Charlie Kirk was gunned down for the crime of speaking his mind. The same people who call us “fascists” applauded the bullet, booed the silence, and celebrated leaving a wife and two young kids without their father. They didn’t silence him ... they martyred him.

We used to say “agree to disagree.” Now it’s “agree or get fired.” Welcome to corporate America, where holding a normal, non-radical opinion is suddenly a liability—and HR is just customer service for online mobs.

Language is how we describe reality — not how we escape it. You don’t get to invent your own definitions and force the world to play along. That’s not self-expression. That’s control.

I didn’t set out to be an ISTP. I didn’t choose to be the quiet, analytical badass who fixes the problem while everyone else is still talking about it — but here we are. I’m not cold. I’m efficient. I don’t need your committee, I need a tool and ten minutes.

Illegal immigration isn’t compassionate—it’s collapse in slow motion. If you want to be American, great. But you don’t start that journey by breaking the law, waving another country’s flag, and demanding we change to match the place you ran from. That’s not immigration. That’s infiltration.

I grew up in the age of “shut the hell up and deal with it.” Gen X didn’t get therapy—we got sarcasm and emotional duct tape. Now I build tools for therapists helping kids... and I worry. Because the stigma we swallowed whole? It’s still alive. It just hasn’t reached the playground yet. But it will. Unless we do something.

I’m fat—and not in the cute Instagram-influencer way. I’ve tried every diet, counted every calorie, and still gained weight on monk-level rations. It’s not just me. The food is broken. The advice is broken. And Ancel Keys can rot. Here’s how we got here... and how I’m clawing my way out.

They call me racist because I’m white and male. Fine. Let’s talk about real racism—the kind baked into American history. Spoiler: your favorite political party isn’t wearing a white hat. (Well they were at one time...)

Oil doesn’t come from dinosaurs. Never did. Your car runs on ancient sea slime, not a cremated stegosaurus. It’s time we stop parroting Flintstones science and give some respect to the real MVPs: plankton, pressure, and a billion years of planetary stew.

When you start treating murder like a valid political option, you’re not defending democracy—you’re burning it down from the inside. This isn’t righteous anger. This is cowardice wrapped in moral cosplay. And if you’re cheering for blood, you’ve already become the villain in the story you think you’re starring in.

Tipping used to be a thank-you. Now it’s a guilt trip wrapped in a touchscreen, shoved in your face before you’ve even been served. I’m not tipping the airport. I’m not tipping a self-checkout. And I sure as hell won’t tip 50% because you spun an iPad at me. This isn’t generosity — it’s emotional blackmail.

The beauty industry doesn’t sell confidence. It sells insecurity wrapped in a $200 jar. From magnifying mirrors that turn pores into craters to influencers hawking “preventative aging” serums for kids, women are drowning in a cycle of self-doubt and corporate greed. And the worst part? They’re paying for it.