RFK Jr. exposes why Gluten Allergies skyrocketed... “2006 marks the date when suddenly these gluten allergies began exploding...celiac disease & wheat problems...You can draw a red line: 2006—the year they began spraying GLYPHOSATE on wheat as a DESICCANT.”

Americans last week: Soccer is ridiculous the players are wimps it’s a children’s game why are we hosting this tournament? Americans this morning: Honey pack yer bags we’re moving to Scotland and becoming Celtic Rangers Hearts Hibs Inverness Caley Thistle supporters!!!

Unexpected hotel room guest.

🧵 Five students brought a lawsuit against Columbia and Barnard after they were punished for participating in the 2025 Butler Library protest. Barnard and Columbia’s lawyers found two AI-generated hallucinations in one of their court filings: “As for the second case Petitioners rely on, ‘Matter of McCormack v. LaHood, 85 A.D.3d 1070, 1071 (2d Dep't 2011),’ the reporter citation is to a case of a different name that has no relevance whatsoever, and after a diligent search, Barnard is unable to locate any case with this name.” “Again, one of the cases Petitioners cited, ‘Matter of Ortiz v. Coughlin, 86 A.D.2d 660, 661 (2d Dep't 1982),’ does not appear to exist-the citation goes to the middle of another case of a different name with no relevance here, and after a diligent search, the only three cases with these names in the caption are completely irrelevant.”

WATCH: School Bus driver attempts to defend his bus from unruly crowd "It's coming out of my paycheck!" Driver Screams As Crows DESTROY School Bus Smashing it in TSQ after Knicks WIN

From @TheAthletic: The Yankees have the Mets. The Giants have the Jets. The Rangers have the Islanders. The Knicks have no rival for New York’s heart, so this championship means so much more to the city. nyti.ms/4av1rR2

OK, People who watched the Peach Jam story yesterday have suggested that my Jam Pot Needs a name. I agree I just had not settled upon what it should be. Today, we have two hotly debated nominations (literally) so we will have a Poll Ladies and Gentlemen, Tweeps of all stripes, Make your choices, spread for more votes

In America, a warehouse store. A fully roasted chicken costs five dollars, the raw chicken beside it costs seven, and I stood between them like a man between two truths. Golden. Hot. Seasoned. Spinning in glory under the lights, in a line of its brothers. Four dollars and ninety-nine cents. I checked the raw birds. Seven dollars. Pale. Cold. You must do everything yourself. This is not commerce. Commerce does not move backward. Somewhere in this building, mathematics lies defeated. I asked the man at the counter. "How is the cooked bird cheaper than the raw bird?" "Been five bucks forever. They keep it that way." "But the store loses." "Yep. On purpose." On purpose. I held my receipt with both hands. In my land, a lord who lowered the price of rice in a hard winter was remembered for generations. They built him a small shrine. This store does it every day, with chicken, and tells no one. A woman behind me grew tired of my reverence. "It's just a chicken, sir." It is not just a chicken. It is a wound the merchant takes on purpose, so that anyone, on any day, with five dollars, eats like a lord. The bird is the message. The price is the vow. I will confess: I bought two. I did not need two. The second was not hunger. It was gratitude, and it was delicious. Some prices are not prices. They are promises. I return every week now. I take one bird. I bow toward the deli, briefly, so as not to alarm the staff. They have begun nodding back. The vow holds. The bird turns. Five dollars. Long may it spin.

Unexpected hotel room guest.

To everyone so eager to cancel someone for a tattoo they got at age 22, a drunk text, a selfie they took in the middle of a mental health crisis: Show us your laptop. Show us your iCloud. Open your entire digital life to your worst enemy. No context. No filter. No explanation. You won’t. You won’t because you know what I know. Any one of us, frozen at our worst moment, photographed in our lowest hour, looks like a monster. Looks like a stranger. Looks like someone who deserves to be cast out. That is not who we are. My mom and baby sister were killed in a car accident when I was just a kid. Cancer took my brother Beau, my best friend and my rock. I battled alcoholism. I battled addiction. I chose the coward’s way out more times than I can count. For years I believed the defining chapters of my life were written by tragedy, loss, and shame. I no longer believe that. Pain can shape us. Loss can humble us. Failures can leave scars that never fully fade. But none of them have the authority to define us. And it sure as hell ain’t the critic that counts. That authority belongs to us alone-the person in the arena. Every setback presents a choice. Play the victim, or cut the bullshit and take ownership for who we become next. Life does not determine our character. It reveals it. Again and again we are asked the same question. When shit happens, what next? We are not defined by what happened to us. We are not defined by the worst photo, the worst text, the worst tattoo, the worst night. We are defined by the person we choose to become. And by the courage to choose that person, every single day. So before you reach for the gavel - show us your laptop. You won’t. The whole world saw mine. And I am still here. Still becoming. Still choosing. Still standing. That is the only definition that matters.

Good morning! Today is POST AN AMERICAN FLAG DAY! So let that red, white, and blue show. Especially after that game last night! Friends who don't live in the USA, let your colors fly too! Show us that patriotic spirit!

Available NOW in paperback, hardcover and digitally, the least political ostensibly political book ever written, MIKE PENCE & ME. amazon.com/dp/B0C9SQHJGP