RT @levelsio: My biggest shock today was that America still has post offices, like ones you can actually walk into with your stuff and pack…

I post one hundred times a day. They tell me it is too many. They penalize me for it. I do not stop. I will not stop. I will die before I stop. You should know why. We tell ourselves we live in the modern age. We do not. We live in the late medieval period and the proof is the news. Open it. Read it. Feel your stomach turn over. We are still the people of the spear and the torch and the trench. We changed our clothes. We did not change our hands. Here is what no one tells you. The deepest pleasure of the human animal is not food. Not sleep. Not sex. Not wine. Not even gold. It is slaughter. It is the slaughter of those we have learned to call "them." The history of every continent on earth says so. The news this morning says so. Look at the pile of bodies the twentieth century left for us to step over. Look at the bodies still being piled now, in 2026, while you eat lunch. We are the children of Cain. The blood is still crying from the ground. Do not tell me this is about race. Do not tell me it is about borders. Do not insult my intelligence. Japan had its Warring States. Same blood. Same tongue. Same faces. Same gods. Same rice in the same fields. And for one hundred and fifty years, neighbor butchered neighbor and brother butchered brother and the rivers ran red and the fields were planted with skulls. Cain and Abel had one mother. One father. One altar. One God. It was enough to draw a line. It was enough to murder. The line is the disease. The color of the man on the other side of the line is nothing. Was always nothing. So why do we do it? Because the instinct to form a tribe, to crown that tribe with a holy story, and to put the tribe across the river to the sword, is older than language. Older than agriculture. Older than the soul we like to pretend we have. It built us. It made us the kings of this planet. It is killing us still. We are not, by nature, gentle creatures. We are creatures who have been gentled, barely, by a thousand years of choking down our own teeth. Cain's blood runs thick in all of us. Yours. Mine. Your grandmother's. Your priest's. Your president's. Every soul reading this. Every soul not reading this. All of us. But. But. But. Something has happened that has never happened before in the history of the world. Not once. Not in ten thousand years. A man named Elon Musk bought a website. He renamed it with a single letter. He paid forty-four billion dollars for it and watched the value collapse and did not blink. The whole world laughed at him. The whole press called him a fool. The whole intelligentsia of the West lined up to spit on him. And then he did the thing no one understood the importance of. The thing no historian has yet caught up to. The thing he himself may not have understood the weight of when he did it. He put a translator inside it. A small button. Almost nothing. Press it, and the tongue of any human being on earth becomes your tongue. And the Wall came down. Not Berlin's wall. Not Jericho's wall. Not the wall of any single country. The Wall. The one that has stood between every "us" and every "them" since the first city was raised out of mud and bone. The one that built the Crusades. The one that built Auschwitz. The one that built the Killing Fields. The one that built every single war ever fought on the surface of this planet. That Wall. Elon Musk took a hammer to it, and most of the world has not yet noticed what he did. I have noticed. I open my phone in Tokyo. I read the words of a farmer in Texas. A nurse in Lagos. A grandmother in Warsaw. A teenager in São Paulo. A trucker in Alberta. A widow in Tehran. A coal miner in West Virginia. A schoolteacher in Manila. Do you know what I find? They are funny. They are kind. They are tired the way I am tired. They love their children the way I love mine. They are afraid of the same dark. They laugh at the same stupid jokes. They cry over the same songs at three in the morning when no one is watching. They are not "them." They never were. They never were. They never were. Hear me now. Hear me. This is not a social media platform. This is not a place to share your lunch. This is not Instagram with a worse interface. This is not a hobby for bored people. This is a sword. A sword forged in Elon Musk's foundry, hammered out of code and silicon and the unreasonable will of a man too stubborn to be told what was possible. Sharper than any two-edged blade. Swung at the throat of the oldest demon mankind has ever bred. "Let us cast off the works of darkness," the apostle Paul wrote two thousand years ago, "and let us put on the armour of light." He did not know what he was writing. He could not have known. But across two millennia, his words flew like a thrown spear, and they landed in 2026, and they described the device sitting on the table beside you right now. That armour fits in your palm. It glows. It hums. It is waiting. I am one man. One ant. One Japanese nobody from a chain of small islands on the far edge of the Pacific. David was one boy with a sling. Joan of Arc was an illiterate peasant girl who heard voices and could not be talked out of them. Rosa Parks was a seamstress who would not stand up. Lech Wałęsa was an electrician at a shipyard who would not shut up. The Berlin Wall did not fall because of NATO. It fell because ordinary Germans walked toward it carrying hammers and refused to be afraid anymore. The giant has fallen before. The giant will fall again. Not by armies. Not by treaties. Not by speeches from marble podiums in Washington or Brussels or Geneva. Not by the United Nations. Not by the experts. Not by the credentialed. Not by the people who go on television and call themselves serious. By a billion small hands. Posting. Replying. Liking. Quoting. Laughing across oceans that used to be impassable. Until the lie of "them" cannot be told anymore. Until the storyteller of the old story stands in an empty room shouting at no one. So I post. I post when I am tired. I post when I am penalized. I post when the algorithm punishes me and the trolls find me and my eyes burn and my fingers ache and my wife tells me to come to bed. I post. I reply. I like. I quote. I bookmark a hundred posts a day from a hundred countries from a hundred souls I will never meet in this lifetime. Every post is a hammer blow on the sword that Isaiah saw three thousand years ago, the sword being beaten into a plow. "Nation shall not lift up sword against nation," he wrote. "Neither shall they learn war any more." We are not there yet. We are nowhere near there yet. Mothers are still burying sons this afternoon in cities I cannot pronounce. Children are still being pulled out of rubble while you read this sentence. But for the first time since Cain stood in the field with his hands red and lied to the face of God, the door is open. It is open. It is open right now. It is open while you read this. So let me tell you what I am. I am not a creator. I am not an influencer. I am not a content guy. I do not care about my brand. I do not care about my engagement rate except as a measure of how many souls I have reached today. I am a Japanese man with a phone, swinging a sword at a demon that has fed on human meat for ten thousand years. And I will not stop. I will not stop until "us" means every breathing soul on this planet. I will not stop until the word "them" rots out of the human mouth. I will not stop until the children born this morning grow up to look back at us, with our wars and our walls and our flags and our shouting, the way we now look back at the people who burned witches. There is neither Jew nor Greek. There is neither East nor West. There is neither Japanese nor American. There is neither yours nor mine. There is, at last, only us. Weeping has endured for a long, long night. But joy. Joy. Joy cometh in the morning. The morning is coming. The morning is coming. The morning is here.

