Lone Skum 🇺🇸 @IntrepidZef

@RandPaul Or just balance the budget right f-ing now. Congress can eat a bag of dicks

@ArynneWexler

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The Constitution unambiguously puts the federal government in charge of national defense. The same can’t be said of federal welfare programs, which now cost six times more than national defense, adding daily to our $40 trillion debt. It’s time for a constitutional reboot.

Peter St Onge, Ph.D. @profstonge

10 hours ago

The welfare state is eating America -- now 6 times bigger than the defense budget. In Rome the political promises outran production. Inflation bought time, at the expense of collapsed production that accelerated the fall.

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A love letter to America’s national parks The national parks make America feel like mine. Not mine in the petty sense of possession. Mine in the strange, almost sacred sense that something can belong to you simply because you belong to it. We live in an age where everything is brought to us. Food arrives at the door. Entertainment plays on demand. The entire accumulated knowledge of civilization sits inside our pockets. The national parks make you go get the thing. The view does not come to you. You climb for it. You drive down some ridiculous road for it. You wake up before sunrise. You lose reception. You wonder halfway up the trail why you thought this was a good idea. Then the view opens. And there it is. Some enormous piece of America that cannot be delivered, streamed, optimized, or felt through a reduced thumbnail. It is one thing to look at the outline of America on a map. It is another to know what Montana smells like after rain. To feel how cold an alpine lake is when you first put your hand into it or to hear the waterfall before you see it. To wipe the orange dust of Utah off your face. To hear the silence of the caves hundreds of feet below the earth’s surface in Kentucky. To learn that distance in the dunes of Colorado is deceptive. To watch the last light turn a mountain pink in Texas. To see a bison standing in the middle of the road and remember, suddenly, that this continent was once unimaginably wild. Every park reveals another personality of the same country. Yet somehow, no matter how different the landscape, there is a familiarity waiting inside the unfamiliar. You drive hundreds of miles into a place you have never been. You see the sign warning LAST GAS. Civilization thins out behind you. The road stretches ahead into mountains or desert or badlands, and for a moment you feel very far away from everything you know. And then, almost like a mirage, you see it. The brown national park service sign. A little further down the road is the entrance station. And there, beneath that familiar wooden roof, is a park ranger topped with their unmistakable hat. Waiting for you. As if they were expecting you. This arrival stirs something in me. Because no matter how far I have driven, no matter how strange the landscape outside my windshield, no matter how long it has been since I saw another town, there is something instantly reassuring about it. I know this place. Not this place. I have never been here before. But this place. And even though it is a trail I have never walked before, somehow, I am home. See, you think you know America. But that is just the thing about the national parks: they make America mysterious again. You realize how much of your own country has been hiding from you. You understand that to access some of her best parts, you still have to work for it. You have to earn it. We spend so much time talking about America as if it is something we have already figured out. We quickly reduce it to politics and demographics. Red states and blue states. Coastal elites and flyover country. And then you stand on the edge of Yosemite Valley and the arguments become very small. Not unimportant. Just small. These places were here before our political parties. These rivers crossed the continent before our borders. These forests grew and burned and grew again before anyone had invented any of the words we now hurl at each other. And somehow, through an extraordinary act of national foresight, we decided that some of the most beautiful places among them should not belong to a king, or a corporation, or the person rich enough to buy the view. They belong to Americans. Perhaps this is why I have started thinking that hiking, climbing, rappelling, slogging, spelunking, sand surfing, snow shoeing, and paddle boarding through these parks as a kind of claiming. Not claiming the land. Claiming my relationship to it. Every trail walked makes the map a little less abstract. You stop saying “Somewhere out West” because now you know exactly what that particular stretch of America looks like at dusk. You begin collecting the country. The smell of pine. The crisp breeze of the altitude. The sound of boots on loose dirt. A bear spray canister bouncing against your backpack. The circle on your map drawn for you by a ranger. The first glimpse of snow on a distant peak in August. The simple sandwich that tastes better than a Michelin star dinner because you carried it miles up above the treeline. These are the small things. But love of country is built from small things. Patriotism can be grand. It should be. Flags and anthems and fireworks have their place. But there is another, quieter kind of patriotism. It is knowing the place. These parks are ours. Not because we conquered them (which we did). But because, at our best, we had the wisdom to leave them alone. There is another gift these places give us. They are the evidence we didn’t know we needed for ourselves. There are versions of ourselves we can only meet when we go far enough from the familiar – selves that are waiting somewhere in the silence, the altitude, the exhaustion, the danger, the enormity of it all. And once you know that person, you want to know them again. I found parts of myself I didn’t know existed on mountains I didn’t know I could climb. She was stronger, more comfortable in the uncomfortable than I could have predicted. Now, when I stand in front of something daunting and new, I no longer wonder whether I am the kind of person who can do it. I know that I am. I have met this version of myself on too many mountaintops to doubt her anymore. Ah, the national parks. Of course, the goal is to explore them all. And there is something deeply satisfying about watching the map fill in, about turning names I dreamed of visiting into places I have walked and touched and breathed. These places all keep a version of me, too. In the beginning, I was eager to cross off as many parks as I could. Another park, another pin on the map. I wanted to collect them quickly, almost greedy for the next one. But somewhere along all those miles, across all those states, I understood. I love knowing there are still places that remain mysterious to me. Wonders I still get to see for the first time. And after visiting some of the parks more than once, I know that it is impossible to meet the same mountain twice. People often ask me how “quickly” I want to finish the list. How many parks I have left. How many years I think it will take. Finishing is the goal, but it was never the point. See, here’s the secret to this grand adventure: I never want it to end. Arynne Wexler August 25, 2026

