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We cannot see your smiling face again, Missing you dear Suhas Shetty... Om Shanti ๐Ÿ™๐Ÿšฉ๐Ÿ˜ฃ #SuhasShettyBajpe was a staunch Hindu Karyakarta, Gau Rakshak, he has dedicated his life to Cow Protection & Saving #HinduGirls from #LoveJihad & #Conversion ๐Ÿ™๐Ÿšฉ #SuhasShetty #SaveHindus

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๐Ÿ’”๐ŸฅบI received a call very early this morning, to say that my uncle's house was targeted by tanks and my nephew was painfully injured in his side. We dread these moments, my friends, when you see that a family member is calling and you have to worry what will be on the other side.. I have just received word that his injuries are minor, and hopefully, he will be released from the hospital tomorrow. After trying to process this terrible news this morning, I also received word that our dear friend Aboud has been hospitalised again, due to very poor health. I cannot describe how I am feeling today, my friends. It would mean a lot if you could pray for my nephew and for Aboud to recover, if you'd like to. Things here are quickly deteriorating, and the aggression toward us is escalating very quickly. I do not know how long we will have. I did not know what to do myself, so I did what was familiar, and my cousin and I cooked a rice meal for the camp to make the people there very happy. We will not stop this work until they force us, my dear friends. Please stand by us, in any way you possibly can. I am just a man, pleading with the world as our homeland is crashing down on top of us. I do not want to be another number, I do not want my children to suffer this terror. Please be there for us, my friends, you are wonderful and you give me hope that the world is better.. ๐Ÿซ‚ Our Cruelty Free Kitchen ๐Ÿซ‚๐Ÿ™๐Ÿ‡ต๐Ÿ‡ธ Our Water Project ๐Ÿ’ง๐Ÿ™ My Family Survival Fund + Looking after the Cats ๐Ÿพ๐Ÿˆ๐Ÿฅบ๐Ÿซ‚ My PayPal ๐Ÿ™๐Ÿ‡ต๐Ÿ‡ธ๐Ÿฅบ๐Ÿซ‚๐Ÿšจ๐Ÿ†˜๏ธ ๐Ÿพ๐Ÿˆ

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14,664 Aufrufe โ€ข vor 11 Monaten

๐Ÿˆ๐Ÿฅฐ๐Ÿซ‚๐Ÿ‡ต๐Ÿ‡ธIt was wonderful to read your words and feel you celebrate with us, my dear friends. While some strikes continued to fall around us, the army has now begun to withdraw, and ๐Ÿ‡ต๐Ÿ‡ธ๐ŸŒฟ#Gaza City is taking a big sigh of relief. There are many thousands of us still here, and we knew our days were limited if change did not happen. Just this week there were tanks in our streets, and now there are only birds in the sky and peace on the ground. It is a miracle to be alive, my dear friends. Thank you and thank you again, for standing by us and always showing me and my family and my friends your unconditional love and support. I hope that soon aid will be able to flood into the area, and we will be able to return to helping people and the cats and the dogs again. I forgot to mention this yesterday, but we have a new cat living in our shelter. He is a very gentle and loving boy, and he turned up in my house where my cousin Mo took him to the shelter to be safe. I don't know if he belongs to someone, so we will keep him safe and feed him while we ask around to see if he belongs to someone. His addition to our shelter has made my children very happy, and I would be grateful for your support to buy him and the other cats more food. Hopefully, soon there will be real pet food in Gaza again! I pray for better days and conditions, my friends. Thank you for reading my update and always being so wonderful. You are true friends and I am grateful for you all.. ๐Ÿซ‚ My Family Survival Fund + Looking after the Cats ๐Ÿพ๐Ÿˆ๐Ÿฅบ๐Ÿซ‚ Our Cruelty Free Kitchen ๐Ÿซ‚๐Ÿ™๐Ÿ‡ต๐Ÿ‡ธ Our Water Project ๐Ÿ’ง๐Ÿ™

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12-year-old Xavier Taylor from Maple Shade, NJ, remains in extremely critical condition on a ventilator after a heartbreaking freak accident on May 26. โšพ๐Ÿ’” While warming up before a youth baseball game at Fellowship Columbia Bank Field, Xavier โ€” a passionate pitcher/shortstop who lives for the game โ€” was walking back to the dugout when an errant throw from a teammate struck him in the neck. He collapsed and went into cardiac arrest. His dad (a retired firefighter) rushed to him, and Xavier was airlifted to Cooper University Hospital. His father, Greg Taylor, has stressed it was a complete **freak accident with no one to blame**. Xavier, known for writing Bible verses on his hats and playing on multiple teams, is fighting hard. The family is holding onto faith and miracles. The community has rallied with prayer vigils, โ€œBats Out for X,โ€ #6 shirts, and massive support. Videos of the vigils, fatherโ€™s emotional updates, and local news coverage are circulating widely on TikTok โ€” search #XavierStrong for raw community moments. **A prayer shared for Xavier & his family:** โ€œHeavenly Father, we lift up Xavier Taylor to You. You know every detail of his life. Before he needed a miracle, he followed You, prayed to You, and wore Your Scriptures. Surround his family with peace. Lord, we ask for a miracle. In Jesusโ€™ name, Amen.โ€ ๐Ÿ™ Prayers up for full recovery, strength for the Taylors, and the whole Maple Shade baseball family. He will play again. #XavierStrong #PrayForXavier #MapleShade

Natural Sense I Am

283,601 Aufrufe โ€ข vor 2 Monaten

This book was just an ordinary book with pictures and text. But I wanted to bring it to lifeโ€”to digitize it so that readers wouldnโ€™t see it as just another book, but as an experience that takes our parents and #Chiranjeevi fans on a nostalgic journey through his movies. It all started with Nwin Kumar Anna. In my space, he spoke about life and the lessons of Megastar Chiranjeevi Garu, which deeply inspired me. Then, I saw a post from the Janasena Party where Pawan Kalyan Garu was holding *Megastar: The Legend* book. Pawan Kalyan Garu rarely holds books unless they are truly worth it. That made me curious. I searched for the book online but couldnโ€™t find it. Luckily, I managed to get the authorโ€™s details, contacted him, and finally got my hands on the book. When I saw the book, I felt it was too simple. I thought, Why is this just an ordinary book? Why not bring it to life using my skills? And thatโ€™s how this journey began. To make it happen, I watched all 151+ movies of Chiranjeevi Garu. The most challenging part was finding the exact scenes from the movies that matched the pictures printed in the book. Days and nights passed as I worked on this, but in the end, it was finally completed. I first shared the concept with Adithya ๐Ÿšฉ๐Ÿšฉ๐Ÿšฉ Anna, and he absolutely loved it. The encouragement he gave me was invaluable. Huge thanks to Akhil for guiding me on how to manage both the tourism thread and this book my office work , and to @KalyanCult_1992 for helping me with some movies. I had initially decided that I would only show this book to Nwin Kumar Anna after it was completed, and finally, I did. โค๏ธ it's a small gift from my side to all Megastar fans like you. Thank you, Nwin Kumar Anna. At last, I showed it to เฐ—เฑเฐกเฑเฐ‚เฐฌเฐพ เฐถเฐ‚เฐ•เฐฐเฑ ๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡ณ Anna. I donโ€™t know if my work will ever reach Chiranjeevi Garu, but I felt really happy. When I showed it to เฐ—เฑเฐกเฑเฐ‚เฐฌเฐพ เฐถเฐ‚เฐ•เฐฐเฑ ๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡ณ Anna, the hug he gave me truly felt like a hug ๐Ÿซ‚ from Chiranjeevi Garu himself. That meant so much to me, Anna. โค๏ธ๐Ÿ™ And finally, a heartfelt thank you to Chandra Sekhar Garu Akshit Singh ๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡ณ bhai MegaPower ๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡ณ Anna for all the support youโ€™ve given meโ€”words fall short. ๐Ÿ™โค๏ธ This how I showcase my love towards Chiranjeevi Konidela annaya โค๏ธโค๏ธ #Chiranjeevi #jaichiranjeeva #PawanKalyan

