Catherine McMurdo

#YouMightBeCanadianIf your grandmother knitted these for you when you were a kid and your mom MADE you wear them !

INTENSE: This 6-year-old was disrespecting his teacher so his mother decided to discipline him in front of the teacher like this. Was it too far?

@RealKozmoJoe @MrWhiteMAGA Or “All of You Can Eat” . . . Somehow I don’t think it was a grammatical misunderstanding, though.

@MrWhiteMAGA It says 'All You Can Eat'. Not 'All Y'all' Can Eat'.

She thought “All You Can Eat” meant All Y’all Eat for One Price 😭…This one is MUST SEE Imagine calling 911 over mozzarella sticks… Dispatcher like: “Ma’am is this a cheese emergency?” 🧀 Have you EVER seen someone call 911 over a buffet??? ⤵️ What was supposed to be a chill night at Applebee’s turned into the All-You-Can-Eat Courtroom Drama. A group of women pulled up ready to feast…but somewhere between plate #2 and plate #7, they decided math was OPTIONAL. “$15.99 per person?” Nah… in their world, that meant $15.99 TOTAL for the whole squad 😭 When the bill hit the table, chaos hit right after. “They tryna charge us for EVERYBODY at da table!” one yelled, like she just uncovered a nationwide conspiracy. Manager: “Yes… that’s how food works.” But nope… they weren’t having it. So what do they do? 📞 CALL 911. Police pull up like it’s a felony buffet fraud case. Officer calmly reads the menu: “Ma’am… it clearly says $15.99 per person.” That should’ve been the end… BUT NO. One woman goes full courtroom mode, arguing like she’s about to overturn the Constitution of Applebee’s. Next thing you know… cuffs are out. She didn’t beat the buffet… 🚓 The buffet beat HER.

There’s also an astonishing amount of infighting that essentially boils down to he said / she said / they said vs. he said / she said / they said. Lather, rinse, repeat . . . and all of it ego-fuelled by the quest for filthy lucre. Such is “life” in the stale, BORING and increasingly predictable interregnum. However, I prefer to think of it as the Galactic waiting room. Keeps the spring in my step !

I feel trapped by this app and I don't enjoy it. Too opaque. Why am I putting my life force into a platform that is an "algorithmic dictatorship"?

@stayfreeCanada2 I love how some of the comments are proving your point. You don’t even have to say anything else, either. Just sit back . . . and watch it all unfold right before your eyes ! ( lol )

CANADIANS ARE MENTALLY RETARDED.

@SusieM414141 There are an astonishing number of people “out there” who are like this these days . . . and I have NO idea how this happened . . .

I don’t know how people live with neighborhood disputes like this. Not only are they petty, but they’re toxic. Whatever happened to “love thy neighbor” and all that good stuff? Double case of Karen’s!

@charliefreak1 Bookmarked for those dark nights of the soul when insomnia commands me to stand the watch . . . hold the frequency . . . That video was the icing on the cake, too. Thank you, Charlie.

