❤️🇺🇸❤️🇺🇸❤️🇺🇸❤️🇺🇸❤️🇺🇸❤️

Stateside, my street. I counted the flags one morning and stopped at eleven, because eleven was every house with a porch. No one ordered this. I have checked. There is no edict, no inspection, no lord collecting banner tax. Eleven households simply decided, at different points in their lives, that their own home should fly the flag of their country. Then they maintained it. Forever. In my land, a banner meant a lord was present, and you adjusted your behavior accordingly. Here, the lord is the idea itself, and the idea apparently lives at every third house. "Who requires this?" I asked Walt, who was replacing his flag with a newer one. "Requires?" He laughed. "Nobody. Old one got faded." "And the faded one? You discard it?" His face changed. It was the face of a man handling armor that has seen battle. "You don't just throw it away. There's a way to retire it. The VFW does it proper." A retirement ceremony. For cloth. I stood corrected and deeply moved at the same time, which in America is a common combination. Walt's flag has a small light aimed at it for nighttime. He installed it himself. "If it's up after dark, it's supposed to be lit," he said. Supposed by whom, I wanted to ask, and then understood: supposed by Walt. The entire system is Walts, all the way down, each one keeping a code no one imposed on him. I confess I went home and stood before my own bare porch for a long time. I am a guest in this country. It is not my banner to raise. But the pole bracket was eight dollars at the hardware store, and the man there said, "Flags? Aisle nine." A banner raised on command says the lord is watching. A banner raised freely says the man is. I bought the bracket. For now, it holds a windsock shaped like a koi. Walt says the koi looks sharp. From Walt, this is a knighting.

Wars don't end with diplomacy. They end with the bad guys in body bags or living our their lives in exile. For decades, the United States has been in a de facto state of war with the Islamic Republic of Iran through their terrorist proxies. From Hezbollah to Hamas to the Houthis, they have waged war and killed hundreds if not thousands of American soldiers while hiding behind others. Now those proxies are shadows of their former selves thanks to the fantastic work from our loyal ally, the State of Israel. The regime in Tehran can no longer rely on others to do its fighting. They are on life support. The Iranian regime doesn’t believe in diplomacy. They believe in and desire supremacy. Supremacy they will never be able to obtain. It's time to rip the bandaid once and for all. No more can kicking. Body bags. Not diplomacy. That's the only way this ends after 47 years.

Why? Just why?

The Scot’s discovered Boston! We threw a World Cup and a frat party broke out. Damn this is fun!❤️😂🔥

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.

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The ice cream man passed away… and every ice cream truck in the city pulled up like it was a final parade. Rest in peace...

Remember Byron is for sale to the highest bidder Never Byron Voterenner.com

Japanese X is my favorite! They are such lovely people. 🥰

Nature is healing. We got two absolute death tanks playing a round of toothy cuffs right in front of the porta-potties like it’s a parking lot UFC fight. One gator, one croc, full WWE main event — jaws locked, rolling around on the asphalt trying to figure out who gets first dibs on the next fat Yankee crying in the shitter. The crow in the background is just refereeing this hate crime like a professional. If you’re from Ohio or New York and think these are just cute forbidden swamp puppies you can pet, please go stick your hand in one’s mouth so natural selection can finally cook. Turns out they were evenly matched. Both walked off like gentlemen once they realized the tourist inside was taking too long. Even lizards got table manners — nobody wants that after a long poop. Florida is not a real place. Stay in your hotel room. 🐊

“NO! COME BACK! LET ME EXPLAIN CORNBREAD!” “WAIT UNTIL YOU TRY GUMBO!” “HAS ANYONE GIVEN THIS MAN PECAN PIE YET?”

For anyone who says our country needs to fundamentally change... Or for anyone who whines about how our country is built on racism, or misogyny, or patriarchy or ________________... I got no time for ya 🇺🇸

I'm still stunned by this. The largest group of voters in RPOF's own poll said they're undecided, and @FloridaGOP 's response is to say we don't need a debate. It's clear that Florida voters are looking for an alternative to Donalds and want to hear from the other candidates.

🙏🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸 Remember their Sacrifice 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🙏

He would be in good company. 😂

💥NEW: @DavidSacks: “Do not deny the evidence of your eyes and ears — even if they call you an election denier. I personally don’t care. I deny it.” “Spencer Pratt should be in the runoff. I deny that Raman won legitimately.”

The only way this ends with the Islamic Republic of Iran is with the IRGC in body bags and the Iranian people taking their country back. Otherwise it's just more kicking the can down the road. Latest on @NEWSMAX!