🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

"We take the stars from heaven, the red from our mother country, separating it by white stripes, thus showing that we have separated from her, and the white stripes shall go down to posterity, representing our liberty." —George Washington

Holy shit! AWESOME!!!!!! Blue Angels and the Thunderbirds.

In case you thought this was just another flag. Happy Flag Day 🇺🇸

i came to the conclusion that this story is so awful that we have no way to punish it. to commit to an appropriate measure of justice is beyond our willingness to do it.

...and I laughed again -- 🤣

Stateside, a gas station. I drank a frozen blue beverage too quickly, and was struck down by a punishment this entire nation knows, and accepts, and has named. The drink is called a slush. Ice, sweetness, and a blue that does not occur in nature. The day was hot. I was thirsty. I drank like a soldier at a river. The pain arrived in my skull like a war horn. Behind the eyes. Above everything. Total. I gripped the roof of my car. I may have made a sound. "Brain freeze," said the cashier through the door, with no urgency whatsoever. It has a NAME. The affliction is so common it has a household name, like a cousin. "Tongue on the roof of your mouth," called a man at the pumps. He did not look over. He prescribed the remedy mid-pump, casually, the way one mentions weather. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth. The war horn faded. The healer nodded at his pump, finished, and was gone in a Chevrolet. In my land, punishment follows crime by way of courts and seasons. Here, the sentence is instant. Drink with greed, and the ice strikes the mind directly. No trial. No appeal. Perfectly fair. And here is what moves me. EVERYONE has felt it. The cashier. The healer. Children. Elders. An entire nation united by the same small lightning, all taught the same cure, all passing it on to strangers at gas stations, free of charge. You cannot fully distrust a country once you know it shares one pain. The freeze does not punish thirst. It punishes haste. I finished the slush slowly, like a scholar. Blue tongue. Clear mind. Then at the door I forgot everything, drank deeply, and was struck down again. "Tongue, hon," said the cashier, without looking up. Discipline is a journey.

Well done.

That is so American!

Ditto. Thanks Elon!

Holy shit! 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

The Democratic nominee for United States Senate in Maine did not issue a policy critique. He issued a death sentence. Graham Platner looked at the first human being in history to accumulate a trillion dollars in wealth and wrote, without hesitation or euphemism, that this man must also be the last. Not a call for higher marginal rates. Not a proposal to close loopholes. A flat declaration that a particular category of achievement is now intolerable and must be rendered impossible. Excellence occurred. Ensure it never occurs again. This is not the rhetoric of reform. It is the rhetoric of elimination. The same impulse that once sent kulaks to the wall for the crime of producing too much grain, that once dragged engineers and intellectuals through struggle sessions for the crime of knowing how to build, now dresses itself in the language of “working Mainers” and “foe of the oligarchy.” The mask is thinner than its wearers believe. Beneath it sits the ancient, festering pathology of ressentiment...the inability to tolerate another’s ascent without experiencing it as personal theft. Platner did not stumble into this formulation. He revealed himself. What follows is not a defense of any single man. It is a dissection of the worldview that treats visible, world-altering creation as evidence of moral crime. It is an examination of the psychology that converts personal limitation into political virtue, that transmutes envy into justice, that has, across every century it has been tried, produced only ruin, poverty, and the corpses of those who refused to shrink themselves to fit the approved dimensions. The sentence is short. Its implications are not. Read it carefully. Then read what it actually means. open.substack.com/pub/lhgrey…

