Linda Forsythe (C-VINE)

BRILLIANT: Tina Peters’ Attorney Peter Ticktin Shares Statement on Tina’s Pardon https://joehoft.com/tina-peters-attorney-peter-ticktin-shares-statement-on-tinas-pardon/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=tina-peters-attorney-peter-ticktin-shares-statement-on-tinas-pardon

The awakening is real. Joe Rogan and Ethan Hawke talk about Spirit Guides and Soul Plans. Hawke: "Sometimes I have the sense of a guardian angel of some kind" Rogan: "I know it sounds wacky to say, but I believe it too... am I being guided?" Hawke: "I think that probably everybody has a path that is there for them... part of the trick is taking time to get to know yourself so that you can see the light when it appears, because I bet you everybody has it" Rogan: "I bet they do too" https://x.com/Kabamur_Taygeta/status/1999472648708124708

HAPPPPPPY FRIDAYYYYYYY! Say it back or you’ll gain 5 pounds over the weekend.

The United States seized a Venezuelan Oil Tanker and President Nicolás Maduro sings 'Don't Worry Be Happy' at a rally 🤣 What President Trump is doing with Venezuela… it’s not just about drugs. Smartmatic and Dominion Are Foreign Controlled and were actively Changing Election Outcomes — and Venezuela is involved. Here is a timeline you need to know about: 🔴 2000 Smartmatic and Bizta Corp. are incorporated in Delaware by Antonio Mugica, Roger Piñate and Alfredo Anzola. 🔴 2003 Venezuelan government representative Omar Montilla is appointed to the board of directors of Bizta, the company that will develop Smartmatic Automated Election Systems (SAES) election software. The Venezuelan government acquires 28% of the electoral software developer company. 🔴 2005 On March 9, 2005, Smartmatic announces the purchase of Sequoia Voting Systems, adding their software (SAES) to a trusted American company. 🔴 2005 The European Union Electoral Mission Establishes That Smartmatic (SAES) Source Code Is Owned by the Venezuelan Government** 🔴 2006 A Democratic Congresswoman Carolyn Maloney Requested an Investigation by CFIUS on Smartmatic/Sequoia Venezuelan Government Ownership 🔴 2006 CFIUS Orders Smartmatic to Sell Sequoia Because Smartmatic Did Not Provide to the US Treasury of Ownership Request 🔴 2007 California Reviews Sequoia/Smartmatic Source Code and De-Certifies the Software Due to Election Security Failures 🔴 2008 Smartmatic Integrates into Dominion PCOS Their Technology for the Elections in Philippines 🔴 2010 Dominion Acquired Sequoia's (Smartmatic) All Intellectual Property, Including Software, Firmware and Hardware 🔴 2010 Heider Garcia, Smartmatic's Technology Manager, Is Questioned by the Philippine Congress Over the Multiple Failures of Dominion-Smartmatic Equipment 🔴 2011 Dominion Sets Up Its Primary Data Center in Belgrade, Serbia, in Partnership with Roaming Network (Dot Network) (Huawei) —— Remember when Trump went hard against Huawei? 🔴 2011 Roaming Network Is a Company Owned by a Serbian Oligarch Nenad Kovac (Involved in Espionage) 🔴 2013 Smartmatic Is Accused of Manipulating the Source Code of Adjudication Systems and Dominion Denies Source Code Review. International Crisis 🔴 2014 Smartmatic Launch SGO as a Parent Company in London UK, with Mark Malloch-Brown (GEORGE SOROS) as Smartmatic Chairma 🔴 2016 Dominion's President for Serbia Says That the Belgrade HQ Has 50 Software Developers, Connecting All Its Offices on a Single Cloud Through a VPN (Canada, Serbia, Colorado) 🔴 2016 Smartmatic Probed for Changing Source Code on the Philippine Election Without the Election Commission Approval 🔴 2018 Federal Grand Jury in Florida Investigates Smartmatic Execs for Alleged Bribery and Money Laundering Related to 2016 Election in Philippines — Huawei 🔴 2020 FCC Affirms Designation of Huawei as National Security Threat 🔴 2024 Roger Piñate, Elie Moreno, Jose Miguel Vasquez and Juan Andres Donato Bautista Are Indicted in Federal Court on Corruption Charges Maduro https://rumble.com/v72xhl0-president-nicols-maduro-sings-dont-worry-be-happy-at-a-rally-after-us-seize.html Smartmatic https://rumble.com/v5jqg7g-smartmatic-and-dominion-are-foreign-controlled-and-changing-election-outcom.html 📱 ReTWEET

