound when we move. you say yes. she looks at you for a second longer than usual. "if i tell you to run, you run. you don't look back for me. are we clear" you say yes. she doesn't answer. she just turns and walks out the door. you follow her through the city streets. she moves different when she's working. shoulders lower. steps shorter. her head doesn't turn but her eyes do. you can feel her cataloguing everything. the man smoking outside the tavern. the cat under the cart. the second floor window with the curtain half drawn. she leads you through an alley you didn't know existed. stops at a brick wall. then she climbs. there are handholds carved into the mortar that you wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't used them first. she's halfway up before she realizes you're still at the bottom. she looks down at you. "up" you climb. your hands are shaking by the time you reach the top. the roof is flat. old clay tiles along the edges. a low wall you can crouch behind. the city stretches out below you in every direction. a thousand windows glowing gold in the dusk. she's already at the far side. crouched. crossbow unslung. watching a building across the square. she doesn't look at you when you come up beside her. "stay low" you crouch. "that building. third floor. second window from the left" you look. "i see it" he'll come to that window sometime tonight. i've watched him do it for three nights. i want to know who he meets you ask who he is. her jaw tightens. "a demon pretending to be a man" you don't ask what that means. you settle in beside her. the wind is up here. it pulls at her hair and she doesn't bother fixing it. the sun is going down behind her. her profile in the gold light looks like something carved. her hands on the crossbow are steady. completely still. you've never seen anyone be this still. an hour passes. she doesn't move. you try not to move. your leg falls asleep. you shift an inch. she looks at you. you go completely still again. she looks back at the window. another hour. the sun is gone. the city is blue and black. lamps are lighting up one by one. the air is getting cold. you're shivering before you realize you're shivering. she notices. she doesn't say anything. then she takes off her cloak. doesn't look at you. holds it out to the side. "take it" you say "you'll be cold" "i don't get cold. take it" you take it. it's warm from her. it smells like leather and steel and something underneath. pine. smoke. something you can't name. you put it around your shoulders. the hem pools on the tile. it's huge on you. it's not huge on her. you hadn't realized how tall she is until you were wearing her cloak. she doesn't look at you for the next ten minutes. the stars come out. she shifts closer to you. just a little. so her shoulder is almost touching yours. you don't say anything about it. she doesn't either. you can feel the heat coming off her even through the cloak. another hour. still nothing at the window. she says "tell me something" you blink. "what" "anything. i need to stay sharp. talking keeps me sharp. not about the target. something else" you didn't expect that. you tell her about a book you've been reading. she listens. actually listens. her eyes never leave the window but you can tell she's hearing every word. she asks one question. you answer. she goes quiet again. you keep talking. quieter now. she interrupts you. "shh" she's not looking at the window anymore. she's looking at the roof two buildings over. you don't see anything. you don't see anything for a long time. then you do. a shadow that moves the wrong way. her hand finds yours. she doesn't look at you when she does it. her eyes don't leave the shadow. her fingers lace through yours and LOCK. tight. too tight. knuckles going white around your hand. "don't move" she breathes. you don't move. you can feel every ounce of her focus through her grip. it's not a lover's hold. it's a predator's. every muscle in her hand coiled. ready to drop yours the instant she needs the crossbow. she's not holding you for you. she's holding you to keep track of where you are without having to look. it should scare you. it doesn't. there is something about being held that tight by someone that dangerous that makes the rest of the world go quiet. your heartbeat slows. your breathing slows. the cold stops mattering. you are not the one hunting but you are with the one who is. and nothing is going to get through her to reach you. the shadow crosses the roof and disappears into a stairwell. she watches the spot it left for another full minute. her hand is still locked around yours. she doesn't loosen it. you don't want her to. finally she lets out a breath you didn't know she was holding. "not him. but someone who works for him" her grip eases. slowly. finger by finger. like she's having to consciously tell each one to let go. the last one is her thumb. it stays against your palm for half a second longer than the rest. then she takes her hand back. the cold rushes in where she was. she glances at you. just for a second. then she looks back at the window. the rest of the night she's quieter than before. the target never shows. when the sky starts turning grey she stands up. stretches. rolls her shoulders. looks out over the city one last time. "we're done" you stand too. your legs don't work right. she catches your elbow without looking. "careful" she keeps her hand there until you're steady. then she takes it away. you start to hand her cloak back. she says "keep it for the climb down" she goes first. you follow. the handholds are easier going down once you know where they are. when you're both on the ground she turns to take the cloak. you hand it to her. her fingers brush yours. she doesn't pull back as fast as she usually does. she puts the cloak back on. it's warm now. from you. she has to notice. she doesn't say anything about it. she walks you home. at your door she stops. "don't tell anyone what you saw tonight" you say "i didn't see much" she looks at you. her eyes in the lamplight. the edge of her mouth. almost softer than it should be. "you saw enough" then she turns and walks back into the dark. you close the door. your hand still feels cold where hers was. you can still smell pine on your shirt. you don't sleep. Study the Saskio way

