Luke

sabrina carpenter has a wario??

Just popping out for supper with the lads!

today is a great day to bring this gem back.

BBC news reporting on the Scott Mills situation and referring to the BBC like they're not also the BBC

“girl what you doing in the shower” me :

When I die please tie these to my coffin

Jack's last words as he slipped below the icy waves.

If you don't know what this is, you can't bad mouth WDSP

i’ll ask a ouija board before i ask chatgpt

Happy 80th Birthday to the legendary Liza Minnelli.

me seeing how ridiculous gas prices are right now

On July 3, 1976, Tina Turner waited until her husband, Ike, fell asleep in their Dallas hotel room. Her face was swollen and bruised from another beating. In her pocket were just 36 cents and a Mobil gas card. Nothing more. She slipped out of the Statler Hilton and ran. Not toward a car. Not toward help she could call. She ran straight across Interstate 30, weaving through traffic in the dark, nearly hit by a truck, driven by nothing but survival. On the other side stood the Ramada Inn. The manager recognized her instantly, even through the injuries. He gave her a room on the eleventh floor and placed a guard outside her door. For three days, Tina stayed hidden there, too injured to even eat properly, letting her body begin to heal. Three weeks later, she filed for divorce. When asked what she wanted from sixteen years of marriage, her answer stunned everyone. She wanted nothing except her name. No house. No money. No royalties. Just “Tina Turner.” A name created to control her, now the only thing she could use to rebuild her life. She walked away with debt, an IRS tax lien, and an industry that believed she was finished. Nearly forty years old, a Black woman in a business obsessed with youth, with no ownership of her past music. The odds were stacked brutally against her. But Tina refused to accept defeat. She turned to Nichiren Buddhism, chanting daily for strength. She took every job she could find. Game shows. Hotel lounges. County fairs. Corporate events. She even cleaned houses between performances. While the world called her a has-been, she was quietly reconstructing herself piece by piece. Then came 1984. At forty-four, she released Private Dancer. It changed everything. The album sold more than twenty million copies. “What’s Love Got to Do with It” reached number one, her first solo chart-topper. She won three Grammy Awards in 1985, performed at Live Aid, and starred in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome. The world finally recognized her as the Queen of Rock and Roll. Her second act lasted decades. Record-breaking tours. Twelve Grammy Awards. Over one hundred million records sold. A career rebuilt entirely on her own terms. And love found her too. Erwin Bach met Tina at an airport in 1986 and never left her side. When her kidneys failed in 2016, he offered her one of his own without hesitation. In 2017, he kept that promise and saved her life. On May 24, 2023, Tina Turner passed away peacefully in Switzerland at the age of eighty-three, with Erwin beside her. She left behind more than music. She left proof. It is never too late to reclaim your life. You can begin again at forty. At fifty. At any age. All it takes is the courage to cross the road. Thirty-six cents. A gas card. And an unbreakable will. That is how legends are made.

Okay okay here’s the clip

@ScottGustin That inside stateroom is grim 😳

Inside Stateroom

Let’s take a look inside the staterooms on the Disney Adventure. Here are several room types you’ll find onboard. Long thread incoming. 🧵

10/10. No notes.

He wasn’t expecting that kind of honest response

In 1948, James Peterson was lobotomized for being gay. His parents committed him after discovering his love for another man. The asylum labeled it "sexual perversion" and "treated" him with a transorbital lobotomy-ice picks hammered above his eye sockets into his frontal lobe. It took just 15 minutes, but it erased his vibrant, artistic spirit forever. The doctor assured his parents: "Your son's perversion is corrected." What returned was an empty shell. no desires, no passions, not even for life. Entry wounds above his eyes, a vacant stare where intelligence once shone. The doctor notes: "Patient calm, no deviant interests. Success." But that "calm" was brain damage; the "success" was personality murder. James never painted, laughed, or loved again. He lived 46 more years in a group home, a hollow routine without preferences or joy, dying in 1994 at 74. His parents visited once, saw the void they'd created, and never came back. To them, a son who was nothing beat one who was gay. This event wasn't isolated. Churches offered their own brutal "treatments" to "fix" homosexuality. In the 1970's, Brigham Young University (BYU), tied to the Mormon Church, subjected gay students to electroshock aversion therapy—zapping them while showing same-sex images, conditioning pain with desire. Other faiths pushed exorcisms to cast out "demons," or intense prayer sessions claiming to pray away the gay, often leading to self-harm or suicide. These weren't cures; they were trauma disguised as salvation. We've come far-conversion therapy is banned in many places, and love is increasingly celebrated. But remember James and countless others: their stories fuel our fight for dignity. No one should be "treated" for being themselves.

People will call cats evil, but never in my life has a cat viscously chased me down the street trying to bite my face off just because I walked by its fence. Cats might go bonkers in the crib at 3 a.m. but they don’t keep an entire neighborhood up barking all night. And cats don’t work for the cops. So… cats aren’t evil, they just don’t fw your energy.

To monitor the situation bitch who asked you???