Nothing says "We're not Hitler!" like trying to ban the opposition.

It's written on destroyed buildings and burnt bikes. Proof by Palestine

Last night I put your bedroom light on, sat on the floor in your room and cried. The same cold white bulb from when we moved in still hangs within your lampshade and throws out an eerie glow that reminds me of the nights before you died. I sat cross-legged on the sheepskin rug you were sent when you were sick. It arrived addressed to you in a box wrapped with gift paper. We helped you open it, assuming it would be another toy sent from another well-wisher. You were confused and disappointed when you pulled out a sheepskin rug. We realised quickly that it was meant for your bed, for pressure sores, for a time when you might not be able to move anymore. “It’s for your bedroom!” I told you, in my brightest voice. “A lovely soft rug for your feet to touch when you get out of bed.” You could never know its real purpose. I’m not sure whether your feet ever touched that rug in the end; you lost the use of your legs so quickly. 4am. Everyone asleep. I wandered into your bathroom and shuddered at the memories. The nights we would be up in the dark, sitting on the floor next to you on the toilet. You didn’t want the light on; it was too bright for your eyes. We’d sit there for ages, waiting for you to pee, but your brain was no longer able to tell your bladder what to do. You’d be crying in pain and frustration, and I’d be running up and down the stairs, fetching drugs that might help you, trying to sound like I knew exactly what to do to help, while carrying this overwhelming sense of helplessness and dread. You’d frantically chew CBD gummies and take those awful-tasting drops under your tongue, and then, when nothing else would work, we’d resort to the dreaded midazolam. You’d still be sitting there when your foot, locked in an unnatural position, would start shaking uncontrollably. I’d cradle it, massage it, wipe away your tears, kiss your face and tell you it would be okay, while silently screaming at god, the universe or whoever the fuck might be out there to show us some mercy. But no mercy came. We battled those nights alone. The agony of it all. The darkest nights. They will haunt me forever. Donate for DIPG research so we might provide hope to the children diagnosed with this awful monster: justgiving.com/page/billysba…

Una socorrista israelí declaró a la CNN: «Hamás le cortó la mano a una niña de 8 años. Durante horas, permaneció tendida en su propia sangre, temblando. Completamente sola. Para cuando llegamos hasta ella, estaba dando sus últimos suspiros». Estos son los salvajes con los que estamos tratando... Susan Sarandon? Creo en la autodeterminación de los pueblos

Meiner Tochter, die Breakdance, Hiphop, Calisthenics und Marathon macht, wird im Arztbericht zum Stressabbau empfohlen, Sport zu machen. MaW die haben sie nichts zu ihrem Lebensstil gefragt, sprechen aber eine Empfehlung aus. 🙈

Grand opening of Max Mall, Mawasi Khan Younes, South Gaza Strip - yesterday 15 October 2026. #TheGazaYouDontSee Link in 1st response

The local grocery will close for good next week. Today everything is 50% off. I’m in a queue waiting for it to open. I’m the only indigenous person here. (I’m planning to clean their glutenfree stuff off the shelves 😈)

Die Kraniche sind spät dran…

It's time I raised the tone of this somewhat uncouth account with a serious look at art. So here's a fave of mine, The Vintage Festival by Lawrence Alma-Tadema, a painting that speaks to us across the ages. It says: “Why am I always the one who has to make sure you piss-artists get home safely?” This is Where's Wally for classicists. There's a lot going on here, but your gaze is drawn to the woman with the torch, because she's so over this bullshit. Look at that weary disapproval. She's the sober misery-guts on every girls' night out. It's five in the morning, her mates are all paralytic after a night on the falernian slammers, and they're finally being kicked out of the club, singing I Will Survive (in Latin, obvs.) Basternarii waiting for fares outside with the rest of the early morning plebs just know these women are going to throw up in their palanquins, and they've only just had them fumigated after their last epic drinking sesh. Women, eh? See, I can do classy. I don't know much about art, but I know what I like. (Seriously, I love all this guy's work. You can pore over it for hours. Loads of interesting detail and a life history in every face.)

Sich darauf verlassen, dass andere ihren Job ordentlich machen, ist so Boomer. Noch Boomer ist nur, seinen Job ordentlich zu machen, weil andere sich darauf verlassen.

No, abortion is ad hominem.

