Go Kick Rocks ( ಠ ͜ʖಠ)

Who I won't follow back.... Lottery/Mega Million winners Interpol - You've met your match! Crypto/Bitcoin/Marketing Men & women porn stars ⭐️ DM without consent Fake Musk accounts Fake celebrities Foreign Princes No profile pic & 0 followers I love a good laugh... Nice try, Scam 👑 I'm 100% female. This is not a dating app. Don't try me... Go Kick Rocks 🪨

@Looper_Repairs Tytyty

@KickRocks2026 You both got them.

Before I rest for the night… I have to bring something to light. Oh man, you guys… I’m sitting here with my jaw on the floor, staring at what used to be my gorgeous, fluffy, raggedy Lucy, now looking like she lost a bet with a lawnmower. 😭💔 My neighbor, Dee’s son… sweet 30 yo kid, thought he was doing me a solid by offering to “trim” her, because he’s a professional dog groomer years ago, turns out his idea of a trim is the dog equivalent of a buzz cut gone full military academy dropout. I step away for like TWENTY MINUTES to chat with a close friend online, come back, and my girl is basically naked. Bald patches in places I didn’t even know had fur. Different color spots too. The spots of skin are staring back at me like, “Surprise! We’ve been hiding under there this whole time!” And now she’s scratching like she’s auditioning for a flea circus, running into furniture, rubbing her poor butt on the sofa like it owes her money. I gave her the warmest, gentlest bath with that fancy doggie spa packet (the one that smells like lavender dreams and costs more than my last haircut), slathered antibiotic ointment on the two actual razor-to-the-skin jabs, not bleeds, heat spots, slapped bandaids over them (because apparently I’m MacGyver now), and stuffed her into the biggest dog coat we own so she can’t ninja-peel the bandages off. Like… what is WRONG with people? If you’ve never groomed a Golden Doodle before, here’s a free life lesson… these curly clouds need maintenance every 3–4 weeks or they mat faster than my motivation on a Monday. You don’t just grab clippers and go full Edward Scissorhands without asking, “Hey, how short? Teddy bear? Puppy cut? Or are we going for ‘naked mole rat chic’ today?” ASK. COMMUNICATE. Or, I don’t know, Google “Goldendoodle grooming basics” before unleashing the beast. Poor Lucy looks like she’s been through a bad breakup with her fur. She’s itchy, embarrassed, and probably plotting revenge on every human with scissors. I’m over here googling “clipper burn remedies” and “how to apologize to your dog in Doodle,” while she side-eyes me like, “You skunk, Mom.” Lucy’s got a long memory, and an even longer tongue for payback. 🪒🛁🐶🐩😤 @KickRocks2026

@beverly191614 Have a goodnight. He’s in 3 videos, from Grok. Don’t ask me why.

@KickRocks2026 Oh I meant cigarettes. Yes, i've seen him smoke weed on the joe rogan show

This smoking bs Elon is promoting makes me sick. I’m writing about it tomorrow. So stay tuned. I’m airing it out.

@Looper_Repairs Thank you. Need the prayers.

@KickRocks2026 😭🙏 Good call, I pray she is ok.

@Looper_Repairs She’s traumatized. I was putting the scissors away. Not going near her. She’s on me and kinda hugging my arm. They are just like humans. I swear. I just made her a pup cup and she snubbed it. HELP. That’s not her.

@Looper_Repairs I’m bringing her to the vet tomorrow. She’s been shaking since it happened. She’s so upset. I picked up the scissors and she ran and hid behind the keyboards. 

@KickRocks2026 Awww poor baby Lucy, give hugs from me, I wish I could /knew more what to do. Lidocaine won't burn, my vet had me use it on my chocolate lab with itching.

@Looper_Repairs Goodnight, my friend

@KickRocks2026 Good night,🙂 I really enjoy talking with you, you’ve got a way of making my day a little better. Sleep well.

Goodnight everyone! I can’t stay up. My brain is cooked. I overdid the research without AI, and I’m now over powered mentally and physically drained. I’m following my heart. It’s saying my bed is calling. (((Hugs))) to you all. @KickRocks2026

@Looper_Repairs Thanks. 😊

@KickRocks2026 You write well, worth it!

I had to prove I was human earlier. What a flipping joke. Get with it foreigners. Hire Americans Elon. And not radical left lunatics. These liberals are in charge. It’s absolutely ridiculous!! X couldn’t handle two of me. I’m from Mars… do you like me now???? @elonmusk @nikitabier

@beverly191614 I’m not buying it. You don’t promote it, then claim you’re not inhaling. 😂 Hahahaha. I worked 15 years for public safety. I’m far from dumb. Don’t believe everything people say. He’s smoking it. Have you seen him smoking pot on a livestream? I have.