So true! It used to be baking soda boxes routinely stated to take one half tsp. in 4 Oz. of water to calm an upset stomach... and it worked. Now it is not printed on any boxes I've seen. It can and should be used for so many things! Have you searched out all the uses?

So true! It used to be baking soda boxes routinely stated to take one half tsp. in 4 Oz. of water to calm an upset stomach... and it worked. Now it is not printed on any boxes I've seen. It can and should be used for so many things! Have you searched out all the uses?

Interesting idea! Will be watching this progress. 🤔

Good morning fam! How we feeling today? :)

"The night janitor at Pinewood Elementary died last Tuesday. Heart attack in the hallway, 2 a.m., found by morning staff. Stanley Okoye. 67 years old. Worked there nine years. Quiet man. Mopped floors, emptied trash, locked up. Principal called an assembly to announce it. Expected maybe a moment of silence. Instead, forty kids started crying. Not polite tears. Gut-wrenching sobs. Teachers were confused. Most barely knew Stanley existed. Then a fifth-grader stood up. "Mr. Stanley taught me to read." The principal blinked. "What?" "I was failing. Too embarrassed to ask for help. I'd hide in the library after school. Mr. Stanley found me one night. Asked what I was reading. I said nothing. He said 'Let's fix that.'" Another kid stood. "He helped me with math. Every Wednesday. For two years." Another, "He brought me dinner. My dad works nights. I was always hungry. Mr. Stanley started leaving sandwiches in my locker." Another, "He talked me out of killing myself. Let me call him at 3 a.m. when it got bad." Forty kids. All with stories. Stories nobody knew. Stanley had been running an entire secret tutoring program. After hours. No pay. No permission. Just kids who needed help and a janitor who stayed late. They found his supply closet. Lined with donated books. Snacks. School supplies. A sign-up sheet, "Need help? Write your name. I'll find you. -S" His phone had 127 contacts. All students and former students. Text chains going back years. "You've got this." "Proud of you." "Keep trying." One kid brought a Harvard acceptance letter to the funeral. "He proofread my essay seventeen times." Another brought a report card. Straight A's. "Failed fourth grade twice before Mr. Stanley." The funeral home couldn't fit everyone. Over 300 people. Most of them kids Stanley had helped. Kids nobody else saw. His daughter spoke. Said she barely saw him. He worked all the time. She thought he was just obsessed with his job. "I didn't know he was doing this. He never told me. Never told anyone." She was crying. "I'm sorry I complained about him working late. I didn't understand." A teacher stood up. "I've been teaching 30 years. I see these kids every day in classrooms. Stanley saw them in hallways. In hiding spots. In the spaces we missed. He caught the ones falling through our cracks." The school created a scholarship in his name. "The Stanley Okoye Second Chance Scholarship." For kids who are failing but trying. They turned his supply closet into a resource room. Kept his sign-up sheet on the door. But here's the truth. Stanley helped 200 kids over nine years. And died alone in a hallway at 2 a.m. Nobody there to catch him when he fell. The kids visit his grave every week now. Leave notes. Report cards. Acceptance letters. "You saw us when we were invisible." That's all. That's the story. A janitor who saved kids in secret and died before anyone could thank him properly. Look around. Someone's doing this right now. Helping in shadows. Seeing the invisible. Notice them. Before it's too late." . Let this story reach more hearts.... . Credit: Mary Nelson