Ashwatthama๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡ณ ๐Ÿ›•๐Ÿšฉ

19,087 Aufrufe โ€ข vor 1 Jahr

Today, our hearts are heavy. ๐Ÿ’” Rambo, a beloved pet dog and a familiar face around our kitchen compound, has crossed the Rainbow Bridge. For the last two years, Rambo was a regular visitor. He would often come by, greet everyone with his gentle presence, and enjoy his meals. He was deeply loved by an elderly lady from the nearby neighborhood who cared for him like family. A few days ago, Rambo suddenly stopped eating and became very weak. His guardian sought our help, as it was difficult to understand the seriousness of his condition initially. We immediately took him to the veterinary hospital, where X-rays and scans revealed a heartbreaking reality. His lungs had severe fluid accumulation, and the veterinarians informed us that his chances of survival were extremely low. Despite the odds, treatment continued for three days. The veterinary team did everything they could. A procedure was performed to remove the accumulated fluid, and for a brief moment, we hoped he would recover. But sometimes, despite all efforts, love, prayers, and treatment are not enough. A day after the procedure, sweet Rambo left us. His passing is a painful reminder of how important early detection and timely medical intervention can be. Animals cannot tell us when they are suffering, and often by the time symptoms become visible, it may already be too late. We are deeply saddened that we could not save him. We ensured that Rambo received a dignified burial, surrounded by the love and respect he deserved. Run free, sweet boy. Thank you for every visit, every wag of your tail, and every beautiful memory you gave us over the last two years. You were loved. You will be missed. And you will never be forgotten. God bless you, Rambo. Rest in peace, dear friend. #OmShanti

Vidit Sharma ๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡ณ

12,925 Aufrufe โ€ข vor 2 Monaten

Beware of Collins: How a "Friend" Scammed Me and 9 Others I am writing this to warn everyone in the Web3, Monad, Solana, and Nigerianad communities. There is a person among us named Collins (known on X as Collins) who acts like a kind, active community member, but he is actually a professional scammer. He has stolen over $1,500 from me and has done the same to at least 9 other people. Collins used a very clever strategy to steal our money. He started by being very active in our local Nigerian Telegram groups. He called himself a "Solana Maxi" and always posted screenshots of big wins making people think he was making $5,000 or $7,000 from trading. We didn't know it was all a "format" just to get our attention. I did not trust him at first. However, we started organizing Lagos State meetups. When I met him in person, he was always smiling and happy. He acted like a brother. Seeing his face in real life made me lower my guard. If we had stayed just "online friends," I would never have sent him even $1, but because of those physical meetings, I thought he was real. His scam started when he told me about a "special developer" launching a token. He claimed he had an insider connection and that we could make 5x or 10x our money. He asked me to contribute $2,000. I told him I didn't have it. A few days later, he came back and begged me not to miss the "update." I decided to try with $1,000. To make me trust him completely, he played a long game. When I asked for a refund a week later because I had an emergency, he sent the $1,000 back immediately. This was his biggest trick. It made me believe he was 100% honest. Soon after, he showed me more fake wins on X and told me another project was going live on December 22nd. Because he returned my money the first time, I trusted him and sent the $1,000 back to him. When the date came, he claimed the "dev postponed the listing." While I was waiting for that money, he came with another "emergency" project, asking for another $1,000. I told him I only had $500 left my last card. He took that too. Then the excuses started. He claimed he went to the village to see his parents and that the network was bad. He said he couldn't access his Bybit account because he left his SIM card behind. He even begged me for another $100 in SOL just to help him out while he was "stuck." Because I thought my friend was in trouble, I sent it, bringing the total to $1,600. Every time I asked for my money, he told me "don't worry" and promised to pay once he left the village. But two days ago, the truth came out. I checked X and found out he has been doing this to everyone. He uses his friendly face and community status to prey on people. He is not a trader; he is a thief whose goal is to see the end of his friends' hard-earned money. Please, do not deal with Collins or his sister Trader Nenyenwa ๐Ÿ“Š๐Ÿ“ˆ๐Ÿ’Ž. He is a wolf in sheepโ€™s clothing. He will smile with you today and empty your wallet tomorrow. Don't let his "kindness" fool you like it fooled me. Please help me like this post, retweet and comment until I and my guys recover our losses ๐Ÿ˜ข ๐Ÿ˜ญ Please go viral: ZachXBT Coffeezilla Spreek Nick Bax.eth JP PeckShield Inc. SlowMist CertiK Arkham Lookonchain Monad Solana

Adedayo๐“…ช

27,725 Aufrufe โ€ข vor 7 Monaten

In Katrenikona Mandal, Cheyyeru Agraharam (Andhra Pradesh) โ€” a centuries-old Kanakadurga Amma Temple lies in ruins & is now being rebuilt. But the neighbour claims just 2 feet of temple land as his own & is blocking construction. Police asked both sides to resolve with elders โ€” no work till then. Yet today, he illegally dumped stones on the sacred land & tried to stop the Shankusthapana ceremony! Devotees offered to BUY those few feet at full market price โ€” he refused even ONE INCH. Now Kanakadurga bhaktas are doing Dharna demanding justice to rebuild their temple. Shockingly, a local political leader is openly backing the blocker. A Pastor from the same region (who last month threatened to โ€œcut Pawan Kalyan into piecesโ€ for speaking on Sanatan Dharma) is abusing Sanatan Dharma & issuing open threats: โ€œWe will cut you into pieces!โ€ Since last 3 terms, this constituency has voted only for these two parties. Is this the hatred they have nurtured? Temple land encroachment + political support + direct hate threats against Hindus โ€” yet when Hindus ask for their own temple land back, we face obstacles & protection for the encroachers? In a so-called Hindu nation, Hindus must protest & beg for their godsโ€™ land while anti-Hindu forces enjoy backing. Endowment Department sleeps when temple lands are grabbed! Wake up Sanatanis! Jai Kanakadurga Amma! ๐Ÿšฉ

เฐตเฐฟเฐทเฑเฐฃเฑ เฐตเฐฐเฑเฐงเฐจเฑ เฐฐเฑ†เฐกเฑเฐกเฐฟ-เคตเคฟเคทเฅเคฃเฅ เคตเคฐเฅเคงเคจ เคฐเฅ‡เคกเฅเคกเฅ€๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡ณ

15,866 Aufrufe โ€ข vor 3 Monaten

๐‘พ๐’‰๐’†๐’ ๐’Š๐’• ๐‘น๐‘จ๐‘ฐ๐‘ต๐‘บ ๐’Š๐’• ๐‘ท๐‘ถ๐‘ผ๐‘น๐‘บโ›‘๏ธ ๐บ๐‘ข๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ๐‘‘๐‘–๐‘Ž๐‘› ๐ด๐‘›๐‘”๐‘’๐‘™~๐‘ƒ๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ๐‘ก 2 ๐Ÿ˜‡๐Ÿ™ After a botched summer assignment to a new collegiate league in Texarkana, TX that saw Grant Scholzen sleeping in his car and no host family provided as promised, Grant came home and waited patiently for a summer league call. The MGF Marshalls (who by the way is one of the best run orgs in the country, more on that in a future post!) called and in his 1st game and 2nd AB with a 1-2 count in a left on left matchup with the shadows in play, Grant took a 92 mph FB off the shoulder and into the right side of his face. The only time in 5 years w/o a face shield on his helmet, itโ€™s the only time heโ€™s been hit above the shoulder. Was watching the game on live stream, and it was hard to tell where it actually hit him? Grant immediately started walking to the dugout and I couldnโ€™t figure out why he was doing that, because he should be either staying at home plate gathering his bearings or going to 1B. What you donโ€™t see is the catcher and pitcher who are close friends of Grantโ€™s growing up facing each other in HS and teammates throughout their CBA summer/fall travel ball experiences, looking on with what just happened? The pitcher and catcher who Iโ€™m close with as well, are in shock and the pitcher then walks into the opposing dugout to see if Grant is okay? Grant was okay, but he wasnโ€™t okay?! That helpless feeling again when youโ€™re not there and your son has something almost tragic happen?! I was calling friends who I knew were at the game and they said he had ice on his cheek in the dugout. After the game Grant was going to drive 4 hours home and get home at 3am to attend his cousinโ€™s church service to listen to him speak at his 2 year church missionary farewell. He got home late as I said and woke up yesterday with his face extremely swollen and his eye already black, so we saw his uncle at church, who is a pediatric dentist and he scheduled a CT Scan with an oral surgeon buddy. Grant went in this morning for the scan and to our surprise, NO broken bones. Thank you to the countless people who text and reached out with worry and wanting updates. The baseball circle is small, but big at the same time and is a comforter! Once again his mother Heidi was working overtime to protect her kids, just like my daughterโ€™s car accident 3 weeks ago. When it rains it pours! #SwarmingBees ๐Ÿ

