This billboard wasn’t allowed in public incase it offended anyone so please do not repost it. Thanks.

”Wednesday afternoon I was driving west on I-40 when my blood sugar dropped to a dangerous level. Luckily a Burger King restaurant was at the upcoming exit. As I stumbled through placing my order I mentioned to the voice on the speaker that I was diabetic and in need of food. Low blood sugar makes it difficult to think or act. I pulled up to the first window in order to pay for my food. I was shocked to see Burger King employee Tina Hardy running toward the front of my car. She squeezed between the front of my car and the building just to bring me a small serving of ice cream. Tina later explained that her husband was also diabetic and she could tell that I needed help. After paying I pulled up to Tina’s window where she gave me my food. She instructed me to park across the driveway so that she could keep an eye on me until I felt better. After eating I waited for a break in business so that I could return to Tina’s window. I then took this picture and spoke with Tina’s supervisor, telling him what she did for me. If you appreciate what this special woman did please share this story. Hopefully Tina Hardy will receive the recognition that she truly deserves from the public and from the big bosses at Burger King.” Credit : Rebecca Boening

Dear Spectrum Internet, Today your technician Robert came to our home to upgrade our internet and help us start up TV streaming. He walked into a mess. My son, Sailor, is three years old. He was born with two rare brain defects and he is blind. He is unable to communicate his needs, and today has been rough for him. He has been crying all morning. I’ve been trying to soothe him while also meeting the needs of my two year old daughter, cleaning, washing dishes, and doing laundry while my husband works. It’s just been a tough day. When Robert walked in and started talking, Sailor ran to him and reached up. Robert didn’t seem bothered at all and, instead, held my son off and on for the whole 45 minutes he was in our home. He snuggled him close while I folded laundry. It was a huge relief to this tired momma. Robert could have walked in, rushed, and left but instead he saw a need greater than internet and met it. That’s beyond customer service- it’s humanity at its best. Robert deserves a raise... a promotion... something! He’s an asset to your company and I will never forget his kindness. Sincerely, Jessica" Credit: Jessica Nash Donnahoo

the greatest generation for a reason

Buffalo had just ripped out Houston’s heart with a 36–31 win. The Bills were celebrating. The stadium was roaring. Buffalo had survived a war. And then Josh Allen did something that had absolutely nothing to do with the scoreboard. C.J. Stroud sat on the sideline crushed, staring down after one of the most painful losses of his young career. Everybody else was moving around him, but for a moment he looked completely alone with it. Then Allen walked away from the celebration. Not toward cameras. Not toward teammates. Toward Stroud. The quarterback who had just beaten him crossed the field, embraced him and spoke quietly into his ear. No showmanship. No chest pounding. Just one competitor recognizing what another man was carrying. And according to the account being shared afterward, Stroud was deeply moved by it. That is the part of football people forget. Under the helmets are human beings. These men spend an entire afternoon trying to destroy each other’s game plans, then one of them sees the other hurting and says, in effect, “I know what this feels like.” That is sportsmanship at its most ineffable. Josh Allen didn’t have to walk over there. He had every reason to celebrate. But he saw Stroud sitting there and chose humanity over the moment. That may have lasted only a few seconds. But those few seconds probably told you more about Josh Allen than another touchdown ever could. Buffalo won 36–31. But this was the moment that won the night. #AStoneGroove #SilentMajoritySpeaks

A woman on the flight looked at my dog and whispered that he looked dangerous. She asked why a German Shepherd like him was even allowed on the plane. His name is Drake. For six years he worked with Marine Special Operations as a Multi-Purpose Canine. While most of us step back from danger, Drake was trained to move toward it. He tracked high-value targets on missions that could not fail. He found hidden explosives before they could take a life. He was shot twice protecting the team beside him. The scar on his shoulder came from shrapnel in an IED blast in Helmand Province. Bleeding and hurt, he kept working and located four more devices nearby. That slight limp is from the rounds he took during an ambush while covering his handler. Because of Drake, a young Marine made it home to his child. He received a Navy Commendation Medal and a Purple Heart. He is credited with helping save more than forty lives. He has never bitten a person. The only things he ever went after were the threats he was trained to stop. So no, I am not moving my seat. If you want to, you can thank him for his service. If this changed how you see him, comment Drake. I would love to show you the dog he is now — quiet, loyal, and still watching over the people around him.

Dang Mets fans, that was amazing. Even Lindor was clapping.

