actually fuck it you know what? bottom

Manager at Buccee’s wearing an Omega Speedmaster

A civilization is a promise between the dead, the living, and the unborn.

On the 6th year of his reign and 80th year of his life, the American Caesar settled a skirmish with the Parthians and hosted a circus maximus on the lawn of his estate. Much rejoicing was had, although consternation was felt among his enemies, wretched dogs that they are ...

new york knicks won the finals Trump won the war with Iran USA is going to win the world cup SPX500 is going to end the year @ 8,000 long markets long degeneracy long America

This is like 200 in Wigger years

Having the euros traverse the southeast is my 250th anniversary. I don't need anything else.

W杯でアメリカ行かれる方へ 宿泊先のホテル近くに Texas Roadhouse があったら即GO‼チェーン系のレストランですけどコスパ最強のステーキが食べられます。 特に Ribeye が最高

USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving. Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free. I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these." "They just come with the table, man." They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner. This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat. I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared. "Did we…?" "Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless." Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined. My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude." Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man. I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy. Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived. I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most. Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.

I’m at the bottom of a multi-layer SPV and am looking forward to the SpaceX IPO in much the same way a golden retriever looks forward to a car ride: - thrilled to be involved - no clue how cars work - unsure if going to the park or getting neutered

Do black people genuinely believe Karmelo Anthony was innocent or are they just pretending? I'm confused.

Brits in England: “This is the worst world cup ever!” Germans driving a Mustang through Georgia with the top down to a game: “🎶AND I’M PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN, WHERE AT LEAST I KNOW I’M FREE!!!🎶”

USA. A house. The garage is full, so the car sleeps in the rain. I walked past an open garage today, and I finally understand Americans. The garage was packed to the ceiling. Boxes. A treadmill. Old chairs. Three bicycles hanging from hooks. Christmas lights in a plastic tub. No room for even one more thing. And the family car? Parked outside. In the driveway. Getting rained on. I stood there, deeply moved. In Japan, we put the car in the garage and the boxes in the house. Americans do the opposite. And now I see why. The garage is the treasure house. Inside it sleep the sacred relics: the bicycle the child outgrew, the chair no one sits in, the lights that shine one week a year. These must be protected at all costs. The car is not a treasure. The car is a warrior. So the car is given the highest honor a warrior can receive. It stands guard at the gate, in the storm, all night, so the treasures stay dry. The owner came out with his coffee. He saw me looking and shook his head. "Yeah, I really gotta clean out that garage," he said. Clean it out? I bowed to him. "You are a good man," I said. "Your car guards your home with its life." He looked at his car. He looked at me. He said, "...thanks?" He has never thought of it that way. But I could tell he liked it. So now every morning I walk past, and I bow to the car in the driveway. It has the hardest job in the family, and it never complains. The owner waves at me now. He thinks we are friends. We are. But mostly, I am here for the car. This morning it was raining again. The car was soaked, still guarding the gate, still faithful. So I gave it my umbrella. I do not need it. I have known harder rain. A warrior on duty should not have to stand in the storm alone.

The only time people notice crypto is when we have our semiannual holocaust event

The temptation in times of collapse is to fixate on the collapse itself and to be consumed by the spectacle of the old order eating itself alive. There is a place for righteous anger at what is being destroyed, but if online outrage is all we produce, we will be the last generation to stand in the wreckage with nothing to show for it. We will have been right about everything and built nothing. But we are not the last generation. We are the founding generation of what comes next. The institutions our enemies built will not save us. They were never going to. The ones we build in the shadow of their collapse just might, but only if we have the faith to lay the first bricks now.

Rite of passage for Germans falling from grace

Bird autism is definitely one of the best forms of autism. What a legend. 👏👏👏

My body is a machine that turns domestic beers and grilled meats into respect for all of those who have served

The knobs on my grill do nothing. But I know the hot and cool spots. Much like the lakota