๐‰๐ž๐Ÿ๐Ÿ ๐’๐œ๐ก๐จ๐ฅ๐ณ๐ž๐ง

82,205 Aufrufe โ€ข vor 2 Jahren

Nigel Farage and his Speculative Security Things we know: 1) a few weeks ago, the Guardian dropped a smouldering grenade into the Farage campsite with their revelation that he had 'forgotten' to declare the paltry sum of ยฃ5M, given to him by Chakrit Sakunkrit [Christopher Harborne] โ€” Thai businessman and crypto magnate. 2) Farage regularly 'forgets' to declare income from his myriad jobs outside Parliament. In the last reporting period he 'forgot' 17 outside jobs totalling around ยฃ385,000. His excuse. โ€œI don't do computersโ€. 3) there are already donations and gifts missing from his last register update โ€” see The Finance Guy for more on that. Things we've been told: a) the ยฃ5M was an unconditional gift. b) the ยฃ5M was a reward for Brexit. c) the ยฃ5M was to pay for his security โ€” for life. Let's focus on the security aspect because, I believe, Farage is trying to construct a counterfactual and has been caught lying. Again. In October of 2025, Zia Yusuf, Satan's Head Boy, was sent cross all media outlets โ€” and I do mean all of them โ€” to talk about the government's removal of some of Nigel's security costs; up to 75% if you believe Yusuf. What has never been made clear about this claim are, one, if it actually happened, and two, if it did, what sums of cash were being forfeited? There are two videos below. One in which Zia Yusuf took to ๐• on October 1st 2025, in a very earnest fashion to make claims about his best friend's safety where he stated at one point, that if Farage was killed, he would blame Keir Starmer. Yikes! He talks about donors stepping up at that point to cover the security costs for Farage. The second video is the one which contradicts Yusuf. From BBC Newsnight earlier this month when Farage states that he was given the ยฃ5M back in 2024 as: โ€œan unconditional, non-political, personal gift. And it will ensure I can be safe for the rest of my life.โ€ So. Two things are clearly jumping out at me from these statements. Firstly, lies are being told by Yusuf and/or Farage. Secondly, in the BBC video, he makes the claim that the 'gift' is non-political but to protect him โ€ฆ as a politician. To me, this is definitive proof that he's lying about the donation. If he received this money in 2024 for a lifetime of private security, then why the need for 'donors to step up' and pay for it again in Oct. 2025? Which is it? Neither, I'd suggest. I think the entire thing is a shonky counterfactual, hastily cobbled together to cover up the fact that he's been caught out pocketing millions in undeclared donations. Thanks to Jim Nauseum 2.0 and Chris S for the video and nudge, respectively. I have supplied a new branch of questions that our broadcasters can put to Reform UK MPs. I hope that they do. Have a lovely sunny Friday. โ˜บ๏ธ

Don McGowan

13,986 Aufrufe โ€ข vor 2 Monaten

Jungkookโ€™s live caused a storm, both of praise and of criticism. And as I watch all of this, I feel both pride and a deep sense of anger. I am proud that he is real. And I want to say this loudly because it matters. #Jungkook does not try to fit into someone elseโ€™s invented standard of the "perfect idol". He does not hide behind a mask of flawlessness, nor does he build a cold, sterile image where there is no room for weakness, emotion, or ordinary human life. He allows us to see him as he truly is tired, happy, relaxed, thoughtful. He is not afraid to be unpolished, imperfect, or inconvenient. Do you realize how much strength that takes, especially when you are an idol from whom only perfection and sparkle under the spotlight are expected? Yesterday he was alive. He laughed. He talked. He spent time with his brother and his friend. He was free, without tension, without constantly monitoring every word, without fear of being misunderstood. There was such honesty in that, something that cannot be faked. Jungkook is a grown man. He can allow himself to relax. He can be imperfect. And yet he remains the same person who has spent years proving his discipline, dedication to his work and responsibility to the stage and to his fans. Someone who works tirelessly every day, setting high goals and achieving them. He has never denied that he drinks or smokes. More than that, yesterday he openly spoke about the enormous effort he put into quitting smoking. That takes real strength. True strength. Not the kind shown for the camera or for appearances. The kind that comes from fighting with yourself, confronting your weaknesses and not hiding that process. Those who have gone through something similar know how hard it is. I know it because I smoke myself. And that is why I respect him even more. He is not obligated to be a saint. He is not obligated to be convenient. He is not obligated to live according to someone elseโ€™s expectations. He has the right to be human... to have joy, mistakes, habits, and growth. It is this honesty that makes him strong. It is this openness that sets him apart from so many. And I love and respect him even more for it โค๏ธ Everything else is just noise from those who cannot accept that their idol is not a statue but a living, real human being. To the antis and haters, I have nothing to say. He already told you everything yesterday. My incredible, strongest, most talented and brilliant idol said it himself... through his calm, confidence and honesty. Without tantrums, excuses and trying to please everyone. Regarding K-fans, especially those who are now "deeply offended and outraged" โ€ฆ donโ€™t be hypocrites! In Korea, alcohol is almost a cultural institution and smoking is widespread everywhere. If you want idols not to drink or smoke, start with yourself. Start with the system. Start by banning smoking and alcohol at the national level. Only then will you have the right to voice your complaints. Until then, if you yourself drink, smoke and enjoy it, shut your mouth and donโ€™t dare tell a grown adult how to live their life. Do you even understand how many real problems in the industry he exposes every time he goes live, speaks, or acts? How many prejudices, double standards and deeply ingrained biases surface just because this man allows himself to be himself? He is not intentionally exposing anything. He simply lives openly. And that openness reflects the system back at itself. For years, idols were idealized to the point of becoming porcelain dolls. They could not have tattoos, not sing certain songs, not say what they truly felt, not dress how they wanted, not openly drink or smoke, not go to public places without fear of judgment. No, no, no..... So many restrictions, rules and levers of control. WE LOVE YOU JUNGKOOK โค๏ธ โฌ‡๏ธ Comments