@KickRocks2026 He said he's not doing it, and he also said he doesn't smoke

@Sassafrass_84 @elonmusk @WR4NYGov Exactly.

That's all we see is criticism of you both. Jfc, where has Jon been? You have the hodgetwins, Tucker Carlson, Megyn kelly, Ian Carroll, Nick Fuentes, the democrats, and so many more that do nothing but bash both of y'all 24/7. You would think you would demonetize them or remove them... but you dont. They should be, though.

Jon Stewart claims Elon tilts the X algorithm so we don’t see criticism of Elon and Trump. But we all see high volume criticism of Elon and Trump. And we saw this video.

@Looper_Repairs Well, I wrote books so I had to feed the billionaire. Otherwise I couldn’t write like I do. :(

@KickRocks2026 Well....🤣 I got that yesterday AND a label cuz I'm not an authentic acct. or some nonsense.

@DailyChronicals Goodnight, my friend. Sweet dreams.😴

@KickRocks2026 Goodnight Kick Rocks, sleep well.

@MICKTHEMOUSE2 Ouch. What did you do? Such a great photo, such beautiful memories.

A poliroid picture of me and my older brother, I had a cast on my nose,

@AlanJonWarner But he won’t admit that. Maybe he can mend the fence with Xi Jinping. Lmao 🤣

@KickRocks2026 But this is such a good opportunity to crow about how he loves China!

So apparently Elon also runs a restaurant here in China.

@KickRocks2026 I truly am blessed we met and grateful for your gracious and wise words.

Hahaha. Bye scammers!!

@KickRocks2026 I'd love to get in your head & see how it works, it must be like the inside of a watch. Thank you for these amazing stories.

The moon hung low over Lake Tohopekaliga that autumn night in 1978, a thin silver crescent slicing through the mist that rose from the warm water like breath from a sleeping giant. The old fish camp on the western shore, nothing more than a cluster of weathered docks, a tin-roofed shack, and a few rusted outboards tied to pilings…had long since closed for the season. Most locals knew better than to linger after dark…the lake had moods, and this one felt watchful. Deputy Ray Harlan arrived alone, his cruiser’s headlights cutting pale tunnels through the fog. Five minutes earlier, dispatch had taken a call from an old-timer named, Gus Whitaker. He saw something moving on the abandoned paddlewheeler pulled up years ago at the camp’s far end. “The Quee Nee Tu,” Gus had rasped into the phone. “She’s creakin’ again, like someone’s walkin’ her decks.” Deputy Ray had laughed it off at first… thinking kids, probably, or raccoons, but Gus’s voice had carried an edge that the deputy recognized from men who’d seen too much water, claim things they loved. The boat sat half-swallowed by vines and mud, her once-red hull streaked gray, paddlewheel frozen mid-turn like a broken clock. She was built in the late 1960s for school trips and sunset charters, she’d carried generations of Osceola County kids across the 22,700-acre lake, laughter echoing over the grass flats where bass rose like silver ghosts. By the mid-1970s, faster boats and highways had moored her for good. No one bothered to haul her away, she became scenery, a landmark fishermen pointed to while casting lines. Deputy Ray killed the engine and stepped out, Maglight beam sweeping the deck. The air smelled of rot and algae, thick enough to taste. He climbed the sagging gangplank…wood groaning under his boots and froze. There were fresh footprints. Small, barefoot, pressed into the soft, mossy planks leading toward the pilot house. He followed them, heart picking up tempo. The prints stopped at the open doorway. Inside, the wheel stood untouched, cobwebs draping the brass fittings like funeral veils. Deputy Ray swept the light across faded benches, a child’s drawing still pinned to a bulkhead…stick figures waving from a boat, the lake below them, had blue crayon waves. Then he heard it… a soft thump-thump-thump. It was not the wind or waves against the hull. The rhythm of a paddlewheel turning, faint but unmistakable, coming from somewhere below the deck. Deputy Ray’s hand went to his holster. He descended the narrow companionway into the engine room, flashlight shaking now. The space was empty except for rusted machinery and standing water that reflected his beam in oily rainbows. But in the corner, half-submerged, lay a small wooden box, the lid cracked open. Inside was a yellowed photograph of a girl, maybe ten, standing at the rail with a man in captain’s whites. On the back, in careful schoolgirl cursive.. “Me and Daddy on the Quee Nee Tu, summer of ‘69. He says the lake keeps what it loves.” Deputy Ray stared a bit longer. The thumping grew louder, vibrating up through the hull. He backed away, breath shallow. As he reached the deck again, the sound stopped abruptly. Then silence rushed in, heavy and complete. He never told the full story at the station. He said it was kids, pranksters, nothing more. But he returned the next day with a metal detector and a shovel. He found a child’s sneaker buried shallow under the spot where the footprints ended, sodden, rotted, but the laces still tied in perfect bows. And beside it was a silver locket engraved with “L.M. 1969.” No missing-persons report from that year matched a girl with those initials. No wreck, or drowning tied to the Quee Nee Tu. And every fisherman who’d tied up near her in the 1970s swore they’d seen a small figure at the rail on foggy nights, waving as if waiting for someone who never came back. @KickRocks2026 Part 2- continued in the comments. 🧵

