Catahoula Cur

@ThomasEWoods @MLiamMcCollum At thins point, you should replace the name John McCain with Netanyahu. Doesn’t matter who you vote for, you always end up with President Netanyahu.

I don't know who did this but

@DoniTheMisfit @scotthortonshow I would love to be on that jury.

He's innocent.

@PeterSchiff @saylor I think Saylor has become BTCs worst enemy. If a single person (or company) can corner 4 or 5% of an asset, then how could anyone take that asset seriously as a global medium of exchange or reserve currency? That level of concentration is counterproductive to his stated goals.

If Bitcoin ends 2026 at $10,000, it will still be the best-performing asset over ten years. I'm sure @Saylor will rely on that to keep pumping Bitcoin and issuing more shares of $MSTR to buy it. But a 92% decline will make it the worst-performing investment for most HODLers.

@shaunmmaguire I love my country. I hate my government and its empire with the burning passion of a thousand suns.

How did we get to the point Where so many Americans are rooting against America?

@DeItaone I think it’s 25th Amendment time. Trump is either compromised or crazy.

ASKED HOW STRIKING IRANIAN INFRASTRUCTURE WOULD NOT BE A WAR CRIME, TRUMP SAYS: BECAUSE THEY'RE ANIMALS

@DonDurrett Trump is literally try to fight this war around market hours.

Did Trump's "Stone Age" threat work? Is Iran ready to throw in the towel? The futures are surprisingly calm. 🧐

@CheburekiMan I’m rooting for the end of America the Empire, so we can finally focus on America the country.

I swear 90% of X is rooting for Iran.

@MarioNawfal This is a really dumb take

If the Iranian regime does not accept Trump’s off-ramp, they shift from being the victim to becoming the aggressor

@porterstansb Is this really what our country has been reduced to? The POTUS figuratively screaming “Hey you kids get off my lawn!!!”

Does anyone think this is the appropriate way for the President of the United States to behave? Threatening to commit crimes against the people of Iran? Openly promising to target non-military targets? How is that different than terrorism? What has happened to our country?

@TaviCosta @DebraG_Robins If I were Iran I would be grinning ear to ear while reading this. The POTUS figuratively reduced to yelling “Hey you kids get off my lawn!!!”

Wild. None of us own enough gold.

@LukeGromen Trump sounds like an old boomer shouting at the sky. “Hey you kids get off my lawn!!!”

Sounds like things are going really well... 😳

@Liberty_Xtreme @liz_churchill10 @ejkrevolution What looks like a civil war to us is actually just a normal day of cartel violence for Mexico.

@liz_churchill10 @ejkrevolution Weren’t they just in the middle of of a civil war like twenty minutes ago?

MEXICO JUST KILLED CASH Mexican Cartel President Sheinbaum just announced, “NO MORE CASH” at gas stations or toll booths. Digital payments are MANDATORY by end of 2026. This is a digital prison test run. The World Economic Forum’s Great Reset is here.

@EthanLevins2 Anyone who has spent even 10 minutes with soldiers and airmen would immediately recognize this ignorant statement for exactly the nonsense it is.

The U.S. is trying to bomb and kill the surviving pilot in Iran. American jets have begun dropping massive payloads on the Kohgiluyeh and Boyer-Ahmad Province (largely uninhabited). They’ve withdrawn all helicopters and recon planes. They are not trying to rescue him.

@KingKong9888 @shaunrein Hey @grok, what does Eric mean by “Hong Kong yellow ribbon crowd”?

@shaunrein They get some of their information from the Hong Kong yellow ribbon crowd. Those people are mostly financial losers.

@Liberty_Xtreme @RealAlexJones 💯% agree

Six months ago I might have said: “Fine, fair point.. I don’t have to like it though.” But after a literal year and three months of him shitting all over us over the Epstein files… Attacking Marjorie Taylor Greene and Massie… Siding with Mark Levin and Shapiro over Matt Gaetz… Gaetz who was literally the ONLY guy who stuck by him when the chips were down… Starting World War 3… Giving up immediately on mass deportations after a few protests… And viciously attacking everyone who once had his back because they dared disagree… No Alex, just no. He’s compromised. There is no political solution to our problems.