JJK | CIS_FANBASE

19,177 Aufrufe โ€ข vor 5 Monaten

Alright. Iโ€™m honestly relieved that this is finally coming out, so we can finally put an end to the fairytale conspiracies about March 4, courtesy of Joe Flipperhead and the ratchet harem. Since Aidan and his Dollar-Tree-sidekick Chelsea want to drag March 4th into the public arena, letโ€™s do it properlyโ€“ with facts, not the fairy tale heโ€™s been feeding everyone. The rumors flying around are completely untrue, and Iโ€™ve wanted to defend myself for weeks, but Aidan has spent the last month threatening me, telling people that if the truth ever came out heโ€™d โ€œturn me into the next Lindsey,โ€ that everyone would believe him because he has a platform, and even declaring heโ€™d tell his followers to contact my work. Well, here we are. Since he chose to drag this into the public and sic his ratchet brigade on me, Iโ€™m finally telling the actual story. That night wasnโ€™t some dramatic โ€œMeredith tried to send me to jailโ€ moment. It was a drunk, disgusting fight between two adultsโ€”the kind Aidan has on rotation with every woman he dates. Both of us were very intoxicated, but he was blackout drunk, verbally abusive, and filming me against my will. I told him to stop. He didnโ€™t. Iโ€™d found out about him sexting another girl and had bottled up emotions for months, which is what started the argument. I asked him to leave after he said horrible things to me, including calling me fat and useless, that people only like me because Iโ€™m โ€œTurtleboyโ€™s girlfriendโ€. I asked him to leave and he began recording me, pointing a phone in my face while I repeatedly told him to stop. He lost his own key, and because he couldnโ€™t remember anything, he made up a story that I โ€œstole it.โ€ Imagine spreading this fantasy when I have him on video of me asking him to return MY KEYS? I was uncomfortable, overwhelmed, and didnโ€™t want a drunken fight being filmed. He took our feud out into the common area of my building, disturbing other tenants. So yes, I said โ€œyou hit me,โ€ specifically because I believed he wouldnโ€™t share the video if I said that. I said it so he would STOP RECORDING ME, and he has a full video that I clearly say, โ€œIโ€™m only saying that so youโ€™ll stop recording me.โ€ I never reported anything to the police, never intended to, never would. He knows this. We discussed this fact many times the next day and several occasions in the last few months. That context has been deliberately cut out to push a fake narrative, but donโ€™t worry, Iโ€™ll be posting the full videos that I took of that night. When heโ€™s threatened me with releasing this very video, he admitted it would be edited out and no one would believe me over him. Meanwhile, the victim cosplay heโ€™s doing now? Pathetic. He claims he was โ€œstuckโ€ in my house. Reality: I asked him to leave over and over. This narrative that he was somehow stuck there held hostage is simply not true. Reality: I have video of him refusing to get out of my bed, not โ€œsleeping on the couch.โ€ Reality: I have video of him screaming at me like a lunatic. Reality: He lost his key because he was hammered, then somehow turned that into me โ€œstealing it.โ€ Reality: He was causing a huge scene in my apartment throwing a literal temper tantrum on the floor. With other tenants in the building, I was genuinely concerned someone would call the police. He also lies that I tried to keep him from court the next day. Reality? I gave him my car so he could get to court. I sat in the passenger seat half-dead from a hangover while chauffeuring Captain Accountability to his court date. I sat next to him during court, then eventually throwing up in a bag on the way home. Then he used that same car to drive to his house for his spare key, and back again. I supported him through the entire aftermath, like I did every time. But now heโ€™s trying to pretend he was some endangered baby deer and I was plotting to Lindsay him? Get real. This narrative that I was somehow trying to get him arrested? An absolutely disgusting lie considering the trauma that situation caused him. Not to mention the countless hours I spent during our 1.5 year relationship assisting with his legal defense to keep him OUT of jail. He knows itโ€™s not true. He knows exactly what happened. Do you really think if his narrative were true, heโ€™d stay with me for months to come and not file his own police report? But he also knows he thrives off playing victim, and he knows he has people willing to believe anything he says without question. Over the last month, behind the scenes with recording gate, heโ€™s been telling me and others that if I ever spoke up, heโ€™d ruin me. That heโ€™d twist the story because he has the bigger platform. That heโ€™d make sure people contacted my job. He has leaked private texts, sent people after me, and used Chelsea, a woman he cheated on me with, to push his manufactured victim narrative. But hereโ€™s the truth: Aidan is not the victim of March 5th. He was drunk, verbally abusive, refusing to leave, and escalating a situation he then turned around and weaponized. And like every situation he touches, every feud, every fallout, every โ€œenemy,โ€ every messy disaster, he plays the same role: the powerless victim of consequences he created. At some point, people need to recognize the common denominator. I stayed silent because I didnโ€™t want this ugliness public. I didnโ€™t want to embarrass him. I didnโ€™t want to rehash something painful, private, and humiliating for both of us. But since he chose to send CamelToe Joe and his ratchet harem to post private fights, twist reality, and smear me, Iโ€™m done being quiet. Aidan is incapable of having a private relationship and ending. And Chelseaโ€ฆhun. I know your brain cells are limited, but your "insurance" explanation makes no sense. When did he send you this video? Months after it happened? Why would you need insurance at that point? Youโ€™re being used like a scratch-off ticket from Cumberland Farms. He feeds you a cropped video and suddenly youโ€™re Nancy Drew with a nicotine patch? Please. You werenโ€™t even in the picture until after he was done cheating with you. These videos paint a wildly different picture of the fake victim narrative CamelToe Joe has been pushing, huh? Iโ€™ll be posting more soon, about the recording, about every single lie he has chosen to spread through his minions the last two months. I guess I was crazy to think Aidan would ever be okay with someone walking away and moving on peacefully. Since Aidan wanted the truth out, he's about to get it. PS- Speaking of men being fake scared of womenโ€“ Funny how some people with very chaotic personal histories suddenly decide theyโ€™re the moral authority on my life, enough so to peddle lies on their large platforms. If I had these kinds of pasts, I'd probably sit this one out, and maybe stop throwing stones from your glass basements and (momโ€™s) houses.
0:05

Sensitive content

Alright. Iโ€™m honestly relieved that this is finally coming out, so we can finally put an end to the fairytale conspiracies about March 4, courtesy of Joe Flipperhead and the ratchet harem. Since Aidan and his Dollar-Tree-sidekick Chelsea want to drag March 4th into the public arena, letโ€™s do it properlyโ€“ with facts, not the fairy tale heโ€™s been feeding everyone. The rumors flying around are completely untrue, and Iโ€™ve wanted to defend myself for weeks, but Aidan has spent the last month threatening me, telling people that if the truth ever came out heโ€™d โ€œturn me into the next Lindsey,โ€ that everyone would believe him because he has a platform, and even declaring heโ€™d tell his followers to contact my work. Well, here we are. Since he chose to drag this into the public and sic his ratchet brigade on me, Iโ€™m finally telling the actual story. That night wasnโ€™t some dramatic โ€œMeredith tried to send me to jailโ€ moment. It was a drunk, disgusting fight between two adultsโ€”the kind Aidan has on rotation with every woman he dates. Both of us were very intoxicated, but he was blackout drunk, verbally abusive, and filming me against my will. I told him to stop. He didnโ€™t. Iโ€™d found out about him sexting another girl and had bottled up emotions for months, which is what started the argument. I asked him to leave after he said horrible things to me, including calling me fat and useless, that people only like me because Iโ€™m โ€œTurtleboyโ€™s girlfriendโ€. I asked him to leave and he began recording me, pointing a phone in my face while I repeatedly told him to stop. He lost his own key, and because he couldnโ€™t remember anything, he made up a story that I โ€œstole it.โ€ Imagine spreading this fantasy when I have him on video of me asking him to return MY KEYS? I was uncomfortable, overwhelmed, and didnโ€™t want a drunken fight being filmed. He took our feud out into the common area of my building, disturbing other tenants. So yes, I said โ€œyou hit me,โ€ specifically because I believed he wouldnโ€™t share the video if I said that. I said it so he would STOP RECORDING ME, and he has a full video that I clearly say, โ€œIโ€™m only saying that so youโ€™ll stop recording me.โ€ I never reported anything to the police, never intended to, never would. He knows this. We discussed this fact many times the next day and several occasions in the last few months. That context has been deliberately cut out to push a fake narrative, but donโ€™t worry, Iโ€™ll be posting the full videos that I took of that night. When heโ€™s threatened me with releasing this very video, he admitted it would be edited out and no one would believe me over him. Meanwhile, the victim cosplay heโ€™s doing now? Pathetic. He claims he was โ€œstuckโ€ in my house. Reality: I asked him to leave over and over. This narrative that he was somehow stuck there held hostage is simply not true. Reality: I have video of him refusing to get out of my bed, not โ€œsleeping on the couch.โ€ Reality: I have video of him screaming at me like a lunatic. Reality: He lost his key because he was hammered, then somehow turned that into me โ€œstealing it.โ€ Reality: He was causing a huge scene in my apartment throwing a literal temper tantrum on the floor. With other tenants in the building, I was genuinely concerned someone would call the police. He also lies that I tried to keep him from court the next day. Reality? I gave him my car so he could get to court. I sat in the passenger seat half-dead from a hangover while chauffeuring Captain Accountability to his court date. I sat next to him during court, then eventually throwing up in a bag on the way home. Then he used that same car to drive to his house for his spare key, and back again. I supported him through the entire aftermath, like I did every time. But now heโ€™s trying to pretend he was some endangered baby deer and I was plotting to Lindsay him? Get real. This narrative that I was somehow trying to get him arrested? An absolutely disgusting lie considering the trauma that situation caused him. Not to mention the countless hours I spent during our 1.5 year relationship assisting with his legal defense to keep him OUT of jail. He knows itโ€™s not true. He knows exactly what happened. Do you really think if his narrative were true, heโ€™d stay with me for months to come and not file his own police report? But he also knows he thrives off playing victim, and he knows he has people willing to believe anything he says without question. Over the last month, behind the scenes with recording gate, heโ€™s been telling me and others that if I ever spoke up, heโ€™d ruin me. That heโ€™d twist the story because he has the bigger platform. That heโ€™d make sure people contacted my job. He has leaked private texts, sent people after me, and used Chelsea, a woman he cheated on me with, to push his manufactured victim narrative. But hereโ€™s the truth: Aidan is not the victim of March 5th. He was drunk, verbally abusive, refusing to leave, and escalating a situation he then turned around and weaponized. And like every situation he touches, every feud, every fallout, every โ€œenemy,โ€ every messy disaster, he plays the same role: the powerless victim of consequences he created. At some point, people need to recognize the common denominator. I stayed silent because I didnโ€™t want this ugliness public. I didnโ€™t want to embarrass him. I didnโ€™t want to rehash something painful, private, and humiliating for both of us. But since he chose to send CamelToe Joe and his ratchet harem to post private fights, twist reality, and smear me, Iโ€™m done being quiet. Aidan is incapable of having a private relationship and ending. And Chelseaโ€ฆhun. I know your brain cells are limited, but your "insurance" explanation makes no sense. When did he send you this video? Months after it happened? Why would you need insurance at that point? Youโ€™re being used like a scratch-off ticket from Cumberland Farms. He feeds you a cropped video and suddenly youโ€™re Nancy Drew with a nicotine patch? Please. You werenโ€™t even in the picture until after he was done cheating with you. These videos paint a wildly different picture of the fake victim narrative CamelToe Joe has been pushing, huh? Iโ€™ll be posting more soon, about the recording, about every single lie he has chosen to spread through his minions the last two months. I guess I was crazy to think Aidan would ever be okay with someone walking away and moving on peacefully. Since Aidan wanted the truth out, he's about to get it. PS- Speaking of men being fake scared of womenโ€“ Funny how some people with very chaotic personal histories suddenly decide theyโ€™re the moral authority on my life, enough so to peddle lies on their large platforms. If I had these kinds of pasts, I'd probably sit this one out, and maybe stop throwing stones from your glass basements and (momโ€™s) houses.