Under the vast, ever-shifting skies of “Lake Tohopekaliga,” known to locals simply as “Lake Toho” the “Thee Quee Nee Tue” (or “Quee Nee Tu,” as the name rolled off tongues in softer Osceola County drawls) once danced across the water like a living memory. In the late 1960s and into the 1970s, she was a beloved excursion paddlewheeler, her sternwheel churning gentle rhythms that carried school groups, families, and sightseers on lazy loops around the lake’s 22,700 acres of shimmering shallows and grass flats. All the children pressed against the railings, pointing at egrets lifting from hidden coves, while parents snapped photos of the horizon where distant tree lines met the endless blue. She wasn’t a relic of the grand 1880s thru 1920s steamboat heyday, when Kissimmee bustled as a boat-building port and vessels hauled citrus, cattle, and timber down the Kissimmee River chain toward the Gulf. No, the Quee Nee Tu belonged to a gentler era… a modest, community boat built around 1969, her name perhaps a playful nod to old Florida lore or a forgotten chief, though the exact origin faded into pleasant mystery. For years, she was the heartbeat of weekend outings and school field trips….one class even won a recycling drive and earned a ride as their reward, cheering as the paddlewheel slapped the water. But time, like the lake’s subtle currents, waits for no vessel. By the late 1970s, modern speedboats, highways, and the lure of faster thrills made her obsolete. She was quietly retired and pulled up to a humble fish camp on the western shore….simple docks where locals moored for bass and stories. There, half-beached in soft mud, her once-bright paint peeled under relentless sun and summer storms… where vines wove through the railings like slow embraces… the deck boards softened and sagged. Local fishermen nodded to her as they passed, “There's the old Quee Nee Tu… used to run the lake like she was queen.” Then wild kids on dares climbed her tilting frame in twilight, whispering about faint echoes of laughter or the creak of footsteps on empty planks. She decayed gradually, a beautiful ruin overtaken by Florida’s humid reclaiming. No dramatic end… no fire or sinking, just the quiet surrender of wood to water and neglect. By the early 1980s, storms and rot had broken her apart and what remained slipped into the lakebed, dissolving into the depths like a whispered goodbye. Decades later, on a soft evening in the 2020s, a restored sternwheeler…the “Lillie,” reborn from the spirit of old Florida riverboats… glided past that same western shore on a sunset cruise. A woman in her later years stood alone at the rail, gray hair catching the last light, clutching a small, weathered photograph of children waving from the “Quee Nee Tu’s” deck. She had been one of those kids, riding the boat on that long-ago school trip, her hand in her mother’s as the paddlewheel thumped like a promise of endless summers. She scattered a handful of wildflowers into the water… simple blooms from the lakeside she still called home. As they floated away, the surface rippled, and for a heartbeat, the faint, rhythmic churn of a distant paddlewheel seemed to answer from beneath the waves. It wasn’t a ghost, not a haunt in the spectral sense, but a tender echo…the lake itself remembering every laugh, every ride, every quiet moment it had cradled. The woman smiled through sudden tears. The “Quee Nee Tu” had never truly vanished. She lived on in the gentle lap of modern cruises, in the stories shared at fish camps, in the heartbeat of the water that had carried her so faithfully. Lake Tohopekaliga, giver of beauty and quiet heartbreak, had kept her safe in its depths…haunting the shallows with the soft, unbreakable joy of what was lost, and forever held close beneath the surface. May God rest their souls, and heal their loved one’s hearts. @KickRocks2026