Major update on the tug-of-war taking place inside the Trump administration concerning the Iran war and the future Attorney General. Trump is starting to wake up from the spell he was under and we need all hands on deck NOW!!!!

@JoinCrowdHealth I’ve been a member for over 3 years now. No regrets. I’m happy to contribute to this person’s medical care and wish them a speedy recovery.

If you had $300K in healthcare bills...how would you be treated?

@dylanmallman @grok can you summarize this in less than 200 words?

I look at the political commentary machine and I feel like I am staring into an open sewer that learned how to monetize reflection, a wet market of secondhand convictions, nervous systems for sale, rented certainty sold by the hour, and every camera lens functions like a confession booth for people who have never confessed a single thing to themselves, because this whole racket depends on one indecent fact, the fact that none of us know enough, none of us stand on bedrock, none of us possess some priestly clearance from ambiguity, yet all day long people step into frame and perform the liturgy of authority with the swollen confidence of men who have mistaken exposure for understanding, and I say men because the type is ancient, the species is eternal, the little monkey in a jacket pounding his chest in front of a fire and calling the sparks a worldview, but I am not standing outside this spectacle with clean hands, I am inside the same circuitry, I have spoken into the same microphones, felt the same narcotic current when language lands and strangers nod and some invisible counter increments and the animal part of the brain whispers there, you matter now, there, you are substantial now, there, your breath has become weight, and that whisper is a liar, because attention proves nothing except that a pattern successfully reproduced itself in other skulls, and a virus can do that, a slogan can do that, a hallucination can do that, a market panic can do that, an anthem can do that, a rumor can do that, and the political commentary industry is largely the industrial refinement of rumor into identity product, into affective subscription, into serial emotional maintenance for people who no longer know how to distinguish cognition from belonging. That is the grotesque joke, the whole thing is a care economy for damaged certainties. It is less an exchange of ideas than a laundering operation for psychic discomfort. People arrive confused, humiliated by complexity, crushed by scale, and they do not want truth, they want shape, they want a villain with a name, a script with a rhythm, a moral weather report, a sequence of noises that can turn raw unease into coordinated hostility, and the commentator steps forward like a street pharmacist with a pocket full of interpretive amphetamines, take this, he says, here is the map, here is the culprit, here is the sacred cause, here is the phrase you can repeat tomorrow to avoid the terror of direct encounter with the unknown, and the customer leaves relieved, fortified, more housebroken than before, because politics in its mass-mediated form has become the management of uncertainty through repetitive symbolic sedation. I keep circling back to how insane it is that this is treated as serious work. Work builds. Work repairs. Work risks contact with resistance. Work answers to material consequence. This industry can spend ten thousand consecutive hours talking about institutions it did not build, incentives it barely understands, populations it cannot possibly know, laws it never had to enforce, wars it will never fight, debts it will never pay, and the compensation for being wrong is often more visibility, because outrage has no quality control and error has no natural predator inside an attention market that feeds on agitation. In any sane order, repeated failure would disqualify. Here, it brands. Here, contradiction becomes versatility, shamelessness becomes durability, speed becomes intelligence, and volume becomes stature. Every day another synthetic authority materializes out of the haze, fully formed from clips, thumbnails, quote posts, stage lighting, and algorithmic favoritism, a paper oracle conjured by metrics, and millions kneel before the fabrication because the fabrication arrived with studio audio and perfect confidence and because modern people have been trained to interpret polish as proof. I do not even reserve special contempt for the audience. I understand them too well. They are lonely. They are dislocated. They are drowning in abstraction. They want a handle. They want the world reduced to a size their pulse can survive. They want history translated into gossip. They want power personified so it can be hated in manageable doses. They want someone to tell them that the nausea has a source and can be solved by hating the approved objects in the approved sequence. They want their own confusion echoed back as sophistication. They want theater because theater gives shape to dread. They want a tribe because the self is heavy when carried alone. That is why the machine keeps