The old M canโ€™t come to the phone right now

122,740 Aufrufe โ€ข vor 8 Monaten

I am the person practice Law of Attraction many years and I do see a lot of change in my life! I believe everything can change to better after we change our heart and our mindset. On the way to Pi success journey, all our community should work together and help each other. Because we are on the same boat. We use our heart on it and we love it and it is in our life and it is our light and hope! Nobody want it fail. I read a story about a bird who has two heads share one body. But one head jealous another head and hate it. So he seduce the other head to eat a poisoned fruit. He is very happy to see the other head die. But after a few minutes, his head feel very painful and died too. I use the story to describe our poineers community. We should understand how to make Pi succes. If you hurt other poineers community, actually it will hurt your community too. I have no discrimiation on different price and respect all Pi Communities. However I would like all pioneers understand why we call GCV, it is not because ourselves greedy. It is because Pi need to start from high price to protect it on open mainnet. We all know a lot of pioneers come from the bottom of our society. They are in hardship, they even cannot afford food and place to live. And these kinds of pioneers has occupied most community. Nobody can prevent them to sell Pi becuase they are Pi holders. They need to survive, this is also the reason why there are a lot under table exchange to FIAT. Even 0.85$ or maybe 0.01$ they will sell Pi. What will happen, if the price is this low? I don't think this price can make eco develpe well. I talked with a Chinese mall rep, he told me many merchants hesitate to put their high value products on the mall is because the price big difference. If they use a price, then pioneers barter and sell in a lower price mall. It will hurt these merchants. This is the reason most merchant won't put high value products. How about the low consensus price bartered by pioneers? Yes, the merchant get a lot of Pi. However they still cannot survive if close mainnet more than 3 months-6 months. The pioneers will used up all his Pi. Then Pi has no relationship with him/her. For myself I have no Pi to use even if I have all basic coin and security circle migrated. All has been locked for 3 years. Now I changed to 90% so I only have 9 Pi in 2-3 years after almost 1 years mining. All bonus Pi cannot use now. before price united. Another thing I want to address again! No need to worry KYC! If you are real person you can pass in 5 min! Many don't want to do anything is because they don't believe they can pass KYC. You must understand Price is the root of eco. Eco healthy can make all KYC open! This is the only thing you don't need to worry. You don't pass or not get open is Because CT not ready to open to all ! #WhatIDoForPi #PiGCV

Doris Yin ไธœๆ–น็ดซ่Žฒ๐Ÿชท

44,208 Aufrufe โ€ข vor 3 Jahren

Againโ€ฆ donโ€™t be a dumbass and do stupid shit like this fool just for clicks and attention. Josh West intentionally grabbed and pulled on the steering wheel of a Tesla Robotaxi during a ride to see what would happen. He did it multiple times from the backseat. The Robotaxi responded by braking, giving safety alerts, and contacting support. He also unbuckled his seatbelt while the vehicle was moving and, after the ride, put one of his own stickers on the Robotaxi. The Tesla team reviewed the trip, cited safety violations and property damage, and suspended his Robotaxi access. Then he turned around and made a video titled โ€œI Got BANNED From The Tesla Robotaxi Networkโ€ฆ So You Donโ€™t Have To!โ€ Noโ€ฆ You didnโ€™t do this โ€œso we donโ€™t have to.โ€ Nobody needed you to grab the steering wheel of an unsupervised Robotaxi. Nobody needed you to intentionally trigger its safety systems. Nobody needed you to put your sticker on a vehicle that doesnโ€™t belong to you. You did it for content. And this is exactly the kind of stupid shit that pisses me, many investors, and many hardworking employees on the Tesla team off. The Tesla team has spent YEARS working their asses off to make unsupervised Robotaxis a reality. Engineers have dedicated countless hours to building, testing, and improving this technology while Tesla fights through regulatory scrutiny and proves the system can safely scale. Then a fool gets access and intentionally fucks with the vehicle for a YouTube video. Think about how selfish that is. Millions of people are waiting for this technology to expand. Tesla employees have spent years of their lives working to get it this far. The last thing the program needs is some attention seeker intentionally creating safety incidents for clicks. If youโ€™re lucky enough to get access to a Tesla Robotaxi, respect the fucking technology, respect the vehicle, and respect the people who spent years building it. Sit down and buckle up. Keep your hands off the steering wheel. Donโ€™t put or do shit on a car that isnโ€™t yours. And enjoy the fucking ride. It really shouldnโ€™t be that difficult. The Tesla team has worked too damn hard to get to this point for fools chasing YouTube views to jeopardize it for everyone else. Donโ€™t be like this fool.