"The night janitor at Pinewood Elementary died last Tuesday. Heart attack in the hallway, 2 a.m., found by morning staff. Stanley Okoye. 67 years old. Worked there nine years. Quiet man. Mopped floors, emptied trash, locked up. Principal called an assembly to announce it. Expected maybe a moment of silence. Instead, forty kids started crying. Not polite tears. Gut-wrenching sobs. Teachers were confused. Most barely knew Stanley existed. Then a fifth-grader stood up. "Mr. Stanley taught me to read." The principal blinked. "What?" "I was failing. Too embarrassed to ask for help. I'd hide in the library after school. Mr. Stanley found me one night. Asked what I was reading. I said nothing. He said 'Let's fix that.'" Another kid stood. "He helped me with math. Every Wednesday. For two years." Another, "He brought me dinner. My dad works nights. I was always hungry. Mr. Stanley started leaving sandwiches in my locker." Another, "He talked me out of killing myself. Let me call him at 3 a.m. when it got bad." Forty kids. All with stories. Stories nobody knew. Stanley had been running an entire secret tutoring program. After hours. No pay. No permission. Just kids who needed help and a janitor who stayed late. They found his supply closet. Lined with donated books. Snacks. School supplies. A sign-up sheet, "Need help? Write your name. I'll find you. -S" His phone had 127 contacts. All students and former students. Text chains going back years. "You've got this." "Proud of you." "Keep trying." One kid brought a Harvard acceptance letter to the funeral. "He proofread my essay seventeen times." Another brought a report card. Straight A's. "Failed fourth grade twice before Mr. Stanley." The funeral home couldn't fit everyone. Over 300 people. Most of them kids Stanley had helped. Kids nobody else saw. His daughter spoke. Said she barely saw him. He worked all the time. She thought he was just obsessed with his job. "I didn't know he was doing this. He never told me. Never told anyone." She was crying. "I'm sorry I complained about him working late. I didn't understand." A teacher stood up. "I've been teaching 30 years. I see these kids every day in classrooms. Stanley saw them in hallways. In hiding spots. In the spaces we missed. He caught the ones falling through our cracks." The school created a scholarship in his name. "The Stanley Okoye Second Chance Scholarship." For kids who are failing but trying. They turned his supply closet into a resource room. Kept his sign-up sheet on the door. But here's the truth. Stanley helped 200 kids over nine years. And died alone in a hallway at 2 a.m. Nobody there to catch him when he fell. The kids visit his grave every week now. Leave notes. Report cards. Acceptance letters. "You saw us when we were invisible." That's all. That's the story. A janitor who saved kids in secret and died before anyone could thank him properly. Look around. Someone's doing this right now. Helping in shadows. Seeing the invisible. Notice them. Before it's too late." . Let this story reach more hearts.... . Credit: Mary Nelson

