‘Oops’: Don Jr.'s bride tramples over his wedding story with 'incredible' contradiction - Raw Story Donald Junior claims he didn't know the Russian oligarch Wife Bettina said he's their "dear friend" rawstory.com/don-trump-jr-26…

I was given my name by the Iroquois Nation many hundreds of years ago. By 1660 my name was printed on maps by the Europeans as they accepted the Native name which means Beautiful waters. In 1867 the Canadian government decided to use my name for their providence.

I’m sorry, but Lindsey Graham dying out of the blue like this doesn’t make any sense at all. We have him on camera yesterday looking perfectly healthy. None of this is making any sense…

With love from Uganda 💥🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸💥 Americas 250th birthday

I just signed a new law imposing a 100% state tax on any Californians who benefit from @realDonaldTrump's Jan. 6th slush fund for insurrectionists. Taxpayer dollars should support victims, not the people who attacked law enforcement officers and our very democracy. We don't fund criminals.

A restaurant called Brio Italian Grille, in a shopping center, on a Saturday afternoon. The name means "lively" or "joyful" in Italian. I confirmed this with the menu, which also told me that to eat well is to live well. This is correct. I sat. A waitress named Brianna seated me at a small table for one, near a long, long table that had clearly been set up for war. Twelve seats. Pink ribbons. Pink balloons. A banner that read OH BABY. A small mountain of wrapped gifts in one corner. A woman at the head of the table, perhaps eight months pregnant, on a chair her friends had decorated with flowers. I sat so I could see them all. "Can I start you off with a drink?" "What ceremony is this," I asked. Brianna brightened. "Oh, that's a baby shower! It's for Megan. Her friends are throwing it for her. They bring her gifts and well-wishes, and the idea is they kind of shower down on her. That's where the name comes from." "...In this country, you bring a woman into a room, and you cause blessings and gifts to fall on her like rain." "Yeah! Exactly like that. I'm gonna start using that." "A Peach Bellini, please." "Great choice." The Bellini arrived in a glass the color of a sunrise that had been allowed to keep going. "The peach is at war with the prosecco. Whichever wins, I drink." "Either way you win, sir." She walked away, smiling. I sipped. The peach was winning by half a length. The Pasta Brio arrived. Rigatoni, grilled chicken, mushrooms, spinach, red peppers, in a roasted red pepper cream the kitchen had thought about for a long time. I ate. I had to set the fork down. It was very good pasta. The cream had patience in it. The chicken had not been hurried. The mushrooms had been treated like guests of honor. But I could not focus on the pasta. The rain ceremony was beginning. A woman at the long table stood up with a small bowl. "Okay everyone, diaper raffle!" The other women cheered. Brianna refilled my water on her way past. "Brianna. What is this." "Diaper raffle! Each guest brought a pack of diapers as a gift, and they get a raffle ticket. Then someone wins a prize. It's a really fun one." "...So the guests bring supplies for the war that is coming. And among themselves, they hold a contest, and the one who brought the most is rewarded." "Honestly? I never thought of it like that, but yeah, that's it." "A child uses two thousand five hundred of those in the first year. I checked in my hotel." "Wait, really? That's wild. Okay I have to tell my brother that. He's about to be a dad." "Then he is about to begin a long siege. Bring him diapers. Many." "I will. Lots." She moved on, grinning. A winner was drawn. A woman in a yellow blouse jumped up and clapped. The pregnant woman beamed. The whole table cheered for the winner. Then they cheered, somehow more loudly, for the mother. The cheer for the mother was the real prize. The winner knew it. She bowed to the mother. The mother, from her flower throne, bowed back. I bowed too, from my small table. None of them saw. Then a piece of string was produced. Brianna passed again. "They cut a piece of string each, then guess the length around her belly. Closest one wins." "...They are guessing the size of an unborn child's first home." "Oh my god, that's adorable. Yes." "In my country, when a craftsman is trusted with the dimensions of a thing, it is because he has trained many years. Here, the trust is given to all." "That's because everyone here knows Megan. They all think they know her best. Should see them fight over it." She moved on. Each woman approached the pregnant woman with her piece of string. The string was held against her belly. The closest guess won. The pregnant woman laughed harder than any of them, with her hands on her belly, which is to say, with her hands on the future. An older woman at the long table — the aunt, by her seating — got up, looked around, and on her way past my small table, paused, glass of wine still in hand. "Are you here for the shower, sweetie?" I lowered my fork. "...I am here for the rain." She tilted her head, processed this for a fraction of a second, then gave me the warmest smile of the afternoon. "Oh, I love that. We need more rain. Are you enjoying your pasta?" "It has been treated with respect." "Right? They do good pasta here. Listen, you should come over. Megan's about to open the last few gifts and there's gonna be cake." I rose from my chair, slowly, the way one rises when one is unsure whether one has been promoted. "...I have not brought a gift." "Oh sweetie, you don't need a gift. You just come say hi. You've been sitting over here looking like the wisest man in the building. Come over." She walked back toward the table. I stood at my small table for a moment, with my napkin still in my hand. "...A samurai does not refuse an