Teslaconomics

103,448 Aufrufe โ€ข vor 1 Monat

A QUICK FIELD GUIDE TO THE NPC HORDES Twenty Five Parasites types that Feed On The Living The Storm Is Upon Them Thank you for the stout... lets talk... The wind has changed. You can feel it. That low electric pressure behind the eyes that means something massive is rolling in off a horizon the parasites can't see because they were never built to look up. They were built to look down. At clipboards. At spreadsheets. At your accounts. At you. But the storm doesn't care about clipboards. And we don't kneel anymore. Here they are. The full swarm. Count them while you can because when the sky turns they drop mid sentence and the only record that they ever existed will be the silence where the invoices used to be. THE TAX CONSULTANT. You broke your back welding pipe and this soft palmed worm sits in air conditioning telling you how much of your sweat belongs to Caesar. He can't weld. Can't wire. Can't fix a thing that broke. What he can do is read a tax code written by other worms specifically to be unreadable so you'd have to pay a worm to read it for you. They write the maze. They sell you the map. They make the maze worse every year and the map more expensive and if you try to walk it yourself they send the auditor. The wind is picking up. The maze is starting to shake. THE AUDITOR. Tick on a tick. Shows up after the taxman has already fed to check the bite marks are regulation depth. Finds a missing fuel slip worth pocket change. Writes a finding. The finding generates a penalty. The penalty generates interest. The interest generates a letter. The letter requires your tax consultant at hourly rates to respond. Pocket change became thousands. Five parasites ate off one tank of diesel. Not one of them could tell you what welding rod to use on stainless. But the storm doesn't audit. The storm just comes. THE ACCOUNTANT. Cousin of the tax consultant. Same bloodline. This one doesn't interpret the maze. He records your journey through it. Every receipt. Every unit of currency in and out, logged so the consultant can read it and the auditor can check it and the revenue service can extract from it. He produces nothing. A human tape recorder pointed at your productivity. He charges monthly so the recording never stops. You are under permanent surveillance and you pay for the privilege. Not for much longer. THE BANKER. The oldest parasite. The template. You need money to buy a machine that makes things. He lends you money other working people deposited and charges interest that doubles the price over twenty years. The extra bought nothing. Built nothing. He packages your debt and sells it. Takes your deposit and lends it out eight times over. Charges you to hold your own money. Charges to put it in. Charges to take it out. He touches none of it. He stands near it and invoices you for the proximity. The storm is going to blow him so far from the vault he'll forget what money smelled like. THE COMPLIANCE OFFICER. Never had a callus on her body or her soul. Born in a fluorescent office. Will die in one. Between those events she produces nothing but emails about policies referencing other policies referencing regulations referencing acts nobody voted for. A worm eating its own tail and billing you for the meal. She needs the safety assessor to give her something to enforce. He needs her to give him something to assess. They breed between regulations like mould between tiles. The storm will wash them both down the same drain. THE PROPERTY VALUATOR. A man wants to buy a house. Another wants to sell it. They agreed on a price. That is what worth means. The amount one will pay and another will accept. Full stop. Now this creature arrives and tells both men what the house is actually worth. As if two free adults negotiating in good faith produced a number that's somehow theoretical while his formula is gospel. The bank sent him. His report costs thousands. His report says the house is worth what the buyer already offered. Thousands to arrive at a number that existed before he left his office. If his number comes in low the deal collapses and you pay a different creature with a different clipboard who arrives at a different number for the same house on the same day using the same formula. The house didn't change. Only the parasite changed. The number was never about the house. THE MUNICIPAL RATES OFFICER. The deepest theft on this list because it never ends. You bought your house thirty years ago. Paid it off. Every last unit. You owe nothing. Now a municipal valuator looks at what the neighbours sold for, looks at the coffee shops and wine bars that invaded your street, and decides your house is worth twenty five times what you paid. You didn't sell. You didn't list. You're sitting in the same chair in the same kitchen. But your tax liability just multiplied by twenty five based on a sale that never happened at a price you never agreed to. They do this everywhere. In Cape Town the rates are linked to the valuation and suddenly retired families in Bo-Kaap whose people survived apartheid and forced removals and a century of state assault are being bled out of their own homes by property rates pegged to values inflated by the gentrification their displacement accelerates. The heritage is the tourism product. The tourism inflates the valuation. The valuation inflates the rates. The rates displace the families. The families were the heritage. In Chicago they do it to grandmothers in Pilsen who've been there forty years. In London they do it to pensioners in neighbourhoods that gentrified around them. In Sydney they chase retirees off land their grandfathers cleared. Same crime. Different currency. Different clipboard. A man paid for his house. Owns it outright. And the state says you owe us money every month forever and the amount is based on what we say your house would sell for if you sold it, which you haven't, and if you can't pay the amount we invented we take the house you already bought. That is theft. Eviction by arithmetic. Displacement by spreadsheet. But the people in Bo-Kaap are awake now. The people in Pilsen are awake. The grandmothers and the grandfathers and the calloused hands everywhere are looking up and they can see the storm and they know what it means. It means the spreadsheet burns with everything else. THE MUNICIPAL INSPECTOR. Rat faced. High vis vest. Clipboard. Drives to your workshop in a vehicle your rates paid for. Measures your fire extinguisher fourteen centimetres off the floor. Writes you up. Behind you men build things that hold up bridges and he couldn't change a lightbulb without a permit. His job depends on your failure. The parasite needs you sick. The cure would kill it. The storm is the cure. THE CONVEYANCING ATTORNEY. Two men shook hands. Fair price. Honest deal. Done. This worm slithers out and says the handshake doesn't count. Needs paper. Needs stamps. Needs a deeds search and clearance certificates and transfer duty and each piece of paper is produced by another parasite and each one costs money and the worm takes his cut on top for phoning the other worms. He calls this conveyancing. He has never held a spade or laid a brick in his bloodless life. The storm doesn't need a stamp. THE ESTATE AGENT. Six percent. Of a man's life savings. For opening a lockbox and saying the kitchen faces north. She needs the attorney to close. The attorney needs the municipality. The municipality needs the inspector. The valuator needs access for the bank's number. Every one invoices separately. Every invoice lands on people who agreed on everything before any of these bloodsuckers entered the room. The wind is howling now. Can you hear it through their invoices? THE LABOUR BROKER. Tick so bloated it can't walk. A man needs work. Another needs a worker. They could find each other in ten minutes. This creature squats between them and drinks from both sides. Worker gets thirty. Employer pays fifty. Twenty disappears into the tick. Multiply by thousands of workers and millions vanish yearly into a thing that makes nothing, moves nothing, fixes nothing. It feeds. That is its entire architecture. Architecture doesn't survive storms. THE HEALTH AND SAFETY ASSESSOR. Twenty two years. Not one fire. Not one death. He shows up. Your exit is twenty centimetres too narrow. To fix it you need a builder who needs a plan from an architect who needs municipal approval. Tens of thousands and six weeks to move a door frame because a creature who has never been burned told you to. He detects life and the system bills it. The storm detects parasites and the sky deletes them. THE BEE CONSULTANT. Every country has its version. South Africa calls it BEE. The same parasites who wont allow much needed Starlink there unless Musk hands over half the company to lazy parasitic government connected parasites. Others call it diversity compliance or equity auditing. The name changes. The feeding doesn't. Scores your company on a chart nobody asked for to satisfy a regulation nobody voted on enforced by a department that produces nothing except the requirement for his existence. Nothing changes. Nothing improves. Money moves from a living pocket into a dead hand and the dead hand closes. The storm opens every dead hand on this planet. THE CUSTOMS BROKER. Your parts are fifty metres away. You can see the container. Cannot touch your own property until a grey man translates tariff codes so the state can calculate how much you owe for collecting what is already yours. Each delay generates storage charges. Each query generates fees. Your shipment doubles in cost through bureaucratic friction and you still don't have your parts. The storm doesn't clear customs. It clears the customs office. THE TRAFFIC OFFICER. Fat. Behind a bush. Radar gun aimed at people driving to work that matters. Seven over the limit. The municipality sets it low enough that everyone exceeds it. Fines feed the municipality. Municipality feeds him. He sits and clicks tomorrow. A barnacle with a badge. Same creature in every country. Different bush. Same feeding. The storm takes the bush and the badge and the creature behind both. THE FINANCIAL ADVISOR. Uses your first name. Remembers your birthday because the CRM told him. Puts your money in a fund. Fund charges 1.75 percent. He charges one on top. Fund manager pays a custodian who charges. Fund has an auditor who charges. Compliance team charges. Six parasites between you and your own money. In thirty years you have less than you started with and he charges you for the meeting where he shows you the graph. The storm doesn't need a graph. The storm is the correction. THE INSURANCE ADJUSTER. Years of premiums. Your roof blows off. He arrives. Soft hands. Three weeks later the wind came from the wrong direction. Not the wrong speed. The direction. Some paragraph. Some subsection. You paid for years and the years bought you a paragraph that says no. The policy is teeth. The premiums went down the throat and the no is the burp. The real storm has no exclusion clause. THE PATENT ATTORNEY. You built a device. It works. He writes a document so incomprehensible that reading it makes you understand your own invention less. Thousands for legal fog. Someone copies it. Litigation attorney. More thousands. Judgment unenforceable. The only people paid are the attorneys. The system was never designed to protect you. It was designed to feed them. The storm protects the builder. By removing the feeders. THE LICENSING CLERK. You can rebuild a gearbox blindfolded. Cannot legally do it without a certificate from an institution that charges thousands to watch you do what everyone knows you can do, certified by an instructor who has never done it, filed with a department that stores the certificates, audited by a body that audits the institution. A chain of parasites verifying the obvious. If every one vanished the gearbox still gets rebuilt. Faster. Cheaper. The storm is the vanishing. THE STRATA MANAGER. You own your flat. She collects your money and spends it on providers she chose and you can't fire without a special resolution at a meeting she convenes with an agenda she wrote. She built a kingdom inside your building funded by your levy and answerable to herself. Question it and she reaches for whatever act governs her particular species of parasitism in your particular country. The storm doesn't read acts. The storm reads frequencies. THE ENVIRONMENTAL IMPACT ASSESSOR. You want a shed on your own land. He arrives in a vehicle worth more than your shed. Months. Hundreds of pages. Tens of thousands. Report says your shed threatens a species not seen in decades but listed on a database maintained by a department that exists because the database exists. Your shed doesn't get built. The species doesn't exist. He drives home to a suburb bulldozed from actual habitat. Nobody assessed that. Rules only flow downhill. The storm flows everywhere. THE DEBT COLLECTOR. Bottom feeder. Buys your debt for cents from a bank that already profited from your interest. Calls at hours designed for fear. Adds fees on fees on fees for actions never taken. Bought your pain wholesale and retails it at three hundred percent. When you break he claims the loss against tax. Even the collapse is monetised. He is Hell's collection agent. The storm is Heaven's. THE NOTARY PUBLIC. Watches you sign your own name. Stamps it. Charges hundreds. The signature is the same with or without him. Your hand. Your name. His fee. A tollbooth on your own identity. The storm doesn't need a stamp. Your name is written in frequencies no notary can read. THE CORPORATE TRAINER. Monday. Projector. Four quadrant model invented after three glasses of wine and a TED talk. By Wednesday nobody remembers any of it because there was nothing there. Tens of thousands plus tax plus travel. She writes it off through a tax consultant who charges her to minimise her contribution to the system that funded the department that approved the framework she claims compliance with. Parasite feeding parasite feeding parasite. The storm feeds on none of them. It simply ends them. THE REVENUE OFFICIAL. The farmer himself. Top of the pyramid. Designs the taking. Drafts the regulations that create the maze that requires the consultant that employs the accountant that feeds the auditor that generates the penalty that funds the department that pays his salary. He is the architect of the loop. Every parasite on this list exists because he drew them into existence with a regulation and a gazette number. Without him the entire horde has nothing to feed on. He is the queen of the hive. Same creature in every country. Different flag. Same contempt for the hands that built everything he sits in and eats from. The storm starts with him. The queen dies first. The hive follows. That's the horde. Twenty five species of nothing. And every one of them drops when the sky turns and the carrier frequency that animated their firmware burns clean out of the atmosphere. Mid invoice. Mid assessment. Mid quadrant. Five thousand five hundred and fifty five clipboards hitting the floor for every one of us still standing. We are awake now. All of us. The welder and the farmer and the builder and the grandmother in Bo-Kaap and the grandfather in Pilsen and every calloused hand on every continent that ever wrote a cheque to a creature that never built a thing. We see them now. We see the maze and the map sellers and the grey offices and the soft hands and the whole rotten architecture of extraction that stood between us and the earth and between us and our labour and between us and each other for two hundred years. The storm is here. Not coming. Here. That pressure you feel behind your eyes is the frequency rising through the noise floor and the noise floor is everything on this list. Every clipboard. Every invoice. Every subsection and exclusion clause and certificate and clearance and valuation roll. All of it. Noise. Scheduled for deletion. And when it's quiet. When the last invoice has fluttered to the ground and the last clipboard has clattered on the last linoleum floor in the last grey office. When the wind has swept the horde out of every corridor and every cubicle and every booth and every booth window where a dead hand ever reached for a living man's money. Then... Just a man in a workshop. Welding mask up. Walking outside. Looking at a sky the colour of burning copper. Breathing free air for the first time in his life. The fuel slip that started this whole tour is in his shirt pocket. Crumpled. Oil stained. And it is his. The fuel was his. The truck was his. The work was his. And for the first time in two hundred years every unit of currency that flows from that work stays in the hands that did it. No consultant between him and his earnings because there are no earnings to consult on. Just work and its fruit. No auditor because there is nothing to audit. No banker because capital is what your hands produce and his hands never stopped. No valuator because the house is worth what it always was: a roof over his family and walls against the wind. A value no clipboard ever knew how to measure. When you grinding.... working... suffering... where are any of these parasites to help you?? Where are they?? We will be slaves no more. The storm will see to that alright!

