Media is too big
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😆 🤣 😂 😹 fatty with a bum leg gets rekt by riot police.
The cherry was when the cop threw away foos mexican flag.
The cherry was when the cop threw away foos mexican flag.
Media is too big
VIEW IN TELEGRAM
1 American patriot vs 1000 faggots.
"THIS IS THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA! THIS IS NOT OCCUPIED MEXICO"
"THIS IS THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA! THIS IS NOT OCCUPIED MEXICO"
Nation's Fattest, Freest Citizens Declare They Are Living Through a Holocaust in a Monarchy
U.S.A. — Thousands of the most privileged and well-fed people in human history took to the streets this weekend, bravely using their constitutionally protected right to free speech to announce that they have no rights and are being ruled by a king.
The protests, a confusing mix of a Revolutionary War reenactment and an all-you-can-eat buffet, featured a wide array of citizens furious about the fictional monarchy they had just read about on BlueSky.
https://x.com/lamps_apple/status/1934119366582292890?s=19
U.S.A. — Thousands of the most privileged and well-fed people in human history took to the streets this weekend, bravely using their constitutionally protected right to free speech to announce that they have no rights and are being ruled by a king.
The protests, a confusing mix of a Revolutionary War reenactment and an all-you-can-eat buffet, featured a wide array of citizens furious about the fictional monarchy they had just read about on BlueSky.
https://x.com/lamps_apple/status/1934119366582292890?s=19
Yesterday afternoon, the world lost someone who mattered. A man who wasn’t famous to the masses, but he was everything to me. He was my mentor, my rock, my father in every way that truly counts.
I met him back in high school. He was my English teacher, my drama director, the one who cracked my little mind wide open to the power of stories. He handed me The Great Gatsby, Of Mice and Men, and the ancient myths of Greece and Rome. He didn’t just teach literature—he made me feel it, made me fall in love with it.
His stories were legendary. He’d talk about his teenage years, like the time he saw The Doors live before they were even famous. He introduced me to the Beatles, but he didn’t stop there—he took me deep into the roots of music. He passed on the sweet, sweet sounds of Mississippi blues and jazz—Skip James, Fred McDowell—the soul of the Delta that still rings in my bones.
He was classically trained, studied acting at Yale, and did a little TV and film here and there. But to me, he was always my teacher, my compass,my family.
When the world collapsed on that September morning, we sat side by side, watching it happen live on TV. He helped me process the grief and confusion that felt too big to carry alone.
We shared victories, too. Celebrated holidays together with tamales, tequila, and endless stories that I now wish I had written down. His wife—my second mother in so many ways—was right there through it all. They became my unofficial family, my people, my home base when life spun too fast.
He had a style all his own—cool socks, bandanas, chunky rings, and beaded necklaces. The man knew how to live, how to laugh, how to make you feel like you belonged. Every birthday, he sent me the goofiest e-cards that always made me smile.
What I’ll miss most are his stories.
I didn’t write them down.
Now, they just live in my heart.
He taught me to live wide open, to chase joy, to leave nothing on the table.
I loved him with all my heart, and I will miss him deeply.
If you’re reading this, hug your people. Say the thing.
Time isn’t promised. It never was.
Rest easy, my friend. You were one of the greats.
—Rabbit
I met him back in high school. He was my English teacher, my drama director, the one who cracked my little mind wide open to the power of stories. He handed me The Great Gatsby, Of Mice and Men, and the ancient myths of Greece and Rome. He didn’t just teach literature—he made me feel it, made me fall in love with it.
His stories were legendary. He’d talk about his teenage years, like the time he saw The Doors live before they were even famous. He introduced me to the Beatles, but he didn’t stop there—he took me deep into the roots of music. He passed on the sweet, sweet sounds of Mississippi blues and jazz—Skip James, Fred McDowell—the soul of the Delta that still rings in my bones.
He was classically trained, studied acting at Yale, and did a little TV and film here and there. But to me, he was always my teacher, my compass,my family.
When the world collapsed on that September morning, we sat side by side, watching it happen live on TV. He helped me process the grief and confusion that felt too big to carry alone.
We shared victories, too. Celebrated holidays together with tamales, tequila, and endless stories that I now wish I had written down. His wife—my second mother in so many ways—was right there through it all. They became my unofficial family, my people, my home base when life spun too fast.
He had a style all his own—cool socks, bandanas, chunky rings, and beaded necklaces. The man knew how to live, how to laugh, how to make you feel like you belonged. Every birthday, he sent me the goofiest e-cards that always made me smile.
What I’ll miss most are his stories.
I didn’t write them down.
Now, they just live in my heart.
He taught me to live wide open, to chase joy, to leave nothing on the table.
I loved him with all my heart, and I will miss him deeply.
If you’re reading this, hug your people. Say the thing.
Time isn’t promised. It never was.
Rest easy, my friend. You were one of the greats.
—Rabbit