There are HEROES among us. The Pilot Who Refused to Leave Him Behind The security guard at Arlington National Cemetery wasn't budging. "Ma'am, you're not on the list. Please step back." Samantha Morgan stood at the gate in a simple black dress, watching officers escort VIPs past the barricade to General William Hawthorne's funeral. For ten years, she'd avoided the spotlight, working quietly at a VA clinic. But today was different. She reached into her worn leather bag and pulled out a bronze challenge coin—tarnished, heavy with memory. On it was engraved a Blackhawk helicopter with Valkyrie feathers. "I pulled him out of a burning crash site in Kandahar, 2014," she said quietly. "I'm not leaving him behind now." The young specialist shook his head. "Everyone claims they knew him, Ma'am. I can't make exceptions." A staff sergeant joined in, eyeing her civilian clothes with disdain. "The public viewing area is 200 yards back. That's where you belong." Samantha's hands trembled slightly, gripping the coin tighter. She'd disobeyed direct orders that day when her radio crackled: "Angel-Zero-Six, abort! LZ is too hot!" But Hawthorne was pinned under twisted metal, bleeding out. She landed anyway. Just as the sergeant reached for his radio to have her removed, gravel crunched behind them. A black limousine pulled up. Four stars gleamed on the shoulders of the man who emerged—General Elias Thorne, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He walked straight toward them. The sergeant's salute was so sharp his heels cracked together. But Thorne only had eyes for Samantha. He stopped, looking at the coin in her white-knuckled grip. "Captain Morgan," he said softly. Samantha saluted, muscle memory overriding emotion. Thorne pulled a yellowed, blood-stained flight manifest from his breast pocket, preserved in plastic. "Sergeant, she's not on the guest list because General Hawthorne left only one directive that mattered: 'If the pilot who flew Angel-Zero-Six shows up, she walks in front of me.'" His voice cracked slightly. "I was the Colonel in the TOC that day. We ordered you to abort. You turned off your radio." "He was dying," Samantha whispered. "I know," Thorne said, his eyes wet. "He told that story every Thanksgiving for a decade. Called you the Stubborn Angel. Said you gave him ten more years with his grandchildren." Thorne stepped aside, extending his arm. "Escort Captain Morgan to the front row. Next to Mrs. Hawthorne." At the grave site, an elegant elderly woman stood immediately when she saw them approaching. Mrs. Hawthorne walked past senators and dignitaries, straight to Samantha. She took Samantha's calloused hands and pressed something into her palm—another challenge coin, its edges worn smooth from years of being held. "He kept this on his nightstand," Mrs. Hawthorne said through tears. "Whenever he felt afraid, he'd hold it. He said it reminded him that when the world was burning, someone came for him." As Taps began to play, Samantha stood at attention—the General on her right, the widow on her left. She'd carried him out of the fire once. Now she was here to see him safely home. When asked later why she'd risked her life that day, Samantha simply said: "You don't leave people behind. That's not protocol—that's a promise." The coin Mrs. Hawthorne gave her now sits in Samantha's VA clinic office, where veterans see it daily—a reminder that someone will always come when they need help most

The undisputed greatest first-pitch of all-time.

Maybe the best piece ESPN has ever produced. 25 years after 9/11 and I still watch this at least once a year. The story of Welles Crowther, a former Boston College lacrosse player who saved at a dozen lives. “The Man In The Red Bandana.”

"That sounds much more interesting" 🤣🤣😂

Ever heard of the 9/11 story of the Thunder Dog, the New Jersey dog who saved her blind owner in the WTC? She was a yellow Lab named Roselle. She lived in Westfield, New Jersey, with Michael Hingson, who has been blind since birth. Every morning they took the train into the city. On Sept. 11 she was asleep under his desk on the 78th floor of the North Tower She hated thunderstorms. That morning she stayed calm Hingson could not see the fire. He trusted her instead. They went down 78 flights, about 1,463 steps in the dark, past firefighters going up. She guided him around obstacles when there was room, and walked at his heel when there wasn’t After they got out, the South Tower fell. She led him into a subway entrance through the dust. That night they made it home to New Jersey. She picked up her tug toy and played There is actually a book about her called, *Thunder Dog* because the dog who shook at thunder did not shake when the building did Roselle died in 2011. Remember her New Jersey

Such a heartwarming moment, I love when athletes take the time to do things like this

