Wordpro Prof @WordProProf

If this was 1776, John Thune and the rest of the Washington grifters would be chased out of the halls of Congress straight into the Potomac River by patriotic men with bayonets and pitchforks. This level of treason would never have been tolerated.

You know that if Trump doesn't take things all the way and have all the bad actors rounded up to face trial for their seditious/treasonous undertakings, they're going to legit crucify him, his family, friends, and supporters were they ever to wrest back control of the US. Do you honestly think the President isn't aware of this? Logic, therefore, dictates what will happen because it can't NOT happen.

THIS KID WENT FROM POTHEAD TO SAVING HIS WHOLE SCHOOL ✝️ Abraham Aguilar was a rebellious senior at Palmdale High. Troubled home, marijuana, the whole mess. His mom forced him to church or get out. He sat in the back row hating every minute. Then the preaching hit him. A men's discipleship seminar. God said it's now or never. He surrendered right there at the altar. Next thing you know this former backslider is preaching in the lunch line, hallways, even to the janitors. Starts a small Bible study. By the end of senior year 895 students gave their lives to Christ. One obedient kid changed everything. This is what real transformation looks like. No programs. No government money. Just one heart on fire for God. When are we gonna stop pretending the answer isn't Jesus? 🙏

Walk into the cave at Lascaux. The paintings are around seventeen thousand years old, made by people with no writing, no agriculture, and no opinions about cholesterol. Look at what they painted. Aurochs, the enormous wild cattle that stood taller at the shoulder than a man. Horses. Bison. Deer. Great heavy-bodied animals laid down in ochre and charcoal across the ceiling by people lying on their backs in the dark, holding a light up with one hand and painting with the other, because this mattered to them more than comfort did. Now count the paintings of grain. Count the lovingly rendered root vegetables. The heroic turnip. The sacred bowl of lentils. You will be counting for some time. The people of Lascaux painted what they revered, and what they revered was the animal. The animal was food, clothing, tools, sinew, fat, marrow, and the difference between surviving the winter and not. They did not paint a balanced plate. They painted the thing that kept them alive, over and over, for generations, in the most important room they had. Seventeen thousand years later their descendants would be told that the animal was the problem, and that the road to health ran through the field of grain the cave painters never once thought worth drawing. The oldest art we have is a menu. It is not a subtle one.

As I explained in my summation speech on the SAVE America Act during tonight’s vote-a-rama, when we fail to stop noncitizens from voting, we deprive U.S. citizens of their sacred right to vote. Enough delay. Enough distraction. Enough excuses. Pass the SAVE America Act.

Check this out if you have kids!

Rodney Smith Jr @iamrodneysmith

22 hours ago

Summer break is just around the corner, and excitement is building for our 50 Yard Challenge! This unique opportunity allows kids to step up and make a real difference in their communities. By signing up, your child will embark on a journey starting with a white shirt, tasked

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I believe all lives matter. However… What was done to Iryna Zarutska was beyond heartbreaking. Afterwards, the savage who stabbed her said “I got that white bitch.” Also, while she was bleeding out, the people around her did nothing. What was done to Henry Nowak was legitimate injustice. The cops were way more afraid to be seen as racist than they were to enforce the law. Besides, wearing this shirt would piss off the right people, so I think it’s funny. Reason I don’t wear a Black Lives Matter shirt is because no one wearing that shirt would give a rat’s ass if my black conservatarian ass died. Speaks to a larger problem than just “black lives.”

🚨 OMG. Secretary Bessent just BRUTALLY EMBARRASSED this RUDE Democrat congressman LARSON (D): Are you in favor of eliminating the gas tax?! BESSENT: We have moved to— LARSON: —Are you IN FAVOR of ELIMINATING the gas tax?! Answer! BESSENT: Well if I'm NOT INTERRUPTED I CAN! LARSON: I'm waiting for your answer! BESSENT: We ASKED CONGRESS to eliminate the gas tax. That's done through statute. *Pause* LARSON: ...you moved that? You're in favor of eliminating the gas tax? BESSENT: We have ASKED for that. LARSON: You're in favor to eliminate the gas tax? BESSENT: AGAIN, the White House ASKED for it. LARSON: They have?! Why isn't it before the committee for a vote? BESSENT: I don't run the agenda. 😂💀 Clueless dolt!

