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things that have happened before tjd break up: -punk returned -AJ LEE RETURNED -cena retired -punk as champ -roman lost his belt after 1.3k days -livrhea ended -seth winning and cashing in MITB -naomi winning/cashing in MITB and also getting pregnant -nikki bella returned #WWERaw

381,106 görüntüleme • 10 ay önce •via X (Twitter)

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The Delta Snake Review: Continuing the buildup for the eBook version of The Quitturz, here's an informal series that lists albums by artists I consider are the true “Godfathers Of Punk.” The True Godfathers Of Punk - Part One In the early days of Punk, it was common for music reviewers and writers to cite "Godfathers of Punk" from the 60s (or 50s) as influences on the first wave of artists. That was understandable; people naturally try to understand the origins of a new music genre, but it also reflected the age of the writers, most of whom were Boomers and publicists promoting back catalogs of '60s and '70s artists. However, a few decades later, it's evident that Punk wasn't a temporary fad and became a full-fledged genre. As a result, one could say that the true Godfathers were those outstanding groups in the first wave or generation of Punk. The artists in the first generation that I admired covered an extensive range of styles, ranging from pop, Rock, trash rock, and even progressive. In fact, you might only recognize many of the "Punk" songs by their sensibility (lyrics) or the group or artist's appearance. It was very much an attitude and fashion trend also. In the end, one could say that Punk wasn't just the latest thing but part of the natural process of the next generation of artists discovering Rock and Roll (and blowing past the usual gatekeepers that had developed in the previous generations). I will make a list of albums by artists I consider to be the true Godfathers of Punk, given that the genre continued on from their work. It goes without saying that there will be omissions that will convince Punk fans of my incompetence as a music critic and writer. I will cover those in no particular order and discuss one in this blog entry. Some of these albums now sound dated or overrated after a few decades, but those observations will be left out of the review. All of the albums that'll be mentioned deserve the respect given to works that were inspirations to the succeeding waves of musicians and listeners. I should note that, as usual, Google and other search engines are available if you want more details about chatbots or AI apps or if you prefer to read a lecture on the subject. Nick Lowe: Pure Pop For Now People (U.K. Title: Jesus Of Cool) - Stiff Records (US) Nick Lowe was pivotal in the punk movement as a session man, producer, and composer. He influenced the pop aspect of Punk (which was always there). Quite a few punk artists had a distinctive style, complete with a rebellious attitude, but their commercial breakthroughs tended to be their more accessible songs. One of the things he achieved was to make good Pop cool again. His first solo album was an extraordinary combination of Rock and recreations of old pop styles. One of the songs, "The Rollers Show," was very much a tribute to the notion that the younger generation discovers rock and roll hits in each generation, a thrill that you only really experience once before you get older Lyrically, he was quite different, as evidenced by one of his more eccentric songs, Marie Provost, which depicted the death of a once famous silent movie star, whose silent movie career was ruined once the "Talkies" came because of her New York accent. On the surface, it's black humor, but there is an undercurrent of sympathy and warmth, which is present in many of the best pop songs that involve a tragedy. As far as flat-out rockers, his song "Heart Of The City" rocks as hard as any Ramones cut. What can make a song sound like a hard rock isn't always the volume of the guitar(s) but the arrangement and mix. It's an album that doesn't sound dated, and it's well worth checking out. Al Handa 3/10/2024 #punk #newwave #alternative #music #blog #kindle #godfathersofpunk #nicklowe #stiffrecords #review Vella Version Of “The Quitturz” The Delta Snake Review on Google Blogspot

Boogie Underground

10,508 görüntüleme • 2 yıl önce

Winston had been returned to the shelter three times before the Abbotts came for him. He was an old shar-pei, all wrinkles and gray whiskers, about 11 years old. Every family that took him home brought him back within a month. He was too old, too slow, and too set in his ways for most people. One family even said he was depressing to have around. By the time the Abbotts saw his photo online, the shelter staff had almost given up hope that anyone would choose him. Ray and Carol Abbott were in their late 60s and had just lost their own dog after 14 years together. Friends told them to get a puppy. Something young. Something with plenty of years ahead. Instead, they drove an hour to meet the old shar-pei nobody wanted. Carol says she knew the moment she saw him sitting quietly in the back of his kennel. That first night, Winston couldn't settle. He kept getting up to make sure Ray and Carol were still there. He'd walk to the bedroom, look at them sleeping, lie back down, then twenty minutes later he'd do it all again, as if he was waiting for someone to tell him it was over. Finally, Carol patted the foot of the bed. "Come on up, Winston. You're home now." He stood there for a long moment, almost like he couldn't believe she was talking to him. Then he climbed up slowly, turned around twice, and eased himself down against Ray's legs with a long groan that sounded more like relief than exhaustion. For the first time in months, Winston slept through the entire night. The Abbotts say he isn't going anywhere this time. And after being returned three times, Winston finally seems to believe them. Have you ever seen a dog realize it was finally home?