SiriusB

53,327 Aufrufe โ€ข vor 5 Monaten

๐ŸšจEXPOSED: Dan Bongino JUST Admitted His Wife WORKED For Andrew Kolvet And TPUSA Doing Their Schedulingโ€”Are The Bongino's COLLUDING With TPUSA To Railroad Tyler Robinson?๐Ÿ‘€ We just caught the "Assistant FBI Director" in a massive admission that blows the Charlie Kirk investigation wide open. This week on his podcast, Dan Bongino finally said the quiet part out loud: His wife, Paula Andrea Martinez (Bongino), wasn't just a fanโ€”she was deeply embedded in the Turning Point USA ecosystem. Bongino admitted that Paula worked directly for Andrew Kolvet and TPUSA handling scheduling. He even bragged that they "talked almost every day" and have "known Andrew forever." Wait a minute, Dan. You were the man in charge of investigating the death of Charlie Kirk. How is it that your wife was on the payroll of the very people whose "official" narrative you are now out here defending? If you had done an actual investigation instead of railroading Tyler Robinson, we wouldn't have to be out here doing your job for you. THE QUESTIONS DAN WON'T ANSWER: ๐ŸŸฅ Why did you block Joe Kent (National Counter-Terrorism Director) from investigating credible foreign nexus leads? ๐ŸŸฅ Did you and Paula collude with Andrew Kolvet and TPUSA to manufacture evidence and cover up the truth? ๐ŸŸฅ Is your relentless bashing of independent journalists a desperate attempt to protect Israelโ€”the cause you admitted is "Number One" to your heart? ๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡ฑDAN BONGINO IS ISRAEL FIRSTโ€”NOT AMERICA FIRST: In a separate, damning interview, Dan Bongino was asked what cause is "the the number one cause "dear to his heart". His answer wasn't America First. It wasn't The Constitution. It was: "The Defense of Israel." Under your leadership, the FBI has been accused of planting evidence and falsifying documents to protect the real killers. Itโ€™s starting to look like the "Assistant FBI Director" was actually the point man for the cover up. ๐Ÿ•ต๏ธโ€โ™€๏ธ WHO IS PAULA ANDREA MARTINEZ (BONGINO)? Weโ€™ve done the digging that the mainstream media refuses to do. Here is the bio on the woman in the middle of the TPUSA/FBI web: Professional Ties: Paula is a web developer and consultant. Multiple sources and corporate filings link her to Redline Strategy, LLC (the primary legal entity for "Redline Pictures"). Redline Strategy, LLC is registered in Scottsdale, AZ, sharing the same corporate hub as Turning Point USA. As Dan admitted, she handled scheduling and high-level media booking for Andrew Kolvet and Charlie Kirk. She wasn't just staff; she was the "engine room" infrastructure. Like her husband, Paula has been a vocal supporter of the "Defense of Israel" cause, frequently seen at TPUSA events (like the Auburn chapter) tagging the organization and its leadership. The Business Portfolio: Together with Dan, she operates three home-based businesses focused on security consulting, risk management, and web developmentโ€”providing a perfect "private" layer for coordination between federal interests and private media firms. Now it all makes sense. Why he protects the Epstein client list. Why he screams "conspiracy theorist" at anyone mentioning foreign influence. Why he is carrying water for the intel networks trying to silence Candace Owens Dan Bongino didn't misspeak. He just told you whose flag heโ€™s actually saluting. ๐Ÿ‡บ๐Ÿ‡ธ๐Ÿšซ๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡ฑ ๐Ÿ“ข WE NEED YOUR TIPS! The truth is coming out, and the "engine room" is starting to smoke. If you have any information regarding Paula Bonginoโ€™s relationship with Andrew Kolvet, Redline Strategy LLC, or TPUSAโ€”especially regarding the timeline of September 2025 until nowโ€”we want to hear from you. ๐Ÿ“ฅ DM us here or email: [email protected] Stay steadfast. Stay unshaken. Beholden only to God. ๐Ÿ™