In America, a stranger will say "love you" and then hang up. The first time, it was a woman at the pharmacy. She finished a call, said "okay, love you, bye," and put her phone away. She did not say it to me. But I heard it. A vow spoken aloud in my presence is a vow I have witnessed. And a witness carries a duty. I asked her who she had pledged her life to. "Oh, that was just my mom." Just her mom. She swears the deepest oath a human can swear, between buying vitamins, and calls it nothing. I went home shaken. Then it began happening to me. The man who fixed my sink said it leaving. The baker said it closing up. A boy bagging groceries said "love you guys" to the entire line. The entire line. I now carry their love. All of it. I keep a list. Everyone who has said those words within my hearing is someone I am bound to. The list no longer fits on one page. I am, by my own count, the most loved man in America. None of them know it. I do not say it back carelessly. When I say it, I mean it across my whole remaining life, in this world and the next. So I have said it only once. To a cashier. She said "love you, bye." I set down my bag, looked at her with my whole heart, and said, "And I, you. Always." She laughed. "Aww, you're sweet." She has already forgotten my face. That is alright. A vow does not require the other person to remember it. So now I stand near the doors. I wait. And every single day, without fail, a stranger hands me their heart on the way out, means it for exactly one second, and that one second is mine to keep forever. I have never been this rich. I came to this country with a sword and an empty heart. I am leaving with neither the sword, nor any room left. Was it alright, America, that I kept all of it?

🧵🚨 MAJOR BREAKING: A $15+ MILLION DOE contractor and NoKings protest organizer with active nuclear security contracts is on camera recommending a color revolution "how-to" 🚨🚨 His name is Steven A. Cash. Former CIA officer (Balkans, Clinton era). Under Biden: Senior Advisor to the Undersecretary at DHS Intelligence & Analysis. The day after Trump's 2016 election, Cash co-founded "The Steady State" — a network of more than 340 former intelligence community officials who decided Trump was an "existential threat". When Biden won, the threat was gone. Cash went into Biden's DHS. His own words: "we disappeared." Then Trump won again. "Suddenly the existential threat was back." The Steady State reactivated and is now a planning partner with NoKings. In the clip below, their meeting recommends "Bringing Down a Dictator" — the Otpor documentary about toppling Milošević — as "a how-to." Meanwhile, Cash's company Deck Prism LLC holds $15+ million in Department of Energy contracts. Almost every one: sole-source or non-competed. One is for the National Nuclear Security Administration — our nuclear weapons program — justified because "disclosure would compromise national security." His FEC records: 20+ donations over 20 years. 100% Democratic. Zero Republican. Including $1,001 to Kamala Harris on August 4, 2024, while his NNSA nuclear contract was active. I have the USAspending receipts, the FEC filings, and him on camera twice. As always, patience as I pull together the thread. 👇

Yes! I know this firsthand. Disgusting. We are turned around. We MUST be America First! 🇺🇸

Commentary 🇺🇸 Tom Homan @HomanNews

20 hours ago

💥 KABOOM 💥🚨 Marco Rubio just said something that’s blowing up online. He pointed to Americans who worked their entire lives, only to retire on $800–$1,000 a month in Social Security. Then compared it to claims that some new arrivals receive higher monthly benefits. Read