On September 11, 2001, about 140 infants and toddlers were inside the Pentagon's Child Development Center, just 30 yards from the building itself. Hanna Born was one of them. She was 3 years old. She was playing with dance ribbons when American Airlines Flight 77 struck the building. She remembers the ribbons. Then she remembers being in a hallway, and nothing in between. Her younger sister Heather was there too — just 4 months old, too young to remember any of it. Volunteers evacuated every child that day. Not one was harmed. Their mother, a Brigadier General, was stationed miles away at Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling and had no idea what was happening until it was already over. A few days later, Hanna's father brought her back to the Pentagon. Not to frighten her — to show her something else entirely: recovery workers, still digging, still helping, still showing up. That daycare center closed for good in 2004, over safety concerns tied to its location. But something about those few days stayed with Hanna long after the building did not. She grew up hearing the same thing from her parents, over and over: how lucky her family was that day, and how many families were not. In 2019, she graduated from the Air Force Academy. Today she holds the rank of Captain, flying the TH-1H Huey as an instructor pilot with the 23rd Flying Training Squadron at Fort Rucker, training the next generation of Army helicopter pilots. But it's what she does outside the cockpit that's harder to forget. On September 11, 2025, Hanna started running. Her goal: 2,977 miles — one for every person who died on 9/11. She's averaging 8.2 miles a day, every day, for a full year. She's not just logging distance. With every mile, she says a name out loud. A real person. A real story. She once heard a line that stuck with her: people die twice. Once when they stop breathing — and again, the last time someone says their name. Her goal is simple. Make sure that second day never comes. She'll cross her final mile on September 11, 2026 — exactly 25 years after the day she was carried out of a hallway she barely remembers. 2,977 miles. 2,977 names. One woman who was too young to understand what happened to her — now old enough to make sure no one else forgets it.

August 21, 2015, a Thalys train carrying 554 passengers was racing from Amsterdam to Paris at nearly 200 miles per hour when a shirtless man emerged from a restroom armed with an assault rifle, a pistol, a box cutter, and 270 rounds of ammunition. Inside the sealed train, there was nowhere to run. A French passenger tried to stop him and was shot. Another passenger managed to wrestle away the rifle, only to be shot in the back. Panic was seconds away from becoming a massacre. Then a 23-year-old American Air Force airman named Spencer Stone got out of his seat. Moments earlier he had been half asleep. Stone was traveling through Europe with two lifelong friends from Sacramento: Alek Skarlatos, an Army National Guardsman, and Anthony Sadler, a college student. None of them had any idea they were about to become part of one of the most extraordinary acts of courage in recent history. When the gunman opened fire, Stone sprinted straight toward him. Skarlatos followed. Sadler followed. A complete stranger, British businessman Chris Norman, followed too. Every instinct in the human body says to run from a man carrying a rifle. They ran toward him. What followed was a brutal struggle in the narrow aisle of the train. Stone reached the attacker first and locked him in a chokehold. During the fight, the gunman slashed Stone's neck with a box cutter and nearly severed his thumb. Stone refused to let go. Together, the four men subdued the attacker before he could carry out what authorities later believed would have been a mass killing. But the remarkable part of the story wasn't over. A few feet away lay Mark Moogalian, the passenger who had been shot. Stone was bleeding heavily from wounds that would later be described as millimeters away from fatal. Yet instead of focusing on himself, the Air Force medic crawled to the wounded man and began treating him. With one hand holding pressure on his own injuries and the other keeping Moogalian alive, Stone worked until emergency responders arrived. Both men survived. When Stone woke after surgery, his first question wasn't about his own condition. He asked if anyone else had been hurt. The answer was no. Days later, France awarded Spencer Stone, Alek Skarlatos, Anthony Sadler, and Chris Norman the Légion d'honneur, the nation's highest decoration. Stone repeatedly dismissed the praise. "I just did what anyone would do." But that isn't really true. Most people freeze. Many run. Almost nobody charges unarmed at a gunman carrying enough ammunition to kill dozens of people. Training explains skill. It does not explain the decision. That decision has another name. Courage. And perhaps the most remarkable detail of all is this: The man who stopped the attack was also the man who saved its only shooting victim. In the span of a few minutes, Spencer Stone prevented a massacre and helped ensure the death toll remained at zero. Five hundred and forty passengers got home that day.p

Michael Wilbon on PTI about Colton Cowser’s catch last night: “It was like Randy Moss, full extension, the way he had to arch his back and get his glove up there and time it perfectly. The choreography of it, it was stunning. It is that. “If it’s not the greatest of all time, it goes on a short list.”

