アメリカの兄弟達 プレゼントありがとうございました！ アメリカン雑貨大好き！！ アメリカ大好き🇺🇸

We shouldn’t have to live like this.

みなさんこんにちは🌎 日本には、道端に野菜が置かれていて、お金を箱に入れて買う「無人販売所」があります。 田舎に行くほど多いです。 驚くことに店員はいなくて、信用で成り立っています。 みんなの国でもこれをやったら成立しそうですか？😂

It truly breaks my heart to say this... Every day now, it feels like another irreplaceable piece of Japan’s ancient heritage — our shrines and temples — is being lost to fire. The causes remain shrouded in mystery, the culprits unidentified in case after case. There have even been devastating tragedies where innocent young children lost their lives in the flames. I’ve also heard that facilities belonging to certain religions never seem to face the same fate. I’m reaching out because I genuinely wonder: how is it in your countries? If anyone has any insights, information, or suggestions that could help shed light on this or protect what remains of our sacred places, it would mean the world to me. Please...

The Boondocks would call it a “nigga moment” not “stand your ground”

"In the coming decades transgender woman will be able to get pregnant? What will be the difference between a trans woman and a woman then?" Huh, guess we don't need women anymore. Another glorious win for the patriarchy.

The White House posted this and then deleted it. What else are they hiding?

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.

White people are starting to be comfortable being called a racist We don't care

"White people are starting to be comfortable being called a racist"

I can’t stop crying. Now a temple in Hokkaido has burned down. Seriously, who did this? I can’t forgive it.

>Be Elon >Get bullied so badly as a kid that you end up in the hospital >Escape into books >Read more than 8hrs a day >Teach yourself programming >Sell a video game at 12 >Leave South Africa >Sleep on couches >Work odd jobs >Get into America >Build a startup >Get fired from your own company >Start over >Build another company >Merge it into PayPal >Get removed as CEO >Your company gets acquired >Walk away with nearly $180 million >Instead of retiring at 31, put almost all of it into three impossible ideas: Electric cars, Solar energy, Rockets >People tell you you're insane >Start a rocket company with no aerospace degree >Learn rocket science from textbooks >First rocket fails >Second rocket fails >Third rocket fails >Divorce >Public humiliation >Cash running out >One launch away from bankruptcy >Launch anyway >The fourth rocket reaches orbit >NASA signs a contract >Survive >Tesla is weeks from collapse >Save it at the last minute >Get mocked for wanting reusable rockets. >Land one. >Then another. >Then dozens. >Turn science fiction into engineering >Get mocked for betting on EVs >Turn electric cars into status symbols >Force the entire auto industry to follow >Build the most valuable car company in history >Launch astronauts into orbit >Create a global satellite internet network. >Buy Twitter >Fire most of the staff >Rename it X >Walk into politics >Risk your reputation >Risk your companies >Risk your fortune >Become one of the most polarising people on Earth. >Get attacked by the media, politicians, competitors, and activists >Keep building anyway >Become a TRILLIONAIRE

アメリカ人よ🇺🇸 チーズ警察は闇の力を手に入れた👿 君達はもう終わりだ👿

Hello from Japan 🇯🇵👋 I have a question for British people 🇬🇧🙋 I read in the news that some people in the UK get visited by police because of social media posts. In Japan, we say many things about politics on X and I've never heard of anyone getting a visit. Is this really happening in Britain? I'm just trying to understand. 🤔

I know that there's been over 100 million posts like this with nothing changing, but maybe 100 million and one will be the magic number. Maybe now all of the conservatives will magically disappear and you'll come to appreciate why even lefties hate being in a lefty echo chamber.

