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This event is about celebrating America’s unmatched greatness after 250 years — which apparently doesn’t sit well with the friendless loser who wrote this bullshit clickbait headline. Rain or shine, we’re celebrating our great country no matter what. GOD BLESS AMERICA! 🇺🇸

UFC Freedom 250 is facing a chaotic weather setup on the White House South Lawn, with a 60% chance of thunderstorms, heavy downpours, and wind gusts up to 34 mph threatening to delay the outdoor fights. On top of the storm risk, brutal D.C. humidity is driving a triple-digit heat index alongside massive swarms of mosquitos and gnats that fighters will have to battle inside the cage. While the venue’s massive 92-foot overhang will keep the octagon dry, a single lightning strike within eight miles will trigger an automatic 30-minute freeze on the entire event.

USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving. Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free. I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these." "They just come with the table, man." They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner. This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat. I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared. "Did we…?" "Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless." Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined. My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude." Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man. I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy. Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived. I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most. Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.