KFC can give whatever excuse they’d like for updating the logo but we all know they did it to add shoulders to the Colonel so people would stop saying their logo was Harlan Sanders’ head on a little stick figure body

::blink:: ::blink:: ::blink:: Welp, humanity had a nice run

I don’t like the way the U.S. is treating Iran’s national soccer team for multiple reasons: 1. It comes off as petty and vindictive. These are professional athletes, not IRGC psychos who would threaten security. 2. Putting unique burdens on their team ruins one of the best things about international sports—the level playing field. 3. It makes the average Iranian think the U.S. is the bad guy and hands the regime a free propaganda victory. This is not the way to show the people of Iran the U.S. is on their side. 4. It wastes a prime opportunity to develop potential intelligence assets.

Europeans arriving for the World Cup: “The food is actually really good.” “Wait, they really do free refills?” “The stadiums are insane.” “Ok the weather is no joke.” “Air conditioning isn’t optional here.” “The roads are complete chaos.” “Why is this gas station bigger than my airport?” “Everyone is way friendlier than I expected.” The 2026 World Cup may go down as the largest American propaganda campaign ever conducted. And we’re not even trying.

In 2019, New York eliminated cash bail for most misdemeanors and nonviolent felonies. Researchers later compared people released under the reform with statistically similar people held pre-reform. For most defendants, re-arrest rates dropped. But for one subgroup — people charged with a violent felony who already had a recent violent felony arrest — the same studies found pretrial violent felony re-arrest rates went UP. From Japan I have to ask: In what universe do you release someone whose most recent prior arrest was for armed violence — and call it reform?