Canadian in 2040: Remember when MAID was voluntary? Other Canadian: Shut the fuck up fascist *steps into the gas chamber*

USA. A stadium parking lot. I came to watch a battle, and found the army feasting three hours before it. Hundreds of tents. Grills. Clan flags flying from trucks. Men in war paint handing food to strangers. I assumed the game had been cancelled and this was the consolation. "When does the battle begin?" I asked a man tending an enormous grill. "Kickoff's at one. We've been here since seven." Seven. In my land, an army eats quietly before war, in case it is the last meal. Here, the meal IS the war. The enemy parking lot is doing the same thing forty yards away. Nobody is fighting. Everyone is grilling. A man handed me a plate. I had not asked. I was not known to him. The plate held more meat than my ancestors saw in a winter. "You with us or them?" he asked. "I am with whoever fed me," I said. It is the oldest law. "Good answer," he said, and gave me more. Then I learned the terrible truth. The man at the grill — the general of this feast — was not going inside. "You will not watch the battle?" "Nah. I'll catch it on the radio. Somebody's gotta watch the grill." He marches to the war. He feeds the army. He does not enter. In eight hundred years of my family's records, there is no rank for this man. There should be. I was full. I was confused. I was, somehow, home. An army that eats together has already won. The game is a detail. When the crowd roared inside the stadium, the grill man nodded once, and flipped a burger. Next week I am bringing my own tent. He said I could park beside him. We are allies now. The terms were ribs.

USA. My neighbor's mailbox has a small red flag, and yesterday I watched him raise it like a banner before battle. I asked what he was declaring. "Outgoing mail," he said. "Flag up means the mailman takes it." I need you to understand what this means, because my neighbor clearly did not. You place your letter in the box. You raise the flag. And a sworn officer of the UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT, seeing your signal, stops at your gate and carries your words anywhere in the nation. The flag is a SUMMONS. Every house on this street has the power to summon the federal government with one finger, and they use it for birthday cards. In Japan, we carry our letters to the post office, humbly, as petitioners. Here, the post office comes to YOU, because you raised a tiny flag. The samurai of my province summoned messengers with seals and lanterns and rank. You people do it with a red stick, while in pajamas. I tested it. Of course I tested it. I wrote to my brother in Japan, placed the letter in the box, raised the flag, and stood watch at the window. Three hours. I made tea. I regret nothing. The carrier arrived. Saw the flag. Stopped. TOOK THE LETTER. Lowered the flag — closing the covenant — and drove on, as if the miracle were a Tuesday, which, to her, it was. It works, America. The signal works. It costs nothing. The republic ANSWERS. A man does not ask the republic to notice him. He raises the flag, and is noticed. My neighbor says I "send a lot of mail now." Correct. I have written to my brother, two museums, and the company that makes my preferred tea, who replied with coupons and kind words. The flag has been up four times this week. A man with a summoning flag and nothing to send will find something worth sending. That is not an excuse. That is a philosophy. The flag is up right now, America. What did I send? Wouldn't YOU like to know. It is dorayaki. For Devin at the drugstore. He will not understand, and he will eat them anyway.

USA. A hibachi restaurant. My American friends brought me here to enjoy the cuisine of my homeland, and I witnessed a ritual I have never seen in eight hundred years of being Japanese. The chef stacked onion rings into a tower. He filled it with oil. And he set it on fire. "THE VOLCANO!" my friends cheered. They knew the ritual. They had seen it many times. In Japan, I have eaten ten thousand meals. No one has ever built me a volcano. I said nothing. A guest does not question the ceremony. "Is this how they do it back home?" my friend asked, glowing with joy. "...The technique is flawless," I said. A samurai may retreat. He may not lie. He may, however, aim the truth very carefully. Then the chef flicked a shrimp through the air at my face. "Catch it!" the table roared. In my land, food is set before you with two hands and an apology for the wait. Here, the shrimp attacks. I caught it. With my mouth. The table erupted. The chef saluted me with his spatula. I have received medals with less pride. "You're a natural," the chef said. "My family has trained for this for generations," I said. It was not technically a lie. We trained. Just not for this. My friends drove me home, full and happy, honored to have shown me my own country. A man does not question the volcano. He catches the shrimp. Whatever this cuisine is, wherever it was truly born — the fire is real, the joy is real, and I caught what was thrown at me. That is Japanese enough.