I hope you're ready because we’re diving headfirst into the flaming dumpster fire that is American politics. It’s not just a mess right now it’s a motherfucking three-ring circus where the clowns are running the show. And at the center of it all? Donald J. Trump, the egomaniacal grifter who somehow conned half the country into thinking he actually gives a fuck about them or something... Trump isn’t a politician; he’s simply a glorified con artist with a cult following. He bulldozes through norms, shits on democracy, and operates on a doctrine of self-worship. Some see it as ‘shaking up the system’; others call it what it is—burning the fu cker to the ground for his own gain. One thing’s for sure about Mr. Trump love him or hate him, he’s fucked up American politics in ways we’ll be dealing with for decades. The establishment... you know...those polished, suit-clad career politicians who play by a certain set of rules. Trump? He flips the table, sets it on fire, and then rage-tweet...
Urban warfare is a harrowing and intense battle environment. Having experienced similar challenges in Iraq, I want to offer some insights that may be of value to the defenders of Kiev, Ukraine. These tactics are born from hard-learned lessons and may help you navigate this difficult terrain. 1. **Stay Off the Streets:** I can't stress this enough. Urban warfare is brutal, and being caught outside is a recipe for disaster. 2. **Doors Are Fatal Funnels:** Doors are tempting entry points. Aim your weapons at them to maximize your firepower. 3. **Block Entrances:** Use anything you can find to block doors from the inside, making it seem unblocked to invaders. 4. **Stairways Are Kill Zones:** Block stairways to slow down enemy advances. 5. **Grenades Downstairs:** When tossing grenades downstairs, have your weapon ready. Invaders may rush upstairs after the blast. 6. **Shoot from Above or Below:** Cut small holes in the floor to fire into rooms below. Enemies often look straight ahead, ...
Today, I woke up to a silence that didn’t just fill the room—it clung to me, wrapped itself around my ribs, and whispered in that hollow space where my heart used to feel full. It wasn’t the soft kind of quiet. It was sharp, brutal, and unrelenting, the kind that sinks into your bones and makes you ache in places you forgot existed. I thought I’d learned how to live with it, how to bury it under routine and motion, but no. It crept back in like it always does, uninvited and heavy, dragging memories behind it like chains. It gnawed at scars I thought had long since healed, and I hated how easy it was for them to tear open again. So I sat in the dark. Crying, like I always do when it becomes too much. The halls stretched on endlessly, their stillness mocking me, and yet I wandered them like I might stumble across something—anything—that would make this emptiness feel less consuming. My fingertips brushed against the walls, the rough texture grounding me, a painful reminder of how far I...
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