"Paul Blair was to the outfield what Brooks Robinson was to the infield. He was our glue out there. I had to play such a small area in right field, just to get out of his way, and so did the left fielder, that it felt like we weren’t even on the field." Frank Robinson on Paul Blair. "He played very shallow. People talked about how Willie Mays played shallow, Paul did the same thing. He played with assuredness. With me in left and Frank Robinson in right, we played toward the lines and gave him a lot of room. He could really go get it." Don Buford on Paul Blair. "Played center field almost every day for the Orioles from 1965 to 1976. In those 12 years, Orioles won 95-plus games 6 times, won 4 pennants, and won 2 World Series. People always said it was because of pitching and the three-run homer. Sure." Joe Posnanski on Paul Blair.

The late Frank Robinson, one of the most underrated great players in baseball history, was born today in 1935. After the 1965 season, the Reds traded the 30-year-old to Baltimore, believing his best years were behind him. In his first season with the Orioles, he won the Triple Crown, became the first player to win MVP in both leagues and led Baltimore to its first World Series title. He finished with 586 home runs and 14 All-Star selections. After his playing career, he became Major League Baseball’s first Black manager and later won Manager of the Year with Baltimore.

This is K9 Valor. He saved 47 soldiers. He survived a suicide bomber, then went on to stop three more, fighting tooth against knife. In the end, he placed himself between an explosion and his handler. The blast shattered half his face. He lost his left eye and ear. He was flown to Germany, where surgeons worked to rebuild his jaw. At the Pentagon, he was honored with a standing ovation that lasted over eight minutes. A true American hero👍

The very first Medal of Honor of America's Second World War was earned in the opening minutes of it, by a sailor who dragged a machine gun into the open at Pearl Harbor and kept firing after being hit 21 times. In his own words, "I shot at every damn plane I could see." His name was John William Finn. Born in Compton, California in 1909, he had dropped out of school and joined the Navy at 17, and by December 1941 he was a 32 year old chief petty officer, the chief aviation ordnance man in charge of a detail of twenty men at Kaneohe Bay Naval Air Station on Oahu, up the coast from Pearl Harbor. On the morning of December 7, he was asleep at home with his wife when gunfire and a neighbor pounding on the door jolted him awake. Still not grasping what was happening, he got in his car and drove toward the airfield, at first obeying the base speed limit, until a plane passed overhead showing the Rising Sun on its wing and he understood. "I threw it into second," he recalled, "and it was a wonder I didn't run over every sailor in the air station." He reached the hangars to find burning planes, scrambling men, and chaos. He spotted his squadron's painter holding a .50 caliber machine gun salvaged from a wrecked aircraft and took it from him on the spot, with the dry logic of a professional: "I knew I had more experience firing a machine gun than a painter." Then he did the thing that made him a legend. He mounted the gun on a movable training platform and shoved it out into the open, onto an exposed stretch of ground where he had a clear field of fire at the attacking planes and absolutely no cover for himself. He did not hesitate. "I got the gun and I started shooting at Jap planes," he said. "In some cases I could see their faces." For the next two hours Finn fought his own private war. He kept firing as the enemy raked him again and again, taking 21 distinct wounds, a bullet through his foot, a shrapnel hit to the shoulder that cost him the use of his left arm, and more all over his body. He never overstated what he achieved, even about the planes he may have downed: "I can't honestly say I hit any, but I shot at every damn plane I could see." He refused to leave his gun until he was ordered to get medical help. At the sick bay, seeing men far worse off than himself, he let the medics bandage him, then promptly checked himself out and went back to the armory, spending the rest of the day and night repairing damaged weapons in case the enemy returned. It took a second, more direct order to finally send him back to the hospital, where he spent two weeks recovering. Admiral Chester Nimitz personally presented him the Medal of Honor aboard the USS Enterprise, making Finn the first American to earn it in the war. He accepted it with total humility. "I was just an uneducated man who got mad as hell one day." And years later, when someone called him a hero, he pushed back hard: "That damned hero stuff is a bunch of crap, I guess. You gotta understand that there's all kinds of heroes, but they never got a chance to be in a hero's position." His life after the war was as quiet as his stand was fierce. He served until 1956, retired to a small ranch in California, and he and his wife became foster parents to five Native American children, a kindness that earned them an honor from the Diegueno tribe. He stayed active on that ranch almost to the end, dying in 2010 at the age of 100, the last surviving Pearl Harbor Medal of Honor recipient. He is buried on the reservation of the children he helped raise.