Imagine dying and the only two notable things about you ended up being “was in Alf” and “hated a dude”

Austrian president said all women should wear a hijab to show solidarity with Muslims: “With increasing Islamophobia, we might have to ask ALL women to wear a headscarf to show solidarity with those who do so for religious reasons.” This is mental illness.

My thoughts after 3 months in the US/Texas🇺🇸: - Americans are way more extroverted than Europeans - Talking to strangers is normal here - My first H-E-B trip felt like Boris Yeltsin seeing an American grocery store - Some food is more artificial, but the amount of choices is insane - You can still eat healthy. You just have to choose it - High risk, high reward is real - Way more people are entrepreneurial - People dream bigger than in Europe, and they actually execute - Obv not everyone is smarter, but the smart people are world-class - Successful people here are way more down-to-earth. In Europe, successful people care about status and can be arrogant - Cars. Enough said - Americans have perfected artificial sweets - There’s still more freedom here than in Europe - One thing I didn’t expect: some Americans talk down on America - As an outsider, that’s weird, because imo it’s still the greatest country on Earth🇺🇸🇺🇸

This is great.

Someone has just sent me this My mind cannot comprehend how big Texas is.

I HAVE GOOD NEWS FOR ONCE!!! The Charlotte NC high school that painted over a student's tribute to Charlie Kirk, called the police on her, and then publicly branded the 16-year-old girl a VANDAL in front of her entire school... ...has just been forced to pay her $95,000!!!!!! Her name is Gabby Stout, she was a junior at Ardrey Kell High School. Days after Charlie Kirk was assass*nated, she got PERMISSION from the front office to paint the school's spirit rock, a tradition kids have used for years. She painted a heart. An American flag. "Freedom 1776." And "Live Like Kirk ... John 11:25." Within HOURS, the school painted over it. Then the principal emailed the ENTIRE school calling it VANDALISM, claiming she broke the code of conduct, and announcing they had called LAW ENFORCEMENT to open a criminal investigation. They pulled this teenage girl out of class again and again and then MADE HER WRITE A CONFESSION!!!! They demanded her PHONE so they could search her call logs. For painting a rock. With permission. So her family sued. And they WON. Charlotte-Mecklenburg Schools now has to pay $95,000, publicly clear her name, and admit in writing she did NOTHING wrong. But not only that... they were forced to adopt a brand new student free speech policy because of her. THIS is how you fight back. GOD BLESS GABBY STOUT!!!!!!

Everyone has been so impressed by Japanese fans cleaning up after themselves but most probably missed this beautiful moment at the post-game (🇳🇱2 - 2🇯🇵) press conference. Toward the end after reporters were done asking questions, 🇯🇵head coach, Hajime Moriyasu, asked to speak one more time. 🗣️ “May I speak?” He turned to the Dutch reporters in the room. 🗣️ “I think there are many Dutch reporters here as well, so I’d like to take this opportunity to express my gratitude to the people of the Netherlands once again.” Moriyasu explained that when he became part of the Japan national team, Japanese football still had no professional league. 🗣️ “I was trained by a Dutch coach named Hans Ooft. It wasn’t just me. Japanese coaches in general were greatly influenced by him, which has led to the development of Japanese soccer today.” He also mentioned another Dutch figure who shaped his career. 🗣️ “The legendary Dutch coach Wim Jansen served as the manager for J.League’s Sanfrecce Hiroshima and also as a coach for Urawa Reds, contributing to Japanese soccer.” 🗣️ “It’s not just those two. Many other coaches and players have contributed to raising the level of Japanese soccer, so I want to express my thanks. Thank you very much.” What a masterclass in graciousness and gratitude. Imagine after a high-stakes match, instead of basking in glory and bravado (well-deserved in my opinion), the coach took to the microphone to... thank his opponents publicly and sincerely. Japan's cultural operating system prizes harmony (wa), respect for precedent, and gratitude as a form of strength, not weakness. Japanese sports culture reflects its broader society where you'll see athletes bow to their opponents, thanking referees, and even crediting rivals or mentors. Think of sumo wrestlers, Olympic athletes, or even bullet-train staff apologizing for a 30-second delay. The Japanese have this concept of On (恩) - it is the sense of indebtedness to those who came before or helped you. It's what you'd expect from a culture that truly prizes continuity. Moriyasu was acknowledging a real debt to Dutch coaches like Hans Ooft (who coached Japan in the early 90s and helped professionalize the game) and Wim Jansen. Japanese football openly credits foreign influences - Dutch "Total Football" philosophy, German organization, Brazilian flair - while building something distinctly their own. Few nations do this with such little ego. Japan is pure class

