😭 Solidarity.
02.03.2026 03:00
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😭 Solidarity.
... does it fit? 😬
they want to be plantation owners with all the associated privileges of wealth, caste, and free entitlement to the labor and bodies of others
Ah, makes sense! Here's to more malicious creativity 🍻
Interesting! So do you post it with the poison caption, let it get scraped, and then edit the post to put the real caption in?
Ooh, would love to see an example of the poison pills to accomplish this result!
Seems wild if that ends up being it - they were clearly at full takeoff speed by the time the fire was obvious and the only option was to try to get in the air 💔
Wlky just said that number (280k) was actually the lbs of fuel, not the gallons (6ish lbs per gallon), but either way, it was a ton of fuel
Much we don't know yet, but video showed it on fire as it was taking off, so I'd lean towards not ATC
A sky at sunset showing black smoke from the plane crash at SDF
Lyndon a few minutes ago before it got dark
I don't think we know yet, but there is a UPS hub here. But the airport is surrounded by residential areas, too
Pretty sure I'm seeing it from Lyndon
"normies do not care about this thing and so it is no use raising a stink" is imho just an excuse for not doing politics, which is the job of making normies care about something
Well, I got today's on the first try, which was sadly pretty depressing. Otherwise a fun game, though!
Is not your father grown incapable
Of reasonable affairs? Is he not stupid
With age and alt’ring rheums? Can he speak? Hear?
Know man from man?
Little Bosses Everywhere (on audio) by @bridgetgillard.bsky.social
That's what I did! Sliced them up and crisped them up in a pan and tossed with some pasta! Very good!
"'Stay angry, little Meg,' Miss Whatsit whispered. 'You will need all your anger now.'"
The evil that men do lives after them
Boo to the king of filth. The king of putrescence. BOO
“We have guided missiles and misguided men.” - Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is free. (America never was America to me.) Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed— Let it be that great strong land of love Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme That any man be crushed by one above. (It never was America to me.) O, let my land be a land where Liberty Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath, But opportunity is real, and life is free, Equality is in the air we breathe. (There's never been equality for me, Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.") Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? And who are you that draws your veil across the stars? I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart, I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars. I am the red man driven from the land, I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek— And finding only the same old stupid plan Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak. I am the young man, full of strength and hope, Tangled in that ancient endless chain Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land! Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need! Of work the men! Of take the pay! Of owning everything for one's own greed! I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil. I am the worker sold to the machine. I am the Negro, servant to you all. I am the people, humble, hungry, mean— Hungry yet today despite the dream. Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers! I am the man who never got ahead, The poorest worker bartered through the years. Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream In the Old World while still a serf of kings, Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true, That even yet its mighty daring sings In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned That's made America the land it has become. O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas In search of what I meant to be my home— For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore, And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea, And t…
O, let my land be a land where Liberty Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath, But opportunity is real, and life is free, Equality is in the air we breathe. (There's never been equality for me, Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.") Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? And who are you that draws your veil across the stars? I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart, I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars. I am the red man driven from the land, I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek— And finding only the same old stupid plan Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak. I am the young man, full of strength and hope, Tangled in that ancient endless chain Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land! Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need! Of work the men! Of take the pay! Of owning everything for one's own greed! I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil. I am the worker sold to the machine. I am the Negro, servant to you all. I am the people, humble, hungry, mean— Hungry yet today despite the dream. Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers! I am the man who never got ahead, The poorest worker bartered through the years. Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream In the Old World while still a serf of kings, Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true, That even yet its mighty daring sings In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned That's made America the land it has become. O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas In search of what I meant to be my home— For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore, And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea, And torn from Black Africa's strand I came To build a "homeland of the free." The free? Who said the free? Not me? Surely not me? The millions on relief today? The millions shot down when we strike? The millions who have nothing for our pay? For all the dreams we've dreamed And all the songs we've sung And all the hopes we've held And all the flags we've hung, The millions who have …
O, let America be America again— The land that never has been yet— And yet must be—the land where every man is free. The land that's mine—the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME— Who made America, Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain, Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain, Must bring back our mighty dream again. Sure, call me any ugly name you choose— The steel of freedom does not stain. From those who live like leeches on the people's lives, We must take back our land again, America! O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath— America will be! Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death, The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies, We, the people, must redeem The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers. The mountains and the endless plain— All, all the stretch of these great green states— And make America again!
Sometimes I can't believe that Langston Hughes wrote this poem more than ten years before Donald Trump was born.
That's what cardigans are for!
So far, yes - Paducah and Morganfield areas
I'm almost done with this, about our recent supply chain disruption, which will be different than this next supply chain disruption, but was really useful for putting together all the pieces.
How the World Ran Out of Everything by Peter S. Goodman www.audible.com/pd/B0CJ5XTZF...
Oh, great, love Toni. Saved the poncho pattern in Ravelry for reference - thank you!
Ooh, what is the pattern for that scarf? I like that texture!
I recently remembered that hot water bottles are still a thing and now use one to keep my toes warm every night - highly recommend!!
I have tariffed
the penguins
that are on
Heard Island
and which
you were probably
assuming
did not export goods
forgive me
they were taking advantage of us
so cunning
and so cold
Democrats better have a Third Reconstruction vision when the recession hits.