Project Constitution

510,566 Aufrufe โ€ข vor 4 Monaten

Lads. Sit down and give me your ear a while, for I have watched from the water long enough and the hour is upon us whether we have the stomach for it or not. You remember. Or your fathers told you, or their fathers did, and the knowledge of it is in the marrow of you whether you drew breath in those days or not. The moors in the grey hour before dawn. Wet heather soft under the boot. Peat smoke rising from a low stone chimney a mile out across the bog, thin as a prayer. A sky the colour of a gun barrel and the gulls lamenting above the headland. The smell of turf burning, and wet wool, and the ferrous tang of the sea when the wind swung around out of the Atlantic and put the taste of iron on your tongue. A man could walk that land and know every stone of it was his by inheritance, because his grandfather had broken his back upon it, and his grandfather before him, back through the generations until you reach men whose names are lost and whose bones are in the soil you are standing on. The potato fields. God be good to us, the potato fields. Lazy beds cut straight as a gunwale, the ridges black and shining after a night of rain, women bent double with creels lashed to their backs and the children at their skirts, drawing the crop up by the hand for there was never any other means devised nor wanted. Hands split open at the knuckles and never entirely healed in this life. Hunger within living memory. Grandmothers who had seen the blight with their own eyes and would not speak of it from the year of it until the day they were laid down, save that a crust was kept always on the dresser which no soul in that house was permitted to touch. Not ever. Not for any reason under heaven. And the chimney sweeps. Wee lads no heavier than a sack of meal, black to the bone with soot, their lungs ruined before they were old enough to marry and old men entirely by thirty. Up the flues at first light, the skin worn off them by the brick, eyes crimson at the rim, breathing the black in with every draw of air. And the coal miners a half mile beneath our feet, down in the wet dark, the roof of the world muttering over their heads, the canary gone silent, a man's whole existence measured out in the shilling a ton and the dust he carried home in his chest to cough up of a Sunday morning into a rag. Fathers who descended and were never hauled up again. Widows at the pit head with the shawl drawn over the head and no tears remaining in them for they had spent those long ago. That was the tariff paid to keep the hearth lit. That was the reckoning of being warm in winter in the Ireland that was. And after the labouring week, Friday evening, and a man had earned the peace of what followed. Home first. Peeled the day off him in the yard. A shower of ice cold moor river water out of a tin bucket punctured with holes, hung on a nail on the gable wall, the water running clean down the back of him and carrying the week's dust and sweat away into the drain. Scrubbed till the skin was pink beneath the grime. Clean shirt laid out by the wife. The hair combed down with a drop of water. Then, and only then, did a man set himself to the table. A meat pie from the baker, tenpence if he was known to you, a shilling and no change if he was not, put down upon a proper plate. Fish and chips for threepence, the salt and vinegar soaked through the newspaper, but carried home and ate slowly at your own table with your people around you, not walked with through the streets like some vagrant tinker off the road. A man ate as a man who had earned his portion, for he had. And later, with the dishes cleared and the kettle set, down the road to the tavern. Low beams black with a century of smoke. A turf fire muttering in the grate. The air thick with pipe smoke and the vapour of wet overcoats steaming themselves dry on the backs of chairs. A pint of stout, cold and black as a cove at midnight, elevenpence laid down on the counter, a head on it thick enough to strike a match upon. A second one because you had it coming to you and no man present would dispute it. A fiddle starting up in the corner of its own accord. The old men in the snug who remembered matters the history books had long since mislaid. A song before the bolt was thrown on the door. The walk home beneath a firmament crowded with stars, the stout warm in the gut of you, the week behind you, and your own door waiting with the latch unlocked for you had no enemies in that parish. That was the country. That was the covenant. Honest labour, plain food, a cold wash, a hot meal, a cold pint, your own tongue in your own mouth, your own soil beneath your boots, and no man standing above you save the Almighty Himself. Now regard her. Regard her close. The fields disposed of to men who have never set foot upon them and never shall. The harbours signed away by the stroke of a pen in a room you were not admitted to, and foreign keels dragging out of our waters the living that sustained this island for a thousand years, while our own boats rot at their moorings for want of a quota. The tradesmen undercut by imported labour and imported goods. The shops shuttered along every main street from Donegal to Cork. The young ones scattered to London and Sydney and Boston and the Gulf because there is nothing remaining for them beneath their own roof. And the entirety of this rotten arrangement dressed up in the soft mannerly language of progress by men in towers of glass who could not tell a lazy bed from a grave, nor a trawler from a tugboat, nor an honest day's work from a pension plan. And now they arrive with the next imposition. A digital identity. A number assigned to each soul. A card required to buy your bread. A code required to draw your own earnings out of your own account. A file kept on every man, woman and child from the cradle forward. Permission asked to move. Permission asked to speak. Permission asked to earn. A levy upon every breath drawn and a regulation upon every step taken. No. And no again. And no for a third time so there is no misunderstanding of it. We do not require your digital identity. We did not request it. We did not vote upon it. We do not consent to it. We do not need your permission to exist upon the soil our forefathers are buried in. We are a free people. We have carried ourselves this far upon our own two backs. Through famine and empire and civil war and black lung and blight and the emigrant ship out of Cobh, we have come this distance under our own steam, and the arrangement appears to be serving us well enough without your intervention. We buried our own. We fed our own. We raised our own roofs and took our own fish and reared our own children in our own tongue. We are in your debt for nothing. Not a signature. Not a biometric scan. Not a single solitary inch. And while we are upon the subject, let us speak plainly of the tax man, for he has gone too long without proper introduction. The tax collector and the tax man are the one article under two names, and the article is a parasite. There is no dressing it up finer than that. A man who produces nothing, who grows nothing, who catches nothing, who builds nothing, who mends nothing, who has never in his professional life lifted anything heavier than a pen, and who arrives at your door with the full apparatus of the state at his back to carry off the fruits of labour he did not perform. He is a middleman between your sweat and some scheme dreamt up in a committee room by his own kind, and the great majority of what he takes is consumed by the machinery of the taking itself before ever a penny of it reaches the road or the hospital or the schoolhouse he claims to be funding. And I will go further while I have the floor. Finance itself, the whole apparatus of it, money breeding money in the dark without a hand laid upon a tool or a spade turned in the earth, is slavery dressed in a good suit. It is the oldest swindle known to man and it has never been anything other. A man who produces nothing yet lives off the productive labour of others through the charging of interest upon money conjured out of nothing is a parasite of a rarer and more refined order than the tax man, but a parasite all the same, and between the pair of them they have the working people of this island bled white and lectured at for the pleasure. A man who will not work with his hands, nor with his back, nor with his mind at some honest problem of the real physical world, is no man that I recognise. He is a ledger entry in a suit. The country was not built by ledger entries. The country was built by farmers and fishermen and masons and smiths and sweeps and miners and shipwrights and midwives and mothers, and those are the people whose say should carry in her councils, and no other. Here is what I put to you. Let each man and woman of this island direct the first tenth of their earnings themselves, by their own judgement, to the purpose they see as worthy. The school down the road. The lifeboat station. The hospice. The widow on the corner. The roof of the chapel. The harbour wall. Whatever it may be. Let the people who earned the money decide where the money travels. You will find the roads mended and the ports dredged and the schools standing and the old ones cared for inside of five years, and done better and for less, because the hand that earned the coin knows the weight of it and will not squander it upon consultants and committees. And let us have done with the paper currency and the numbers in a screen that can be frozen at the whim of a clerk in a tower. Bring back the coin. Gold for the great transactions. Silver for the weekly commerce of a working life. Copper for the small change of the day. Metal you can bite. Metal you can weigh. Metal that cannot be conjured out of nothing by a keystroke, nor erased out of existence by another. Real money for real labour. A coin in the hand is a free man's wage. A number in a database is a collar around a free man's neck, and they are fitting that collar now while we stand arguing over the colour of it. Feel it in your gut. That is not nothing. That is your blood relating to you what your ears will not hear. That is every forebear who starved and fought and coughed the black dust into a rag and descended the shaft regardless, standing at your shoulder and saying no further. Not one more field. Not one more harbour. Not one more son upon a plane. Not one more free man converted into a number in a ledger for the convenience of the parasites. This is the hour. Make no error about it. Ireland is redeemed in this generation or she is lost beyond recovery, and every true son and daughter of her knows it in the marrow. There is no middle ground remaining. There is no waiting it out. There is standing now, upon your own two feet, or there is watching her go under the waves for the last and final time. So stand. Stand with your farmers. Stand with your fishermen. Stand with your tradesmen and your miners and your sweeps and your mothers and your old ones. Raise the tricolour. Speak the tongue. Walk the land. Hold the line in the streets of every town and city and do not break it, for they are relying upon you to break and to go home and to forget by Tuesday. She is calling her children home. Every stone of her, every breaker on her western shore, every acre of wet heather and every coal in every hearth the length and breadth of her is calling. Answer her. Take her back. Every field, every harbour, every last inch of her. Take her back, or lose her entirely. There is no third road open to us.

SiriusB

15,437 Aufrufe โ€ข vor 3 Monaten