reproducing itself. Demand is not accidental. The sickness has customers. The product is psychic shelter for minds too exhausted to remain provisional. Yet even that diagnosis may flatter the whole affair. I suspect something uglier. I suspect much of political commentary exists because politics itself has metastasized into an occupying structure inside consciousness, a parasitic grammar so old and so normalized that people can barely imagine a life not indexed to authority, not interpreted through rulers and offices and decrees and sanctioned narratives about who may command whom. The state installs itself twice, once in infrastructure and once in imagination. The visible apparatus taxes, regulates, surveils, punishes. The deeper apparatus colonizes the horizon of the thinkable. It teaches generations to treat domination as weather, administration as ontology, coercion as adulthood. After that implantation, commentary blooms naturally around it like mold around damp wood. Of course there is an industry dedicated to discussing court rituals inside a temple everyone already assumes must exist. Of course there are thousands of interpreters, handlers, explainers, warlocks of policy vapor, because once political authority is granted metaphysical centrality, every twitch of the beast acquires false cosmic significance. Then entire careers emerge to read omens in the beast's saliva. Then every election is framed as a final battle while the underlying machinery of extraction remains, while the same architecture of obedience persists, while the cage merely changes mascots and soundtrack. Half of what passes for public thought is just captive minds narrating the mood swings of their captor and calling it civic life. Strip away the sanctified backdrop and so much of the commentary economy collapses into what it always was, surplus noise orbiting a legitimacy myth. That myth is older than any current regime and more absurd than most people can bear to admit. A piece of paper somewhere, a building somewhere, a robe, a flag, a seal, a procedural rite, enough repetition, enough schooling, enough spectacle, enough managed fear, and suddenly an abstraction can claim moral title over millions of strangers. Then commentators spend their lives analyzing the fluctuations of this fiction as if they were reading the pulse of nature itself. It is baroque madness. It is metaphysical ventriloquism. It is grown adults giving commentary on the weather patterns inside a hallucination that can cage you, draft you, impoverish you, monitor you, and still somehow demand reverence because enough dead words were spoken in a sufficiently decorated room. That should horrify anyone with a pulse. Instead it generates podcasts. Somewhere in the middle of all this I have to indict myself with the rest. I am finite. I am biased. I am bounded by language, by mood, by private wounds, by the provincial geometry of my own experience. I do not stand above delusion. I produce sentences inside the same infernal atmosphere as everyone else. I infer, improvise, compress, speculate, misread, revise. I use concepts like prosthetics. I throw nets over oceans. I call the catch a model. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it distorts. Any honesty worth keeping begins there. Radical humility is the only solvent I trust, because consciousness is narrow, memory rots, premises smuggle themselves in under the floorboards, and every conclusion arrives trailing omitted variables like severed wires. Whatever lucidity I have is temporary and rented. That is precisely why I despise the posture of political expertise when it comes packaged as identity merchandise. A serious mind should move with caution and conditionality, with a constant awareness of its own truncation. Political commentary as an industry rewards the opposite. It rewards the smooth voice, the instant take, the performance of total situational command, the reflexive certainty that turns ignorance into brand continuity. It selects for men who would rather sound complete than be corrigible. It selects for women who understand that ambiguity does not clip well. It selects for personalities who can metabolize complexity into tribal stimulant with minimal loss of charisma. The result is an engine that digests the world's irreducible density and excretes factional confidence. People call that discourse because they have forgotten what thought sounds like when it has not been edited for appetite. Underneath it all, I keep seeing feedback loops, recursive hallucinations, symbolic systems training organisms to reenact the premises that justify the systems, cybernetics in cheap makeup, code wearing myth as camouflage. A narrative enters the stream, a user repeats it, repetition recruits affect, affect recruits identity, identity recruits defense, defense recruits community, community recruits institution, institution recruits enforcement, enforcement generates the evidence that the original narrative described reality all along, and the loop closes with the satisfying click of a self-licking mechanism. That is why the whole