aunt." I set my napkin down. I picked up my Bellini, because to come to a table empty-handed is unbearable. I crossed the four feet between my table and theirs. The aunt patted the chair beside her, which was the only empty seat at the long table. "Everyone, this is — sorry, hon, what's your name?" "...The east." "Everyone, this is the East. He's been very kindly watching us from over there and I told him he should come say hi." The eleven women looked at me. I bowed deeply to all of them, and most deeply to the pregnant woman, Megan. "Forgive my intrusion. Your aunt has compelled me. I will not stay long enough to be a burden." "You're not a burden!" Megan said. "Hi! I'm Megan. How do we... do we know each other?" "We do not. I came on behalf of the child. A child gathers his own welcoming party from the four directions. I am the east." A woman across the table giggled into her mimosa. The aunt patted my hand. "Okay, you're the east. Got it." "Wait, you came on behalf of the baby?" Megan said, holding her belly, laughing. "That is so kind of you. Thank you, east." "It is not kindness, Megan-san. It is duty. The east has the morning. A child should be welcomed by the morning." "Okay you're killing me. I love this." Another gift was opened. A small wooden rattle. The woman who had given it, in glasses, said brightly to the whole table, "I just thought it was cute!" The table laughed. I rose, very slightly, in my chair. "In my country, a child's first sound is held to be the first prayer he speaks. The rattle makes that sound on his behalf, before he can. You, by selecting it, have already heard him pray." The woman in glasses paused with the rattle in her hand. Then she beamed. "Oh, that's a lot nicer than 'it was cute.' I'm using that. I'm telling my husband I heard the baby pray." "You did. Do not let your husband say otherwise." The table laughed. Megan was wiping her eyes, but in a happy way, the way you wipe your eyes when something gentle has snuck up on you. A string was held against Megan's belly one final time. The aunt insisted I take a turn. I rose. I approached Megan with the seriousness of a man asked to measure the dimensions of a wall that would hold up a roof. "...This is the length of the future." "That's a lot of pressure, sir." "It is not pressure. It is the truth." I cut my string. The closest guess belonged to Megan's cousin. The table cheered. I bowed deeply to the cousin. "You were closer to the future than I was. I yield." "...Thank you?" The cake came out. The aunt cut me a slice without asking. I accepted it with both hands, and bowed to it before eating. The frosting was pink and patient. The fondant elephant on top stared at the ceiling with great composure. Megan rose, slowly, with her hand on her back, and walked the length of the table to where I was sitting. She took both my hands. I rose to receive her. "Thank you for coming, east." "Megan-san. May this child be born into a country where, on a Saturday afternoon, a stranger eating alone can be pulled into a circle of women who are stockpiling diapers for him. There is no place on earth I would rather be born." She squeezed my hands. "I have no idea who invited you. But I'm so glad they did." "I am also." The aunt paid for my pasta along with the rest of the table's bill, despite my standing up to object. She waved this off. "Honey, you came all this way." "I came from very far," I admitted. "From very far." "Aw, sweetie." Brianna walked me to the door, because the aunt had requested it. As I passed Jenna at the hostess stand, Jenna handed me a small paper bag. "They wanted you to take this home." Inside: a slice of cake wrapped in a napkin. A small jar of pink and white candy. A party favor tag that read THANK YOU FOR SHOWERING US WITH LOVE. I read the tag three times. Outside, the sky was clear. No rain. No clouds. Pure California afternoon. I held the bag carefully, the way one holds a thing that one has not earned and has been given anyway. I came to this country expecting to learn how to be a stranger here. Instead an aunt I had never met saw me eating alone, and decided I belonged at the table, and the table agreed without consultation, and the mother thanked me for coming as if I had been on the guest list, and the room sent me home with candy and a piece of the child's own cake. This is the standard of welcome in this country. If this is what they do for a stranger who was not even invited, I cannot imagine what they do for the ones they meant to call. Tonight I will eat the cake. Tomorrow I will look at the sky. If it rains, I will know it is one of theirs. If it does not, I will know the rain has already fallen, in a quieter form, in a restaurant in a shopping center, on a Saturday afternoon, on a man who did not know he had been called. The east has been to the west, and the east was given a seat. I am no longer a stranger. I have been to the rain.

🚨 President Trump is CALLING OUT the LA Mayoral election being STOLEN from Spencer Pratt "You ever see an election that takes WEEKS to count the votes?!" "After the evening, it looked like [Pratt] was going to win or certainly be in the runoff. And then I started hearing rumors as the days went by, days and days went by, that Pratt is fading. He's fading. I said, 'they RIGGED the election!' And then, lo and behold, he didn't qualify." "In California, they can put you in JAIL if you say, 'sir, do you have proof of citizenship?'" "If you ask that question to a voter, you are CRIMINALLY liable!" "The election's totally rigged. California is totally rigged. All mail in ballots. It's a disgrace." WE NEED THE SAVE AMERICA ACT!

Fate set them apart. Attraction did the rest. Drawn Together, premieres September 9 on @PrimeVideo.

Instead of getting to work for the American people, Trump and his MAGA allies have been burning time and your tax dollars on this: