American BBQ is the best cuisine on Earth and I'll die on that hill. Elite brisket is a better cut of meat then any Michelin Star steak you'll ever eat.

Bring in the battle penguins

They thought their trillions of dollars and control of all society would protect them. They thought wrong

Negative thinking

If weed makes you anxious and lazy, that's not the weed's fault.

RUN CMD://{[TESTFLIGHT]}//

its pretty funny that there are people in america who have to pretend this isnt cool because they dont want to lose social standing with their friends

You thought they were joking?

Back in my day we used to research our drugs before doing them shout to erowid

God bless the beaver 🙌

Amazing! 🇺🇸

much respect to all those people who stopped smoking and saw positive changes in their lives but me and weed riding till the breaks fall off

We got a BALD EAGLE at the UFC White House ceremonial weigh ins WTF is going on 😭

I ❤️ my White House with a lil BRAAAP!!

The Predator, but with Contra noises. 🙌

Ancient Kingdom

Update on getting sober from weed. I quit for a couple weeks, decided that way really gay and got tired of super vivid crystal clear exhausting dreams and getting irritated at stupid people and started smoking again

Best X poster atm

In America, a young man at the coffee shop extended his FIST toward me, and I stood before it with no protocol whatsoever. A closed fist. Offered gently. Hanging in the air between us. Patient. Expecting. In my training, a raised fist has a short list of meanings, and none of them end in friendship. But his face was open and pleased — he had just handed me my order — so I understood this was a CEREMONY, and that I was failing it in real time. I did the only correct thing I could think of. I clasped his fist in both hands, as one accepts a precious gift, and bowed over it. He laughed — kindly, I want that on the record — and said, "No man, like this," and guided me: knuckles meeting knuckles. One soft tap. Then his hand sprang OPEN as it withdrew, fingers spreading, with a quiet sound: "Pssshh." THE EXPLOSION. There is an EXPLOSION at the end, America. Completely optional. Completely essential. And not one document in your entire country warns a foreigner about it. In Japan, our greetings have been codified for centuries. Depth of bow, position of hands, duration — written down, teachable, examinable. Your greetings MUTATE FREELY between coffee shops, and every citizen somehow knows all current versions: the fist bump, which is respect; the high five, which is triumph; the handshake, which is a contract — see Kenneth — and the bro hug, which is a handshake that collapses inward into a single back-pat, and which I am told I am not ready for. I agree. I am not ready. The fist bump is the haiku of the set. Minimal. Perfect. Two warriors touching armor. A man does not ask the fist what it wants. He answers knuckles with knuckles, and detonates on schedule. I returned the next day. Same young man. His fist came up immediately, eyebrows raised — a test and a welcome in one. Knuckles. Tap. "Pssshh." Both of us. Full explosion. He turned and announced to the entire kitchen: "HE'S GOT IT NOW." The kitchen CHEERED, America. Three strangers in aprons celebrated my education before the milk steamer finished. I bowed to the room. The young man bowed back. Badly. With enormous heart. Cultural exchange is complete when both men perform the other's ceremony wrong, together, on purpose, every morning at 7:40. We are at that stage now. There is no higher stage.

Not one member of Metallica ever appeared on sesame street. Master of puppets my ass.