The mullahs in Tehran and the Lefty-left in America aren’t enemies of each other. They’re running the same play with different branding. Both movements are addicted to chaos as a political tool. Both promise a purified future that requires burning down the existing order first. Both treat lying as a necessary tactic rather than a moral failure. The mullahs have Taqiyya. The Lefty-left has Alinsky and Gene Sharp. Different holy books, same permission structure for deception when it serves the revolution. One side wants to impose Islamic rule after the apocalypse. The other wants to impose equity after they finish dismantling “whiteness,” the family, borders, and merit. In both cases, the people at the top end up with all the power while everyone else gets lectured about justice. The body count and the body bags just come with different slogans. What makes it especially grotesque is how the American version wrapped itself in the language of liberalism for decades while doing the exact opposite. Free speech? Only for approved opinions. Live and let live? Only if you submit to the new sexual and racial orthodoxy. Small government? Not when the NGOs, the administrative state, the universities, and the donor class need to enforce the new religion. They didn’t just drift left. They built a parallel power structure designed to overthrow the old one from within. Lawfare, censorship, institutional capture, and grievance as a full-time industry. It’s the same revolutionary psychology wearing a blue tie instead of a turban. Trump didn’t just beat them in an election. He exposed the whole racket. And now the same people who spent years screaming about “authoritarianism” are about to find out what it actually feels like when the counter-revolution stops negotiating with fanatics. Different scripture. Same revolution. The hammer doesn’t care which costume it’s hitting. (article below)

The reopened reflecting pool doing pretty well with a rainbow today.

Mark it. “Ladies and gentlemen, you will not hear a better argument for the President of the United States than those five minutes and twenty-five seconds right here: Cut it. Mark it. Drop it in. Are you a Leftist? Are you a Communist? Are you a Marxist? Are you super Right-wing? Doesn’t matter. You can’t disagree with that. That is the best argument you will ever hear—condensed, distilled, like proof alcohol—into why Charlie Kirk believes in this President.”

Imagine you’re sitting at a poker table with friends. You throw down a three of a kind. The same guy gets up, goes to the bathroom, and comes back three minutes later with a better three of a kind. This keeps happening. At what point do you stop telling yourself it’s probably just a coincidence? That’s the exact situation happening in California. California keeps delivering election results that shift after long, unexplained delays, after huge mail-in batches, and after verification standards most serious countries would reject outright. And every time people raise an eyebrow, they’re told some version of “trust the process.” Meanwhile, in parts of the world they still count votes out in the open with painted rocks in the town square so everyone watching can see the count happen in real time. No mystery. No back rooms. No “we’ll update the numbers in a few days.” The entire goal is making sure normal people actually believe the outcome is legitimate. Real legitimacy comes from processes that look believable to the people who have to accept the results. When you do the opposite ... hidden counting, weak verification, multi-day delays ... you’re not strengthening trust. You’re just seeing how much the public will tolerate before they stop believing anything. So here’s the real question: How many times does the guy have to come back from the bathroom with a suspiciously better hand before we’re allowed to say the game looks rigged? Not stolen in some dramatic movie sense. Just structurally built so the house advantage is obvious to anyone paying attention. When does “trust the process” stop being reassurance and start sounding like an insult? (article below)

Months of work, condensed into seconds. Watch the transformation of the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool as crews drained, repainted, and refilled one of America's most iconic landmarks ahead of a busy summer season in Washington, D.C.

Mail-in voting didn’t just create new opportunities for fraud. It destroyed the single most important thing that has ever kept this republic functioning: the willingness of the losing side to accept the result and continue living under the government that beat them. For most of American history we understood something basic. Republics don’t survive because the winners are virtuous. They survive because the losers still believe the contest was real enough to respect. That belief didn’t appear by accident. It was built on physical presence, secret ballots, visible processes, and the ability to know ... with reasonable certainty ... who actually voted and under what conditions. Mail-in voting burned that down on purpose. It moved the entire act of voting out of any controlled environment and into the hands of whoever could collect, mark, and deliver ballots with the least scrutiny. Signature rules became jokes. Marks replaced signatures. Ballots got routed through centralized hubs where third parties could handle them in bulk. And when the numbers looked off, the response from the people running the system was always the same: trust us. We are now at the point where large numbers of Americans no longer believe that. Not because they’re paranoid, but because the system itself no longer produces the kind of verifiable process that used to make losing tolerable. Once enough people decide the outcome was manufactured rather than earned, the republic stops being a government by consent and starts becoming something else entirely. That’s not a future problem. That’s the condition we’re already in. And pretending otherwise is how you finish the job. (article below)

Beautiful.