@ubbe_ragnarsson Not to mention Mitch McConnell and Maxine Waters

@Keltic_Spirit Wyoming, it’s time to build a wall on our southern border…

Dolly dies and Nancy Pelosi still roams the earth. This is bullshit.

@daily_cowboy Story is unclear. Is he 5 days overdue? Because just being out in the backcountry for 5 days is nothing

Who should have power over you?

CIA whistleblower John Kiriakou: "A friend close to the president told me there are 10,000 JFK assassination documents that will never be released - because every single one points directly at Israel. Israel was angry that JFK wouldn't give them nuclear technology and was actively trying to stop them from acquiring it. So they decided to take him out." x.com/HatsOffff/stat…

@RobSchneider

@Polymarket Democracy is hot wet stinking garbage that benefits only the most vile and ruthless demagogues. The people quickly find themselves helpless and destitute, without means or recourse

@daily_cowboy I escaped a blue state 20 years ago and came to Wyoming. I don’t wanna feel cornered

@KingSatine Punishment it is.

@KingSatine As punishment, or for willing subjects? Asking for me, because I can go hard or I can go fun.

@SenateGOP @SenJohnBarrasso None of you have ever built anything. Engineers, farmers, truckers, electricians, concrete men, ironworkers, miners, autoworkers, plumbers, mechanics, the founders, quarrymen, welders, laborers, inventors, pipefitters, and lumbermen built America. All you do is get in the way.

Познакомьтесь с Тис Д'Аскофон, француженкой, которая подверглась сексуальному насилию со стороны мусульманского иммигранта, который преследовал ее до квартиры, запер ее там и попытался изнасиловать. Два года спустя она дала интервью французскому телевидению, рассказала о попытке изнасилования и заявила, что главная опасность для женщин в Европе исходит от "иммигрантов, чернокожих и арабов". Левые силы возмутились и подали на нее жалобу за расизм. Ей было предъявлено обвинение, она предстала перед судом, и несколько недель назад суд в Париже признал ее виновной и оштрафовал на 1000 евро за ее слова. Прочитайте это еще раз: Женщина, подвергшаяся сексуальному насилию со стороны иммигранта, спустя годы оказывается в суде из-за того, что сказала правду о сексуальном насилии над женщинами в Европе. Европа идет по пути самоуничтожения.

@SavvyTamz_57 The death penalty in this case should have been carried out years ago

@KosherVeruca 😂

@mcgmouton57 @DragonSword778 Simple trigonometry? Do those words belong together?