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Y’all gather on in here now. Up here in these Appalachian mountains, there’s an old sayin' that don’t make much sense till life knocks you low enough to understand it. “They got better to die.” Now that sounds backward, don’t it? But mountain folks know exactly what it means. It means somebody’s been lying sick for a long spell. Maybe they ain’t ate much. Maybe they ain’t talked much. Maybe the family has been sitting beside the bed, listening to every breath like it might be the last one. Then one morning, they wake up different. Their eyes look clearer. They ask for a bite of soup beans or a little cornbread crumbled in milk. They know everybody in the room. They smile. They might even laugh and say, “I believe I’m feelin’ some better today.” And for just a little while, hope walks back through that door. The family starts whispering in the kitchen. “Maybe they’re turnin’ a corner.” “Maybe the Lord ain’t ready yet.” “Maybe we got a little more time.” But the old ones sittin' quiet in the corner know. They’ve seen it before. They don’t say much, because some truths are too tender to speak out loud. They just nod slow and say, “Well, they may have got better to die.” It ain’t cruel. It ain’t givin' up. It’s mountain wisdom, born from years of watchin' life and death sit side by side in little houses tucked between ridges. Sometimes, before a soul leaves this world, God gives them one last good day. One last clear word. One last smile. One last squeeze of the hand. One last chance for the family to say what needs sayin'. I’ve heard old folks tell it like a lamp flaring bright right before the oil runs out. And maybe that’s exactly what it is. A little mercy. A little goodbye. A little window cracked open between here and glory. So when mountain people say, “They got better to die,” they don’t mean it cold. They mean love showed up for one more visit. They mean the Lord gave the family one more memory to hold on to. They mean that poor tired body had one last spark before the soul went home. And if you’ve ever sat beside a bed and watched somebody you love get peaceful all at once, you know. Sometimes better don’t mean staying. Sometimes better means they’re almost home. ~banjo~

Let’s help this young philanthropist doing great work, and make this happen for the youth in his nonprofit. Now the White House Lawn! @realDonaldTrump @DonaldJTrumpJr @WhiteHouse @PressSec

Rodney Smith Jr @iamrodneysmith

a day ago

Dear @WhiteHouse, my name is Rodney Smith Jr., founder of Raising Men & Women Lawn Care Service in Huntsville, Alabama. Through our 50 Yard Challenge, over 6,000 kids across the country have signed up to mow free lawns for the elderly, disabled, veterans, active-duty military,

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Looking at small things in life either Eastern wisdom. Interesting outlook. I like this.

NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依 @japan_nobunaga

2 days ago

In America, a stranger will rename you in a single breath, and you are simply expected to come when called. I went to eat at a busy restaurant. A young man at the front asked for my name, to mark my place in line. I gave it the weight it has carried for eight hundred years.

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USA. A backyard. One man guarding a grill for four hours. He never left it once. Everyone else drifted and drank and laughed. But one man stood alone before the flames, turning meat with a long fork, immovable. I knew him at once. The keeper of the sacred fire. I took my place beside him and said nothing. After a while, he spoke. "Low and slow," he said, eyes on the coals. "You can't rush it. Rush it, you ruin it." I bowed my head. A blade, a tea, a life. None can be rushed. I had crossed four thousand miles to hear my grandfather's words from a man in a "KISS THE COOK" apron. "Everything worth doing is slow," I agreed. He glanced at me. Something passed between us. "My wife says just use the oven." He shook his head at the fire. "She doesn't get it." "They never do," I said. And this is where it turned. For the first time in years, this man had been understood. And he rose to meet it. His back straightened. His voice dropped low. A teenager reached for the grill and the man lifted one hand without even looking. "Not yet." The boy retreated. He was becoming what I already believed him to be. A woman asked when the food would be done. "It's ready when it's ready," he told the flames. Three people approached. Three were turned away with a single word. By the fourth hour, no one questioned him. The whole party had arranged itself around the man and his fire, the way a village arranges itself around a shrine. Then he handed me the fork. "Watch it a sec. I gotta pee." I have been trusted with castles. I have never been more honored. He served everyone before himself, and ate last, standing, still watching the coals. We never traded names. We did not need to. He believed he had finally met a man who took his cooking seriously. I believed I had finally met America's last samurai. Neither of us will ever correct the other. So tell me, America. Who is the man at your gathering who will not leave the grill? Have you ever once asked him why? I think he is still standing there. Guarding the fire. Waiting for one person to understand.