It's ALL Connected, Everyone and Everything, and the Consequences for the Way we have been Living our Lives, Turning a Blind Eye to Evil, and Failing to Protect the Ones who look to us for Help, All Comes Back to us in the Most Profound of Ways... Since 2001 the Entire World's Population has been Watching AND Living an Illusion, The Movie called Karma, where what had been Going On prior to 1990 Suddenly became our 25-year, Silver Anniversary Journey to Rediscover Who we are and Why we are All Here in the First Place... Event after Event, starting with 9/11, Character after Character, Conspiracy after Conspiracy, Betrayal after Betrayal showed to us just WHO THE HELL we had become as an Earth Wide Civilization, where NO TRUTH was being taught or shown to us via Authorized Government Facilities, but was being Encoded within Artist Renderings: Movies, TV Series, Music, Books, Pictures, Cartoons and Paintings... Thus, the Biggest Production in Human History became a Reality on September 11th, 2001, where the Whole World became a HIT Television Show, called Us: The Fallen Souls... Actors, Actors, Actors. Producers, Writers, Directors, Stunt Doubles (or Triples), and each year, every step of the Way, more and more Truth was Released, only to Cause a War and a Deeper Divide amongst Humanity, where the SHEEPLE Screamed 'Foul', while we Yelled, 'FORE', warning them that ONLY More of these Truths would be coming, Separating Born Families, Friends, Work Associates, even Loved Ones... God said: ''Brains" while the Many heard "Rains", and they ran for Cover... And Here we ALL are today, Divided, Scattered, and for Most, Leaderless, as most have NO CLUE who Christ Yeshua and Mary Magdalene Truly were and what they Jointly Taught, and have No Real Belief in God, or a Creator, at all... And yet, what are Most Screaming for Right Now, as Loud as they can? Give Us All the Money that the Evil Ones had stored up. End the Movie, Give us our Med Beds, keep the Alcohol, Drugs, Processed and Dead Animal Food Coming, and just shut up and get out of our Way for WE KNOW BEST... And Most Believe, that with the Twist of a Magic Wand, that once we 'End the Fed', Lop off the Heads of the Evil Ones and Turn On the Med Beds, Everything is just gonna be Alright... WAKE UP... Everything that this 'Movie' has been revealing to us has been going on, just Not Now, and with these Actors, But REAL Nonetheless...and what we Need Right Now is to Discover the Why's, the How's, the Where's and The Who's before we Take One More Step Forward, lest we Step on anymore Land Mines... Understand that Drug Cartels, Human and Child Trafficking Rings, Slaughterhouses, Pornography, Prostitution, et al, ONLY Exist because We the People Demand that they Do... If there was NO DEMAND for such Vile, Vulgar and Horrific Tastes, then these 'Things' would Stop being Sold to us as COMMODITIES. If we All simply changed our Tastes towards Demanding to Know the Truth about God, Christ and Ourselves, then these very same Groups would be Scrambling over themselves to do so. If All we ever Ate were Living Foods, Fresh from Nature, then Supermarkets would END, Slaughterhouse and Processed Food Factories would Disappear, and Neighborhood Fresh Food Markets would Spring up Everywhere... WE THE PEOPLE ARE THE KEY, for Everything that we Do is a VOTE for what Comes Next... So, if We want the World to Change from the Insanity we are Witnessing each and everyday, then WE HAVE TO CHANGE for the Better. Do Better, Try Harder, Listen More, Care More, Give More, and LOVE More... Do these things NOW, and the whole of what was will disappear forevermore; Do it Not, and All of this will only continue to Escalate until our very Species ceases to Exist... So, watch this INSANE VIDEO of What was, and then VOTE. And remember, what we CHOOSE as part of our Daily Interaction with Society is a VOTE, so Choose, but Choose Wisely, or All of this may just go the Way of the Dodo, including All of us... Love, CF

@MarkAttwood This is breathtakingly well done. Don’t blink, either, or you’ll miss something. Even the subtleties pack a punch.

@fesshole True crime videos are a personal guilty pleasure - especially when there is flying lead involved - if you know what I mean. But I might just follow your lead into the world of mountaineering . . . 🤔💀🤔

I've swapped my true crime comfort reading/watching to true mountaineering disasters. I take great pleasure in seeing privileged men unaliving themselves with poor decision making, and underestimating nature. It's surprisingly uplifting.

@GPAIndiana Some people just need to get punched in the face.

Part 2 and 3

Law Enforcement Officers have way more patience than me! Great Job Blue 🫵 Part 2 and 3 in comments 👇👇

@TAftermath2020 I’m THIS old. ( lol )

Honey I’m this old

@charliefreak1 I stumbled across this at the top of my feed right after listening to you and Colleen this evening. It made me smile . . . knowingly. ( lol )

If I Did A Video Tomorrow, Would You Watch It?

@martingeddes “Thus we exist in a kind of Schrödinger catastrophe . . .” I just read your essay, Martin, and it is brilliant. I hope you enjoyed that coffee and cake !

Felt really low when I woke up this morning but sublimated it into an essay so I could move on.

@angbates123 Gossip is Satan’s radio.

@MarkAttwood The lyrics to this are like a red-pill checklist. Brilliant poetry !

@Jordan_Sather_ Jordan, there’s also been an astonishing uptick in “vagueposting” which is irritating as HELL. I’ve noticed it really ramp up over the last week. Must also just be farming for engagement . . .

The amount of accounts regurgitating mainstream media anonymously sourced talking points as truth is insane Then you have the A.I. slop and unverified reports all over social media, plus the state backed propaganda (from all sides) Safer to not believe anything right now

