“Melania” is devoid of baby pictures, family mementos—any archival materials that typically serve to humanize a distant subject. “She is a woman without a past, effacing biography just as her husband erases national history,” Lauren Collins writes. newyorkermag.visitlink.me/mB3ZpB
Luis Guzmán smiles and points to his temple while wearing a chef coat in the film "Waiting" as a text above and below the image reads "Can somebody please remind Trump that he's the president of Puerto Rico"
🇺🇸😉🇵🇷 #badbunny #puertorico #puertoricansareamericans
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Can we just rename The Northern Mariana Islands "Greenland" and tell Trump we already have it? He won't know the difference.
When we were kids those arcades were dark. They let us focus and forget about the outside world. These days everything looks like a cafeteria at a dentists convention. 💡💡💡💡
Really wish I could go, but tickets are well over $600 and as high as $1700 on stubhub. How is this even possible?
He's already made several speeches invoking the same tones of the Bible in treating immigrants as we would treat ourselves.
Anyone calling themselves Christian while mistreating or applauding the mistreatment of immigrants is a hypocrite and entirely unchristian.
I'm was born and raised in Berkeley, California.
That anyone would give your town the moniker of a country,
in my opinion is high praise. The very idea that taking care of your fellow citizens is somehow deeply socialist is ridiculous.
All anybody wants is to live. Mamdani saw this. Can you?
In Dante's Inferno
The Third Level of Hell
Is the online menu
Of Taco Bell 🔔
Thousands of illegals literally bum rush Vatican City all the time.
It's called a pilgrimage.
Hiptang! It's a Merry Christmas indeed! ❤️🎄❤️
@grockallschmidt.bsky.social Merry Christmas Georg!🎄
No 12 days of Xmas this year?
Today is NO KINGS day, in which millions of people gather against right wing extremism and fascists in government, who'd attempt to run democracy and the last vestiges of freedom into the ground.
In a related story, King Charles was seen crying as he questioned his own existence like a little bitch.
This slop ain't cool.
Happy Birthday Me.
And so it was that on this, the very first day of the very last year of his second youth, he would ride into the capital city of his heart and plant a flag in his own right; declaring that from here onward and for all time, each and every birthday would be happy.
He'd seen this world of theirs before in a dream; the glassy grey eyed monsters would scream at the children and hush them in anger.
His world had traps for the trickery of false wisdom and the nonsense of fear. His world had a leader who celebrated naiveté and the childlike optimism of promised tomorrows.
He'd seen this world of theirs before in a dream; the glassy grey eyed monsters would scream at the children and hush them in anger.
His world had shadows, but they were playful. His world had uncertainty, but it was exciting. He laid there in his bed at midnight, counting his breaths to the precipice of hyperventilation, and so he'd stand and pace and count the steps till his feet and mind throbbed with ache.
The children would hide from the sun and the moon and the stars became stories the others would say were just lies. But he knew better.
He'd seen this world of theirs before in a dream; the glassy grey eyed monsters would scream at the children and hush them in anger.
Not of self discovery, it'd been years since he'd found himself; ready to besiege their world of fear, and of greed and the shadowy pestilence of uncertainty with his own.
And so it was that on the twenty-eighth of August, in the twenty-fifth year of the twenty-first century, our hero would go on a journey.
Sometime between the fall of 1963 and the late summer of 1964, the actor and photographer Dennis Hopper stopped at an intersection in L.A., took out his Nikon, and made history.
For a moment, I reconciled with my collective life and settled with death.
"Well, it's been a pretty good run. I could run to the basement, but do I really want to get up out of bed? Do I risk my neighbors seeing my sprinting by in my underwear, shouting about the possibility of imminent death?"
This morning I was awoken by the sound of a plane flying quite low; it's jet engines practically shook the window and I slightly drew back the shade to reveal an excruciatingly bright day which mimicked my ideals of what an atomic bomb would look like from afar.