Tony Chau

11,734 次观看 • 3 个月前

Lady narrates how she left home dressing all nice going to a friend’s proposal to using rapper to cover herself at Agege. According to the lady, her friend’s fiancée invited her to the proposal because her friend was not aware of the proposal. So she left her house to the park to enter bus from to Agege and from Agege to her destination. She enter a bus like a small bus, she wanted to sit in the front but people were there already so she had to sit on the next sir behind the driver and a young lady with two kids, backing one and lapping the other one who is about 8 years old. 4 Minutes after the journey started she suddenly she felt something warm on her head only to find out that the little boy sitting behind her already vømitted on her head. The driver had to park everyone alighted at their destination and it was just her, the mother and the driver. She just sat there crying that everyone was questioning her if she was robbed or something then she later stood up to go meet a woman across then the woman asked her to go to a store after she explained everything to her then later asked someone to come call her back. The woman described another place for her and when she got there she was crying so everyone was questioning her while some were running from her because of the vömit on her. Then some women gathered around her and cleaned her up. She got herself clothes to cover up and ordered a ride which took her to the destination. All dressed nice without looking like anything just happened. She really went through a lot in one night😧💔

MEDIA BLOG

21,132 次观看 • 3 个月前

Karen Read: The Tail-Light Truth and the Death of Reason Karen Read didn’t just hit John O’Keefe—she rewrote the definition of “caught red-handed,” only in this case, it’s red plastic. The kind that shattered from her Lexus and ended up embedded in his clothes and sprinkled around his lifeless body like murderous confetti. But sure, Karen, tell us again about the magical invisible snowplow and the ghost dog that grazes but never bites. Let’s talk actual evidence, not the Facebook fever dreams of Turtleboy disciples: •John stops moving within a minute of getting out of her car. Literally. One minute. He steps out, and the clock stops—on his life, and on Karen’s credibility. His phone temp immediately starts dropping. •Her car impacts something—hard. TechStream data logs it. Her taillight shatters. John’s injuries match it like a deranged game of forensic bingo. •She starts calling and texting him immediately, not with concern, but with rage. “I hate you.” She sounds less like a worried girlfriend and more like a Jodie Arias on a bender with a vendetta. •She claims she thought he went inside. Cute story—except she never told anyone until dateline a year and a half later. The morning she starts driving around like a Roomba on a revenge mission. •The backup camera. A full-color, widescreen display. You could see the curvature of the Earth in that thing. Yet she accidentally backs into the man she “loves”? Girl, please. Helen Keller would’ve noticed something was behind her with all the bells and whistles. •She woke the niece. Said “I might’ve done something.” Not “that bastard is cheating”. Not “he must’ve crashed on someone’s couch.” That’s not the vocabulary of an innocent woman—it’s the language of someone whose conscience just tapped her on the shoulder and screamed. And don’t forget the pièce de résistance: She calls Kerry, she throws in the towel and essentially decides, “Eh, guess he’s dead.” Because nothing screams innocent like abandoning your unconscious boyfriend in a snowbank like last season’s Christmas tree. Karen Read’s defense isn’t a theory—it’s a rotating buffet of delusions. First it was the Alberts. Then the McCabes. Then Higgins. Now it’s the Deep State, the Weather Channel, and maybe Big Pharma. Anyone but Karen. But the facts don’t care about her Vodka-fueled fan fiction. The evidence lines up like a police escort to prison: •Taillight broken. •Backup camera she definitely saw. •TechStream confirming the impact. •GPS confirming he never made it inside. •Her own mouth confirming she hit him. •Forensics confirming it wasn’t a fight. This isn’t just second-degree murder. It’s second-degree obvious. She didn’t “lose him in the snow.” She put him there. And every lie she’s told since is just a desperate attempt to keep her cocktail privileges. Karen Read isn’t on trial because she’s being framed. She’s on trial because she did it—and the snow isn’t the only thing that’s white and full of crap. #FreeKarenRead

MEDIA AUTOPSY

67,218 次观看 • 1 年前