USA. Summer. It is 95 degrees outside, and I am shivering inside a sandwich shop. I have discovered how Americans forge strong souls. Outside, the sun is trying to kill everyone. Inside this small restaurant, it is winter. My breath does not fog, but it is thinking about it. A man near me is eating a cold sandwich while wearing a jacket. In summer. Indoors. In Japan we would simply turn it down. Americans do not turn it down. And now I understand them better than they understand themselves. This cold is not an accident. This cold is a gift. The owner has built, inside his shop, a second season. He invites you in from the brutal heat and hands you the one thing the sun has denied you all day: a reason to be cold. To endure it is to be tempered. You walk in soft and sweating. You walk out sharp and clear, a slightly stronger person than you were. So I did not complain. I removed my outer layer and offered it to the woman at the next table, who was hugging herself. She said, "Oh, no, I'm fine, thank you." She was not fine. Her lips were blue. But she, too, understood the training. She would not break first. I respected her deeply. The owner asked if everything was okay. "It is perfect," I said, through my teeth, which were chattering. "Thank you for the winter." He said, "...I can turn the AC down if you want?" I told him no. A man does not ask the mountain to be shorter. I stayed two hours. I ordered a hot coffee to survive. Then a second one, to hold. By the end I could no longer feel my hands, but my spirit had never been clearer. So now, on the hottest days, I seek out the coldest rooms. I sit. I shiver. I sharpen. And when I finally step back out into the summer heat, and it wraps around me like a warm bath, I feel it. Reborn. A man who has survived the winter, in August, indoors, for the price of a sandwich.

Too funny!

Politi_Rican 🇵🇷 𝕏 🇺🇸 @TheRicanMemes

18 hours ago

Live look at President Trump filling the Lincoln memorial reflecting pool 🚿 😂😭

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Soooooo disappointing that our Hoosier senators helped block their own party’s president. From @SenToddYoung but not @SenJimBanks

Dan Hill @dandinohill

20 hours ago

The list of Geniuses (RINOs) who thought blocking their own Republican president from getting recess appointments was a good idea. And dumb enough to think we wouldn't notice it.

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I watched my wife push three human beings out of her body like it was an Olympic event. One labor lasted over 18 HOURS. EIGHTEEN. She wasn’t sipping iced lattes, she was white-knuckling through pain that would make a Navy SEAL tap out and ask for his mommy. And that’s just the delivery part. Now she runs a full-contact combat zone at home: chasing a toddler who doesn't stop singing, teaching a 10-year-old multiplication and division, and feeding an 8-month-old who thinks sleep is optional. She does all that on repeat, every single day, while somehow keeping the rest of us alive and mostly sane. And what recognition does the calendar give her and many other rockstar moms around country? One measly day. Mother’s Day. Fathers? We show up, provide, protect, and kill the spider the size of a small dog. One day. Father’s Day. Veterans? The ones who went to war, saw things that broke their bodies and minds, and came home missing pieces? They get one day too. Memorial Day gets a long weekend for the rest of us to grill and forget when we should be remembering, and not stuffing hot dogs down our throats. We honor our fallen heroes for a three-day weekend max. Jesus Christ? One day, even though half the country turns it into a shopping spree with inflatable Santas. Thanksgiving? The one day we’re supposed to shut up, sit down, and actually feel grateful for the roof, the food, and the family? One. Single. Day. But the LGBTQRSTUVWXYZ community? They get an entire MONTH. Thirty glorious days of corporate worship. Every sports team, every Fortune 500 company, every coffee chain, every candy wrapper suddenly explodes in rainbow. Your cereal wants to be an ally. Your gum, your coffee and even your cheeseburger. They’re not just waving it in your face, they’re selling it, branding it, and guilting you into buying it. Why do they get 30 days when mothers who literally created life get 24 hours? Because it’s not about rights anymore. It’s a marketing racket dressed up as compassion. MA tiny percentage of the population gets turned into a cash cow while the rest of us are told to sit down, shut up, and celebrate or else we’re bigots. Why? Because guilt sells. Fear of cancellation prints money. Companies don’t actually care about the community, they care about looking like they care while your wife who birthed three kids gets a $6.99 card from Walgreens and a “happy Mother’s Day” text from corporate HR. Mothers built civilization in the delivery room and the kitchen. Fathers held the line so the rest of it didn’t collapse. Veterans paid for our freedom in blood. Jesus Christ LITERALLY DIED FOR YOU, so you could live forever. And we give them all one day. But a lifestyle marketing campaign gets a month because nothing says “authenticity” like Target turning your toddler’s underwear into a pride parade. Enough. Give mothers the whole damn month. Or veterans. Stop pretending a corporate profit orgy is bravery. Real bravery is pushing a baby out after 18 hours of labor then doing it two more times because you love your family more than your comfort. That’s not a marketing ploy. That’s a legacy.