A heartfelt thanks to Barney Calman @BarneyCalman and his team at the @DailyMail, not only for the opportunity to write and share part of Billy's story, but for the kindness, care and sensitivity with which they've handled it. Please take the time to read it if you can. It's a difficult journey, and it's long, but I hope it's worth it. It's not about apportioning blame (although there was a time when I could have knocked them all out). It's about making things right. Making things better for the children to come. I can't do that for you now, Billy, but I know you're right there with me, every single step of the way. As I promised you after you died, and again in this article: "I will fight for little ones like you. Because I'm not sure what else I am supposed to do if I can't do that." dailymail.com/health/article…

Watch and remember! youtu.be/fW3ACj0ro4Y?is=VHFp…

I don’t even know what to say to this. I’m furious. Livid. It’s not just the Muslim Jew-hating father that makes me the most angry. It’s the fact teacher was basically like “Okay we understand you don’t want to be shown round by a Jewish girl, let’s cater for your hatred” If someone came into a school and said: “I do not want to be shown around by a Black child” or “I do not want to be shown round by a Muslim child” THERE WOULD BE HEADLINES AND OUTRAGE. And would the teacher have reacted the same? No they wouldn’t. And let’s say the teacher would have catered for that racism, there would be calls to shut down the school in an instant. Why when Jews are shown hatred for who they are. Is it suddenly acceptable? I’m absolutely livid. @MorEdge_Insight - make sure you take them to the cleaners. Get this out to as many publications as possible.

ÖRR grad so: „Da gab es einen Todesfall in der Familie und wir machen einfach so weiter!“ Ich erinnere mich an etliche Todesfälle in Familien in den letzten Jahren und die Politik machte einfach so weiter. Wir hassen den ÖRR noch nicht genug! 😡

Der Grund, warum die besten YouTube Kanäle, die wenigsten Follower haben:

Btw den Tod der Stieftochter von B.Bas, die sie kennenlernte als diese Anfang 30 und die jetzt Anfang 50 war, als "Tod eines Kindes" zu vermarkten, ist pietätlos gegenüber allen Eltern, die wirklich ein eigenes Kind im Kindesalter verlieren. That's it. That's the tweet.

Food prep at Chef Hamada's restaurant in Gaza City. Timestamps: Today 11 Oct '26 #TheGazaYouDontSee Links in 1st response

Getting ready for the March for Life in 🇦🇹 Vienna! God bless Bishop Klaus Küng who is faithful yearly participant! One day, like in the 🇬🇧 UK, all bishops will participate!

A few years ago, antisemitism could cost you your job. Today, it earns you a Nobel Prize.

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE HEALTH SECRETARY. Dear Health Secretary, My name is Ellie Thompson. I am Billy’s mum. Billy was four years old when he died from DIPG, an incurable childhood brain cancer, on Easter Sunday, 31 March 2024. He was funny, brave, full of life and completely adored. He loved superheroes, rugby, Ghostbusters and Queen. He should be seven years old now. Instead, I’m writing to you because other families are facing the same devastating reality. When Billy was diagnosed, we were told there was no cure. We watched him endure radiotherapy, steroids and the gradual loss of everything that made him independent. We watched him suffer. And then we held him in our arms as he died. Fighting for his peace. We felt abandoned by the health care system, who failed to be there when we asked, when we needed. But what haunts me isn’t only how Billy died. It’s everything that came before it. The lack of treatment options. The desperate search for something that might help. And the knowledge that other families are facing the same nightmare. Since Billy died, we’ve established Billy’s Battalion and campaigned alongside Brain Cancer Justice. We’ve taken our children’s stories to Parliament. We’ve written letters. We’ve begged for change. But we cannot do this alone. We need dedicated, full-time national leadership for brain cancer. Someone to drive research, improve access to trials and make brain cancer a priority. A National Brain Cancer Lead won’t bring Billy back. It won’t undo that Easter Sunday, or the black van that arrived with a stretcher and a body bag to take my little boy away. But it could help change the future for families who haven’t yet heard the words that destroyed ours. My son was four years old. He didn’t get to grow up. The very least we can do is fight for the children who still might. Please give brain cancer the dedicated national leadership it deserves. Ellie Thompson Billy’s Battalion ❤️‍🩹DO YOU AGREE? If you support this call, comment I AGREE and your town or county below. Please don’t share your full address or postcode. For Billy. For change. ❤️‍🩹