Gabriele Corno

37,073 görüntüleme • 20 gün önce

Exclusive | “World Stood Up for a Monkey, and Forget US”: From Punch the Monkey to Thousands of Orphaned Children in Gaza: How the World Reacts As global sympathy poured in for a baby monkey abroad, thousands of orphaned children in Gaza continued to grieve in silence under the weight of genocide. Among them is four-year-old Abood Mhjez, who has asked the same question every night since October 2024: “Where is my dad?” His father was killed in an Israeli strike after the family was forcibly displaced from their home in Sheikh Redwan, Gaza City. He had left to bring water and food and never returned; friends later found his body in the street. Now living in a tent, Abood waits for him to come home, asks to call him, and says he wants to go to Heaven to see him. His mother says trauma has consumed her son, he cannot sleep, forgets simple things, stares silently at walls, and breaks down when he sees other children with their fathers. Psychologists in Gaza describe unprecedented psychological destruction among children after two years of bombardment, starvation, displacement, and siege. According to Palestinian and UN figures, thousands of children have lost both parents and tens of thousands have lost one, in what officials call the largest orphan crisis in modern history. UNICEF estimates nearly all of Gaza’s 1.2 million children now require urgent mental health and psychosocial support, as an entire generation grows up marked by grief, fear, and loss.

Quds News Network

18,011 görüntüleme • 5 ay önce

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.

Mex Asher

11,724 görüntüleme • 3 ay önce

Warning! Highly Sensitive video Corp Member Found Dead in Nembe, Bayelsa State; Police, NYSC Urged to Investigate A young Nigerian graduate and serving NYSC member, Okebaram Stanley Chimaoke, has reportedly been found dead in Nembe, Bayelsa State, under circumstances that remain unclear. Stanley, a former SUG President of the Federal Polytechnic Nekede, Owerri, Imo State, was serving in Bayelsa when he reportedly went missing on Friday night after leaving his residence to get food from a local restaurant. According to accounts from his colleagues, he never returned. His body was reportedly discovered in a river around the Nembe waterside on Sunday afternoon with parts of his body allegedly eaten by crabs. What is particularly disturbing is that the actual cause of Stanley’s death remains unknown. There are concerns that no clear explanation has yet been provided about what happened between the time he went missing and when his body was found. There are also reports that the National Association of Nigerian Students (NANS) reached out to the state and local police authorities over the matter, but the circumstances surrounding his death reportedly remain unresolved as no actual investigation is ongoing. Stanley was in 2023 Civil Engineering set. A young man who graduated, served as a student leader and proceeded to serve his country through the NYSC should not have his death treated as a mystery that nobody is willing to investigate. The Nigeria Police Force, Bayelsa State Police Command and NYSC must urgently investigate this case. ⁠Nigeria Police Force @BayelsaPolice NYSC NDHQ Stanley’s family, friends and colleagues deserve answers. His disappearance, the circumstances surrounding the discovery of his body and the actual cause of his death must be properly investigated. This is very very sad to say the least! How did someone who went to get food end up in a river?

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑳 𝑺𝑵𝑶𝑾 🇨🇮

51,511 görüntüleme • 15 gün önce

He was 88, a veteran, and facing the loss of the only home he had left. The courtroom felt too large as he sat in his wheelchair, trying to stay upright while everything closed in. Walter Greene had lived quietly since his wife passed. No children visited, and no one stood beside him that afternoon. The small house he owned had aged faster than he had, with a broken porch, peeling paint, and a roof that leaked every time it rained. City citations stacked up, and the repairs stayed out of reach. The case was called, and Walter listened as the violations were read aloud. Each number landed heavier than the last. When the city attorney asked for permission to condemn the property if payment failed, the meaning became impossible to avoid. Losing the house meant losing the last place that still felt like his. The judge started to speak, then stopped. From the bench, he watched Walter fold forward, hands covering his face as quiet sobs shook his shoulders. No words filled the room, and nobody moved. After a long pause, the gavel came down. A brief recess was announced, and the courtroom emptied in a low murmur of confusion. When the judge returned, his tone had changed. He addressed Walter directly and explained that phone calls had been made during the break. The local veterans organization had stepped in, along with a county fund dedicated to former service members. Every fine was dismissed. Relief barely had time to settle before more followed. A contractors group had already agreed to complete the repairs at no cost, with work starting the next week. Walter looked up, stunned, as tears returned for a different reason. The weight he carried for months finally eased. Then something unexpected happened. The judge left the bench, crossed the room, and knelt beside the wheelchair. Strong arms wrapped around the old veteran, holding him steady when he couldn’t do it himself. Walter’s voice shook as he spoke into the judge’s shoulder. He said he didn’t think anyone remembered him anymore. The judge held him close and spoke softly, the words meant only for him. “It’s all right. You’re not standing here alone. Sometimes it feels like nobody remembers anymore. We remember. I do what you gave me. We don’t forget that. Thank you. John.”