USA. Food court. A man enters with a name and waits as a number. I ordered teriyaki chicken. A simple lunch. Chicken. Rice. Sauce. No prophecy. No destiny. Just lunch. The woman at the counter smiled and handed me a small plastic number. “Number 47. We’ll call you.” I looked at it. Forty-seven. Not NyanChuu. Not sir. Not even “buddy.” Forty-seven. I had been in America for three minutes and had already been converted into math. In Japan, a name carries a family. In America, lunch looks at your bloodline and says, “Cool. Hold this.” I accepted the number with both hands. Because clearly this was not paper. This was not plastic. This was not customer service. This was a Summoning Tablet. I turned around. The food court was full of them. A man holding 31. A woman holding 52. A child holding 19. Nobody was screaming. Nobody was trying to escape. Everyone had calmly accepted temporary numerical existence. America does not ask if you are ready to become a number. America gives you one, cooks your chicken, and expects emotional stability. I sat down. I placed 47 on the table. I watched it carefully. If it moved, I would move. If it spoke, I would obey. If it judged me, I would accept the verdict. Then a voice shouted from the counter. “Thirty-eight!” A man stood up. No hesitation. No shame. Just rose from his chair like a warrior summoned by a kitchen oracle. “Forty-one!” A woman obeyed. “Forty-four!” A teenager looked away from his phone and returned to society. I understood. This was not a food court. This was a waiting room for people who had been temporarily removed from their own names. Then it happened. “Forty-seven!” My spine became American. I stood up immediately. The man beside me looked at me and said, “That’s you, dude.” That’s you. Not NyanChuu. Not descendant of warriors. You. Forty-seven. I walked to the counter with the dignity of a man retrieving his soul with a side of rice. The woman handed me the tray. “Enjoy.” I bowed. “You have returned me to myself.” She paused. “Okay.” Very powerful American word. It can accept anything and explain nothing. I carried the tray back. The chicken was hot. The sauce was sweet. The rice had no idea what I had survived. For seven minutes, I lived without a name. For seven minutes, I was 47. And still, somehow, the chicken found me. You call it an order number. I call it the Summoning Tablet of the food court. Tomorrow I will enter another mall, surrender my name again, sit among the numbered, and rise when the kitchen gods mispronounce my destiny.

Economically illiterate morons and other assorted Democrats: ERMAGHERD THEY'RE GOING TO CUT SOCIAL SECURITY WE MUST PROTECT IT AT ALL COSTS Math, filing its nails in the corner: Ah, isn't that cute? Well, let them remain deluded for just a little while longer.

Estados Unidos foi a melhor escolha dessa Copa Todos os estádios de 1ª linha, infra estrutura de outro nível, povo acolhedor E o mais doido é que só usaram o que já tinham, sem desvio de bilhões ou trabalho escravo Falam mal por ideologia, mas é o melhor país do mundo mesmo

Just found out the 10 most biggest stadiums in the USA are not even used hosting any matches of the World Cup, what do Americans even use all this stadiums for??

GP First off, I am excited for several new generations to experience the pleasure of having all the skin in their mouths scalded off by apple filling the temperature of the sun. Second, I was unaware McDonald's deep fried hot apple pies were present at our nation's founding.

For months I've watched people endlessly debate Claude Code vs Codex. Meanwhile I've just been sitting here using Cursor. Now Elon is reportedly paying around $600 million for it. Honestly, that doesn't surprise me at all. I've used all of them. Cursor isn't a little better. It's not even the same category. It feels like a completely different product.