environment feels simulated. I do not mean simulated in the stale pop sense where some adolescent imagines a computer outside the sky running physics like a game engine. I mean that social reality has become an arena of self-referential symbol systems with enough behavioral capture to harden fiction into experienced fact. Money works because belief scales. law works because ritual scales. legitimacy works because compliance scales. identity works because citation scales. commentary works because repetition scales. Everyone is walking around inside nested consensual overlays, each one demanding libidinal investment, each one promising orientation, each one drafting subjectivity into its own continuation, and political commentary may be one of the most obscene layers because it narrates the simulation while deepening the user's dependency on it. It offers the ecstasy of distance while fastening the collar tighter. It gives the spectator the delicious sensation of insight while ensuring he remains a spectator. Hours vanish, blood pressure rises, enemies multiply, language calcifies, and what has actually been built, what has actually been liberated, what has actually been understood with sufficient precision to change the terms of life at the root, almost nothing, almost always nothing, just more symbolic exhaust, more posture, more rehearsed adrenaline, more people mistaking familiarity with events for agency over them. There is a special kind of despair in realizing how much of public life consists of commentary on commentary on commentary, a hall of mirrors populated by the professionally alarmed, each reflection feeding the next, everyone reacting to reactions to interpretations of staged signals emitted by institutions whose deepest source of power is the public's inability to stop staring at them. That looks less like democracy than captivity with audience participation. Then the truly absurd thought arrives, the one that makes me laugh in the dark, which is that even this denunciation may be another node in the same delirium, another eloquent spasm inside the machine, another branded refusal circulating as consumable atmosphere, and maybe that is the final humiliation, that the system has become so total in its semiotic appetite that even contempt returns as nutrition. Fine. Let the humiliation stand. I would still rather speak from inside that wound than decorate the lie. I would still rather admit that I am a confused animal in a labyrinth of symbols than dress myself up as a cartographer of destiny. I would still rather say that much of what we call politics is ritualized metaphysics for frightened primates than keep pretending that the endless content churn around it constitutes civilization. Maybe we are all improvising in a simulation made of language and fear, avatars stitched together from memory, market cues, inherited scripts, sexual anxieties, bureaucratic residues, and the afterimage of authority. Maybe the state is just the most successful ghost story ever told, a recursive possession event stabilized by paperwork and spectacle. Maybe commentary is the sound of captured minds vibrating against invisible bars. Maybe history is only a stack of contagious fictions with guns behind them. Maybe the sane response is a kind of scorched humility, to look at the whole carnival and say I do not trust my own mind enough to crown it, I do not trust your certainty enough to follow it, I do not trust any institution that requires a mythology of necessity to excuse its violence, and I refuse to call this theater wisdom simply because the lights are expensive. We are born into noise, we inherit scripts, we animate masks, we die mid-sentence. Somewhere between those points the commentators keep talking, the audience keeps clapping, the state keeps feeding on both, and the universe, if it is anything at all beyond this fevered pageant, remains magnificently indifferent, a black cathedral of unintelligible depth in which our little storms of ideology flicker for an instant and vanish, and maybe that is the one clean fact left, that all this pomp, all this tribal liturgy, all this monetized certainty, all this frantic explanatory theater, may amount to nothing more than dream chatter from temporary creatures trapped in a hall of self-authored phantoms, arguing over the governance protocols of a simulation none of us designed, none of us understand, and none of us will escape except by waking up into death.

@ggreenwald @MLiamMcCollum Ever get the feeling that maybe we’re not the good guys anymore?

Notice how quickly all that bullshit about liberating Iranians disappeared, and now it's all about bombing them back to the Stone Age, destroying their bridges and universities, poisoning their air and water, and stealing their oil.

@TheRabbitHole Who are the 31% of retards that answered "yes" on this question.

Legacy media has lost the trust of the people.

@DonDurrett Israel doesn't want this to end. They're going to keep killing the negotiators because their end goal is chaos, not peace.

Probably nothing. zerohedge.com/geopolitical/s…