I'm sitting here at work, staring out a glass window as cars blur by, while my wife takes our kids to the zoo with a bunch of her friends. The laughter, the wonder, the magic of it all…and I'm missing every single second of it. I’m genuinely happy for them. I really am. I remember being a wide-eyed kid myself, packing lunches with my parents and seeing real lions, giraffes, and elephants up close. Those memories still light me up. So yes, I’m thrilled my children get to make their own. But here’s the truth I can’t hide: it hurts. Today is my daughter’s first time at the zoo. And there’s only one first time. I won’t get to hold her hand when she sees her first zebra. I won’t hear her little gasp or watch her eyes go wide with pure amazement. That moment is happening without me. And I’m tired of pretending that it's okay. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it louder now: Life isn’t supposed to be spent trading your most precious years for a paycheck while the people you love most create memories you only hear about later. Life is the sticky fingers after cotton candy. It’s your son’s laugh echoing through the zoo. It’s being there for the tiny, irreplaceable moments that actually matter. I’ve been on the other side of this pain before. For 15 years I dealt cards in a casino, missing holidays, birthdays, and countless bedtime stories with my son. I’d drive home at night knowing I’d traded another family memory for a job. It broke something in me every single time. If you’re reading this and you’ve ever missed a recital, a ball game, a first step, or even just an ordinary Tuesday afternoon with your kids...you know exactly how heavy that ache feels. But here’s what I want you to hear through the sadness... This pain is fuel. Every time my heart aches because I’m not there, it reminds me why I fight so hard. My family is my "why". They’re the reason I create, entertain, motivate, and pour my soul into every post, every video, every message. I want to make you smile. I want to give you goosebumps. I want to inspire you so deeply that you feel tears in your eyes and fire in your chest. Because if my words can move you, maybe they’ll move you to chase your own freedom. To every parent grinding right now...the single moms, the exhausted dads, the dreamers working two jobs just to keep the lights on...I see you. I’m right there with you. And I’m telling you: Don’t you dare give up. The American Dream isn’t dead. It’s just buried under layers of “that’s just how it is.” You were not born to be a slave to a schedule. You were born to build a life where your presence is the greatest gift you give your children. Keep showing up for your family in the hours you do have. Keep learning, creating, investing in yourself. Keep waking up early to work on your escape plan. The system wants you comfortable enough to stay stuck. Your family needs you free. I won’t stop until I can be a full-time creator...until the days I miss are the exception, not the rule. So if you’re feeling stuck today, let this be your reminder: Your sadness is sacred. It means you care deeply. Let it push you. Let it forge you into the version of yourself your family deserves. Never stop dreaming. Never stop fighting. The moments you’re missing right now? One day soon, you’ll be the one creating them. And when that day comes, I’ll be cheering louder than anyone...because I’ll be right there with my own family, living the same victory. We’re in this together 👊🏻