Esta cuenta aboga firmemente por la restauración de Tratado de Tordesillas, y la unión de sanos mozos españoles con buenas polacas católicas para re-catolizar y dominar Europa

France is outraged by the high school protesters using the rap song MRH in their protest. In the song, they reference the Islamist terrorist Mohammed Merah who murdered 8-year-old Myriam Monsonego back in 2012 for being Jewish. On March 19th 2012, Mohammed Merah arrived at the Ozar Hatorah Jewish school in Toulouse heavily armed. He first shot Rabbi Jonathan Sandler and Sandler’s sons, Arieh and Gabriel, who were waiting near the gate. Myriam, the school director’s daughter, ran into the courtyard. Witnesses and later trial testimony said she turned back for her pink schoolbag with her favorite ballet slippers. She stumbled and was caught. Merah grabbed her by the hair and shot her in the head. He murdered 7 people in total

RT @MarcosOndarra: Ojo a la treta. El artículo 39.1 de la LOREG establece que el censo para una elección es el cerrado el día primero del s…

A partir de hoy se paralizan todos los procesos judiciales que afectan a políticos. Justo cuando estaban a punto de imputar al PSOE por financiación ilegal. Convoca ahora porque en marzo se iba a los 60 escaños. Esa es la lectura correcta, creo.

🟡 URGENTE. LEY DE NIETOS | SÁNCHEZ CONVOCA ELECCIONES CON UN CENSO ANTERIOR A LAS CAUTELARES DEL SUPREMO Ahí está la jugada de Sánchez. Convoca elecciones contra todo pronóstico y el 29N se pretende votar con un censo cerrado antes de las cautelares conseguidas por @IustitiaEuropa tras nuestra denuncia ante la JEC y posterior recurso ante el Supremo. No vamos a permitir que la sorpresiva convocatoria electoral de Sánchez deje sin efecto una resolución del Tribunal Supremo. #ÚLTIMAHORA Iustitia Europa ya ha presentado un escrito urgente para impedir que las inscripciones sometidas a suspensión produzcan efectos electorales el 29N. Nos hemos dado cuenta y actuamos. 👊 Iustitia irá hasta el final y se presentará el 29N.

Blackstone arranca un 'súpercontrato' estatal de gestión de vivienda mientras el Gobierno lo sitúa entre los "fondos buitre". El fondo de EEUU acaba de cerrar con Sareb el para gestionar miles de pisos, incluidos sociales, con destino a la empresa estatal de vivienda. elmundo.es/economia/2026/10/…

Cataluña ahora mismo está prácticamente sinntransporte público. Ni Rodalies, ni FGC funcionan desde hoy a las 20, hasta mañana a las 14. Avisando ambos con solo 30 minutos del cierre. Tendrá su lógica, pero ¿ la gente que ha ido a trabajar sin coche ?. Y quieren fomentarlo xD

El ciclo de la vida.

Siempre te pueden dar por el ojal dos veces

Va a emplear el fin de semana para: 1/ Montar otra cloaca -ésta con un poco más de empaque que la anterior- con la que extorsionar o tratar de eliminar a los miembros del jurado en el proceso contra Begoño. 2/ Hablar con Mohamed VIH y que acelere la invasión de Melilla. 3/ Ver en qué recóndito apartado del BOE puede meter su ley de nietos sin que nadie se dé cuenta. 4/ Enviar una convocatoria de prensa, mañana domingo, a las 23.45, para decirle a los medios que hará una declaración en el Palacio de La Moncloa. 5/ El lunes a las 09.30, cuando tenga los tres primeros puntos bien atados, comparecerá para decir que él y su gobierno siguen firmes en su compromiso de luchar contra la ultraderecha, de hacer un país más feminista, de seguir aprobando leyes que mejoren la vida de la gente y de continuar ampliando derechos. 6/ Lo de que le no le hayan aprobado los decretos de vivienda se la trufa. Y así tirará otros seis u ocho meses.

Trump haciendo la de Weimar. Para el que no conozca el tema, leed "El Diluvio" de Adam Tooze. Algunas cosas las lees y te parece que hablan de 2026

"Friends" version communiste Épisode 2️⃣ Un autre dictateur rejoint la bande...

"Friends" version communiste « Engueulade au Central Perk »

Ya no solo somos los españoles. Según los panchitos, los japos ( ¡¡ !! ) también son unos guatros que no se lavan. Solo hace falta que salga un indio diciendo que son los campeones del reciclado

Pues porque no han visto los pensionistas, perceptores del IMV o del paro de España xD. Sudamérica y Marruecos viven de gorra

Para esto son los decretos o las "ayudas" a la compra del 50% de la Generalitat, para que al final quien tenga una dacha o un piso chuli sea el miembrondel partido o sindicato, y tú una habitación con Wilfredo en el ghetto

La policia atrincherada porque les atacan. Pocas frases resumen más como la Civilización Occidental se ha ido a la mierda

Ya no solo queman iglesias, ahora queman escuelas. Pero nos venian a mejorar como personas, eh

The SR-71 Speed Check Story from Major Brian Shul's book Sled Driver will forever be one of the hardest tales in aviation. Here it is. There were a lot of things we couldn't do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment. It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet. I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn't match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace. We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: "November Charlie 175, I'm showing you at ninety knots on the ground." Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the " Houston Center voice." I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country's space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that, and that they basically did. And it didn't matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios. Just moments after the Cessna's inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed. "I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed." Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. "Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check". Before Center could reply, I'm thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol' Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He's the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: "Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground." And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done - in mere seconds we'll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: "Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?" There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. "Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground." I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: "Ah, Center, much thanks, we're showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money." For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A.came back with, "Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one." It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day's work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.

Este es el teléfono de la Empresa Municipal de Vivienda del ayuntamiento de @MADRID para que llaméis y exijáis vuestro piso en el barrio del Retiro: 915 168 150

DEUS VOLT !!