Multiple sources confirmed ethics is exactly why CLARITY failed. All other parts were agreed to. 10+ Dems were ready to vote yes. Last item Dems wanted was a floor vote on ethics. Not even a full ethics provision. Just a vote. Republicans ended CLARITY negotiations over it.

Give Saylor Some Credit: The Next Evolution of the Bitcoin Treasury Strategy It’s easy to dismiss @saylor’s “never sell” mantra as a trap. Critics argue he’s painted himself into a corner, dependent on a cycle of buying Bitcoin and issuing preferreds that eventually demands increasingly creative capital raises at the expense of equity holders. But that critique misses the bigger picture. Saylor isn’t stuck…he’s evolving the playbook. The Current Flywheel and Its Limits Strategy’s approach has worked like a monetary flywheel: buy Bitcoin through ATMs or preferred offerings, boost the Bitcoin per-share value of common stock, strengthen collateral coverage, and in turn reinforce Bitcoin’s price. It’s a powerful, self-reinforcing loop. The problem is sustainability. Servicing preferreds eventually requires issuing more common equity - diluting shareholders and creating the optics of a Ponzi-like need for constant inflows. But here’s what critics overlook: Saylor has repeatedly shown a willingness to adapt. Each pivot (ATM issuance, bank debt, convertible bonds, and now preferreds) was not blind stubbornness but active refinement. He’s been innovative, responsive, and adaptive, each time solving the limits of the prior model while strengthening Strategy’s Bitcoin position. The next logical step follows that same pattern: retire the ATM as the primary funding source for dividends and replace it with a professional trading desk designed to monetize highly appreciated Bitcoin. The Necessary Pivot: A Ladder Approach Think of it like climbing a ladder (with endless side rails and only 10 rungs): to keep rising, you eventually need to move a lower rung upward. For Strategy, that means selling a small, strategic portion of Bitcoin at the right times. It’s not abandoning “never sell” …..it’s maturing into a true institutional Bitcoin operation. The model is straightforward: sell into strength, fund dividends, and leverage capital inflows to grow Strategy’s stack. Done right, it becomes an elegant arbitrage between Bitcoin’s long-term CAGR and his preferred/tradfi based yields. A Lesson from the 1980s This is where the Solomon Brothers parallel matters. In the 1980s, Solomon dominated the bond market by mastering liquidity. They didn’t just participate - they set the rules, forcing others to trade on their terms. By running the most sophisticated desk, they became the gravitational center of bonds. That’s the opportunity here: Strategy could become the Solomon Brothers of Bitcoin. By professionalizing both sides of the trade, they wouldn’t just hold Bitcoin - they’d define the liquidity strategy everyone else follows. Letting the Market Catch Up Saylor knows timing is everything. Announcing a willingness to sell only works if the infrastructure is already in place - staffed with veteran traders using proven strategies will provide instant credibility. That’s what allows the market to see evolution, not retreat. Game theory suggests he’ll move only when the market itself feels the strain: slowing mNAV, ATM limits, and lackluster price action. At that moment, the pivot won’t be seen as a crack in the strategy - it will be welcomed as the solution. More importantly, this shift removes the Ponzi-like optics that critics seize on. Instead of relying on constant ATM issuance, capital begins flowing naturally into both the preferreds and the common. The flywheel regains traction, market confidence strengthens, and mNAV expands in a way that feels sustainable rather than forced. Conclusion: He’s Not Out of Moves Saylor deserves credit for creating the board everyone else is now playing on. If history is any guide, he isn’t boxed in -he’s preparing the next move. And it may be the most powerful yet: turning Strategy from the first corporate Bitcoin treasury into the Solomon Brothers of Bitcoin, the institution that controls the liquidity game. @darkside2030 @JoshMandell6 @Puncher522