Where is he at 4AM when the cold hits you like a wall of black water the moment you step outside? When the wind cuts through your jacket and the street is empty and dead and you're the only fool awake because the work won't do itself? Where is he on that long dark drive to the shop, the site, the dock, the factory? Nowhere. Asleep. Warm. Dreaming about your money. Where is he when you're hunched over a bench at midnight, eyes bloodshot, hands raw, chasing a fault through a circuit board for the sixth straight hour? Where is he when the machine dies on a Friday and the client doesn't care about your weekend, your sleep, your sanity? Where is he when the seas turn ugly and the swells are rolling six metres and the deck is pitching and you're still out there hauling nets with frozen hands because the catch doesn't wait for calm weather? Where is this leech when you're loading cargo in sideways rain? When you're flat on your back under a rig in the dead of winter with grease in your eyes and ice in your joints? When you're standing fourteen hours on concrete until your spine feels like a stack of broken plates? When you drive through the night across 700 clicks of nothing because some deadline doesn't negotiate? Where is he when the hull groans and the bilge pump fails and the water's coming in faster than you can think? Where is he when the rope snaps under load and takes the skin off your palms? When you're soaked to the bone, salt in your wounds, diesel on your clothes, hauling steel and cable in a gale that wants to throw you overboard? He's not on deck. He's never been on deck. Wouldn't last five minutes on deck. He'd be crying for his mother before the first swell hit. Where is he when your body starts giving out? When the stress cracks your chest open at 2AM and you're on the bathroom floor wondering if this is the one that finishes you? When you can't eat, can't sleep, can't think because you're three months into a dead run and the bank doesn't care? When you're choosing between payroll for your people and keeping your own lights on? Not a word. Not a hand. Not a rand. He doesn't even know your name. But the instant. The very instant you claw your way back. The instant something finally pays. The instant you turn a profit with your broken hands and your wrecked back and your shot nerves. Here he comes. Crawling out of whatever dry little office he's been hiding in like a rat out of the bilge. This soft, pale, limp-wristed nothing in a pressed suit. Clipboard. Calculator. Not a callus on him. Not a scar. Not a rope burn. Not a salt stain. Hands that have never gripped anything heavier than a government pen. Never held a tiller in a storm. Never pulled a net. Never missed a meal. Never wondered where the next job was coming from. Never built a single thing in his miserable, air-conditioned, paper-shuffling, tea-drinking, meeting-attending, nothing-producing existence. And what does this cockroach want? Paper. He wants paper. Printed paper. Paper that his own institution prints. Paper they conjure out of thin air, backed by nothing, tied to nothing except a vague and rotting promise. They print it by the truckload. Debase it every year. It buys less and less every single month while he sits there pretending it has value. And this is what he comes to collect. But let's not be stupid about what that paper really is. Some fools call it cash. Call it money. Call it currency. It's none of those things. It's a receipt. A loose, sloppy, degrading receipt that points back to one thing only. Your labour. Your hours. Your life spent at a bench, on a floor, behind a wheel, on a deck in freezing water at three in the morning. Every note in your account is a piece of your life converted into paper. That's all it ever was. So when this parasite extends that soft little hand and says you owe me, what is he really saying? Give me your labour. For free. I didn't earn it. I didn't help produce it. I didn't haul it. I didn't fix it when it broke. I didn't stand watch. I didn't bleed. But I want it. And not just a taste. He wants more than half. More than half your working life. Every second hour you break your body belongs to him. He decided that. Wrote it on a piece of paper, stamped it, and called it law. And when you ask what for? What do you do with it? Roads, he says. Roads. Have you driven on these roads? Have you seen the potholes you could lose a tyre in? The bridges rusting through? The markings that haven't been painted since the last election promise? Maybe two percent goes to roads. Maybe. The rest goes to German sedans for ministers. Luxury hotels for conferences about poverty. Tenders for friends. Contracts for cousins. Mansions for officials who earn ten times what you do and produce absolutely nothing. Your money, your labour, your life force, funnelled straight into the pockets of millionaire cronies who have never swung a hammer, never turned a wrench, never stood a night watch in their lives. Roads. What an insult. What a joke. He steals your labour and can't even fix a pothole with it. And if you refuse? He sends men with guns to your door. This man. This creature. This barnacle on the hull of the working man. A bottom-feeder in a government lanyard who couldn't wire a plug or tie a bowline or pour concrete or read a schematic if his pension depended on it. He has never fought a sea. Never cursed an engine back to life in a rolling swell. Never bled for a single rand he's collected. Couldn't change a tyre on those precious roads of his. Strip the suit off him. Take away the letterhead and the legislation and the rubber stamps. What's left? A man who takes the labour of another man by force and threat. There is a word for that. There has always been a word for that. Slavery. They called it tribute. They called it tithe. They called it tax. Different century. Same theft. Same whip. Just held by a man in a nicer suit now. We didn't abolish slavery. We gave it a tax bracket and a letterhead. And this piece of driftwood. This dead weight. This gutless, spineless, soft-bellied, thieving, freeloading parasite who has never once stood at the bow and faced what's coming. He can take his clipboard and his calculator and his pressed little suit and his precious roads and jump in the ocean with the sharks. At least the sharks earn their keep.

@FringeViews Polly, have you seen this article yet ? It is an outstanding, meaty read that dovetails seamlessly with that Catholic convention ( the one with Candace Owens and Matt Walsh among others ) you just responded to.