Crazy Moments

44,841 görüntüleme • 1 ay önce

🚨🚨 Read this if you care about Gaza and haven’t forgotten it—and for anyone who wants to understand the true value of a “human life” in Gaza! First of all, hello to everyone after more than 5 days of internet blackout! Secondly, during these days, I gathered my courage and went to wait for aid. With the internet down, I couldn’t withdraw any money to buy even a single kilo of flour. I was forced to risk my life in hopes of getting a bag of flour to feed my children. But I returned home injured , without I can get a bag of flour. Five days of sleeping on the ground among tens of thousands of other civilians who, like me, were also waiting for that one bag. Five days sleeping without a blanket—just the sky above us. No mattress—the ground was our bed. No lullabies to soothe us to sleep—the sound of shells and gunfire above our heads was enough to commit dozens of massacres at once, in one place. Let me tell you something: they treat us like animals. They allow in a bit of food and flour, and then make people fight each other over it. Imagine throwing food to chickens—how they would pounce on it. That’s exactly how we were. I saw things I’ve never seen before. I saw a father crying because a thief took the food meant for his children. I saw a pregnant woman pushing through the crowd of men to get food for her kids who had lost their father. I saw an elderly man pushed from behind by younger men, knocked to the ground and run over by the truck’s wheels. Conflicting emotions overwhelmed me: confusion, fear, helplessness, and betrayal. How can the world not see what’s happening? How can it not see us at all? For the first time, I felt like my life meant nothing. How could I be worth less than a bag of flour? Even now, every time I close my eyes, I see crowds of people swarming the flour trucks like beasts. Every time I sleep, I have nightmares about chasing that bag—and I wake up terrified. I won’t go back to that trap again. I don’t want to leave my family alone, at night, in a tent, unprotected, unsafe—just to chase after a bag of flour that might cost me my life. Nothing is more precious than life and family. Yesterday, I might not have returned to them. My wife and children didn’t sleep after hearing about the horrific massacre at the location I had been in. They heard I had run toward the trucks, right into the evacuation zones and areas of fighting. This madness must stop. I will try to buy the flour—it’s not worth more than me. Please, don’t stop supporting us!
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🚨🚨 Read this if you care about Gaza and haven’t forgotten it—and for anyone who wants to understand the true value of a “human life” in Gaza! First of all, hello to everyone after more than 5 days of internet blackout! Secondly, during these days, I gathered my courage and went to wait for aid. With the internet down, I couldn’t withdraw any money to buy even a single kilo of flour. I was forced to risk my life in hopes of getting a bag of flour to feed my children. But I returned home injured , without I can get a bag of flour. Five days of sleeping on the ground among tens of thousands of other civilians who, like me, were also waiting for that one bag. Five days sleeping without a blanket—just the sky above us. No mattress—the ground was our bed. No lullabies to soothe us to sleep—the sound of shells and gunfire above our heads was enough to commit dozens of massacres at once, in one place. Let me tell you something: they treat us like animals. They allow in a bit of food and flour, and then make people fight each other over it. Imagine throwing food to chickens—how they would pounce on it. That’s exactly how we were. I saw things I’ve never seen before. I saw a father crying because a thief took the food meant for his children. I saw a pregnant woman pushing through the crowd of men to get food for her kids who had lost their father. I saw an elderly man pushed from behind by younger men, knocked to the ground and run over by the truck’s wheels. Conflicting emotions overwhelmed me: confusion, fear, helplessness, and betrayal. How can the world not see what’s happening? How can it not see us at all? For the first time, I felt like my life meant nothing. How could I be worth less than a bag of flour? Even now, every time I close my eyes, I see crowds of people swarming the flour trucks like beasts. Every time I sleep, I have nightmares about chasing that bag—and I wake up terrified. I won’t go back to that trap again. I don’t want to leave my family alone, at night, in a tent, unprotected, unsafe—just to chase after a bag of flour that might cost me my life. Nothing is more precious than life and family. Yesterday, I might not have returned to them. My wife and children didn’t sleep after hearing about the horrific massacre at the location I had been in. They heard I had run toward the trucks, right into the evacuation zones and areas of fighting. This madness must stop. I will try to buy the flour—it’s not worth more than me. Please, don’t stop supporting us!

Samer Qarman 🇵🇸

60,449 görüntüleme • 1 yıl önce