AN OPEN LETTER OF APOLOGY TO MR. LEBRON RAYMONE JAMES —— Dear LeBron, I come before you today not as a fan, not as a hater, but as a sinner seeking absolution from the only man in recorded history who has ever beaten Father Time in a game of one-on-one, talked trash during it, and then signed Father Time's jersey afterward. I have wronged you, King. I have wronged you grievously. I have wronged you in group chats. I have wronged you in comment sections. I have wronged you in front of friends, that "he's not even top 5 anymore" and I watched the light leave their eyes. I have carried that sin for months. Because tonight I witnessed a SPECTACLE. Tonight I witnessed a MARVEL. Tonight I witnessed a 41-year-old man, in his 23rd professional season, in a league full of genetic freaks who were in ELEMENTARY SCHOOL when he was already an All-Star, casually stroll into Toyota Center and remind an entire generation that the throne was never vacant, we were just looking at the wrong chair. I was a doubter. Say it with me. I. Was. A. Doubter. I said "the minutes are down." I said "the burst isn't there." I said "he's a compiler now" as if compiling 40,000 points is something you can do by accident, as if I could compile a grocery list without forgetting the eggs. I watched this man drop 19-8-13 in Game 1 with EIGHT assists in the FIRST QUARTER and I said "yeah but can he score?" I watched him go 28-8-7 in Game 2, strangle Kevin Durant to three second-half points, get to the line 14 times, throw down a two-handed dunk with 55 seconds left to seal it, and become THE ONLY PLAYER OVER 40 TO LEAD A PLAYOFF RUN IN POINTS, REBOUNDS, AND ASSISTS; and I, a clown, a fool, a man with functioning eyeballs and a functioning brain refusing to speak to each other. I said "let's see Game 3." Well. I saw Game 3. Let's talk about the last 26 seconds. Let's sit with the last 26 seconds. Let's LIVE in the last 26 seconds, because I will be living there, rent-free, for the remainder of my natural life. They were up SIX. Six points. In TWENTY-SIX seconds. That is a possession and change. That is a timeout and a commercial break. That is the window between "I should order food" and "never mind I'll just eat cereal." Toyota Center was SHAKING. The crowd was on its feet. The Rockets bench was already doing that little celebratory bounce, that premature bounce, that bounce that says "we got it." Somewhere in Houston, a man was pulling a Bud Light out of the fridge. Somewhere in Houston, a woman was texting her husband "told you." Somewhere in Houston, a child was being lifted onto his father's shoulders. The building was BOOKED. The building was CLOSED. The building was, as far as every person in it was concerned, a W. And then LeBron looked at the scoreboard. And then LeBron looked at the clock. And then LeBron decided, in what I can only describe as a cosmic, galaxy-brain, Men-in-Black-neuralyzer moment, that this was not going to be how the evening ended for any of us. What followed was not basketball. It was an exorcism. It was a man methodically walking through a haunted house turning off the lights one by one. Steal. Three. Somewhere in there a pass so audacious I started shaking in a hot room. The Toyota Center crowd went from LOUDEST BUILDING IN AMERICA to a library to a funeral to one of those silent monasteries where monks take a vow and only communicate through bells. You could hear the HVAC system. You could hear a Rockets fan, three rows up, whisper "no." You could hear the ghost of Hakeem Olajuwon apologize to the city on LeBron's behalf. Twenty-six seconds. SIX POINTS. He did not close the gap. He did not tie the game. He OPENED the gap in the other direction. He took the Rockets' lead, folded it in half, folded it in half again, and put it in his pocket like a receipt he might need for taxes. The scoreboard operator had to Ctrl+Z his entire career. The broadcast director cut to Austin Reaves on the bench and Austin Reaves had the face of a man who has just seen God and is slightly annoyed he didn't get a heads up. I watched it happen. I watched it happen LIVE. I have to be honest with you, I have to be honest with myself, I have to be honest with the NBA league office, the Basketball Hall of Fame, and God Almighty: I am not okay. I have not been okay since he hit the three. Archaeologists will one day unearth my twitter post and carbon-date it to "the night LeBron did the thing." Six points. Twenty-six seconds. A team, a building, a city, a narrative: dismantled. Not beaten. DISMANTLED. Taken apart piece by piece like IKEA furniture in reverse. The Rockets did not lose that game. They were disassembled on live television and shipped back to the warehouse with a note that said "return to sender, 41-year-old in aisle." So here, formally, in writing, with my full legal name attached and a witness present, is my apology: I, Jathin Pranav Singaraju, of sound mind and recently shattered worldview, do hereby and forever APOLOGIZE to LeBron Raymone James Sr. for every slanderous, disrespectful, hot-taking, podcast-brained, Twitter-poisoned, bad-faith, Jordan-stan-adjacent, ring-culture-addled, "he had help," "he left Cleveland," "he left Cleveland again," "the Heatles," "the block was a travel," "Kawhi did it with less," "MJ went 6-0," "but the 73-win Warriors," "but the 3-1 lead," "but load management," "but the minutes restriction," "but the Lakers are a play-in team," "but he can't close anymore," "but he's a regular season guy now," "but but but" — take that I have ever uttered, thought, liked, retweeted, or silently agreed with in my heart. I renounce them. All of them. I renounce them in this life and, should the technology become available, the next. I will never doubt you again. Not in this series. Not in this playoff run. Not in this career. Not in any GOAT debate, at any bar, in any group chat, at any wedding, at any funeral, at any deposition. If you come back next year at 42 averaging a 30-point triple-double I will not be surprised. If you come back at 45 coaching yourself I will not be surprised. If you are inducted into the Hall of Fame and then UN-inducted because you are somehow still playing I will not be surprised. If you erase a six-point deficit in twenty-six seconds again next week, on a Tuesday, against a random team, for no reason, just to remind us. I will not be surprised. The bar is on the floor. The bar is underground. The bar is in the Mariana Trench. The bar has achieved enlightenment and moved on. I am sorry, King. I am so, so sorry. I was wrong. The throne was never empty. Long live the King.

Your smart TV is taking screenshots of your screen every 15 seconds. Not a guess. Not a theory. A peer-reviewed study by researchers at UC Davis, UCL, and UC3M tested it. Samsung TVs: every minute. LG TVs: every 15 seconds. Even when you're just using it as a monitor. Here's how to turn it off for every brand:

Pete Hegseth quoted a fake Bible verse from Pulp Fiction during a Pentagon sermon.

Thing of absolute beauty. Give whoever made this video a big fat raise, Wyze