"The night janitor at Pinewood Elementary died last Tuesday. Heart attack in the hallway, 2 a.m., found by morning staff. Stanley Okoye. 67 years old. Worked there nine years. Quiet man. Mopped floors, emptied trash, locked up. Principal called an assembly to announce it. Expected maybe a moment of silence. Instead, forty kids started crying. Not polite tears. Gut-wrenching sobs. Teachers were confused. Most barely knew Stanley existed. Then a fifth-grader stood up. "Mr. Stanley taught me to read." The principal blinked. "What?" "I was failing. Too embarrassed to ask for help. I'd hide in the library after school. Mr. Stanley found me one night. Asked what I was reading. I said nothing. He said 'Let's fix that.'" Another kid stood. "He helped me with math. Every Wednesday. For two years." Another, "He brought me dinner. My dad works nights. I was always hungry. Mr. Stanley started leaving sandwiches in my locker." Another, "He talked me out of killing myself. Let me call him at 3 a.m. when it got bad." Forty kids. All with stories. Stories nobody knew. Stanley had been running an entire secret tutoring program. After hours. No pay. No permission. Just kids who needed help and a janitor who stayed late. They found his supply closet. Lined with donated books. Snacks. School supplies. A sign-up sheet, "Need help? Write your name. I'll find you. -S" His phone had 127 contacts. All students and former students. Text chains going back years. "You've got this." "Proud of you." "Keep trying." One kid brought a Harvard acceptance letter to the funeral. "He proofread my essay seventeen times." Another brought a report card. Straight A's. "Failed fourth grade twice before Mr. Stanley." The funeral home couldn't fit everyone. Over 300 people. Most of them kids Stanley had helped. Kids nobody else saw. His daughter spoke. Said she barely saw him. He worked all the time. She thought he was just obsessed with his job. "I didn't know he was doing this. He never told me. Never told anyone." She was crying. "I'm sorry I complained about him working late. I didn't understand." A teacher stood up. "I've been teaching 30 years. I see these kids every day in classrooms. Stanley saw them in hallways. In hiding spots. In the spaces we missed. He caught the ones falling through our cracks." The school created a scholarship in his name. "The Stanley Okoye Second Chance Scholarship." For kids who are failing but trying. They turned his supply closet into a resource room. Kept his sign-up sheet on the door. But here's the truth. Stanley helped 200 kids over nine years. And died alone in a hallway at 2 a.m. Nobody there to catch him when he fell. The kids visit his grave every week now. Leave notes. Report cards. Acceptance letters. "You saw us when we were invisible." That's all. That's the story. A janitor who saved kids in secret and died before anyone could thank him properly. Look around. Someone's doing this right now. Helping in shadows. Seeing the invisible. Notice them. Before it's too late." . Let this story reach more hearts.... . AI image is for Demonstration purpose only . Credit: Mary Nelson

"The night janitor at Pinewood Elementary died last Tuesday. Heart attack in the hallway, 2 a.m., found by morning staff. Stanley Okoye. 67 years old. Worked there nine years. Quiet man. Mopped floors, emptied trash, locked up. Principal called an assembly to announce it. Expected maybe a moment of silence. Instead, forty kids started crying. Not polite tears. Gut-wrenching sobs. Teachers were confused. Most barely knew Stanley existed. Then a fifth-grader stood up. "Mr. Stanley taught me to read." The principal blinked. "What?" "I was failing. Too embarrassed to ask for help. I'd hide in the library after school. Mr. Stanley found me one night. Asked what I was reading. I said nothing. He said 'Let's fix that.'" Another kid stood. "He helped me with math. Every Wednesday. For two years." Another, "He brought me dinner. My dad works nights. I was always hungry. Mr. Stanley started leaving sandwiches in my locker." Another, "He talked me out of killing myself. Let me call him at 3 a.m. when it got bad." Forty kids. All with stories. Stories nobody knew. Stanley had been running an entire secret tutoring program. After hours. No pay. No permission. Just kids who needed help and a janitor who stayed late. They found his supply closet. Lined with donated books. Snacks. School supplies. A sign-up sheet, "Need help? Write your name. I'll find you. -S" His phone had 127 contacts. All students and former students. Text chains going back years. "You've got this." "Proud of you." "Keep trying." One kid brought a Harvard acceptance letter to the funeral. "He proofread my essay seventeen times." Another brought a report card. Straight A's. "Failed fourth grade twice before Mr. Stanley." The funeral home couldn't fit everyone. Over 300 people. Most of them kids Stanley had helped. Kids nobody else saw. His daughter spoke. Said she barely saw him. He worked all the time. She thought he was just obsessed with his job. "I didn't know he was doing this. He never told me. Never told anyone." She was crying. "I'm sorry I complained about him working late. I didn't understand." A teacher stood up. "I've been teaching 30 years. I see these kids every day in classrooms. Stanley saw them in hallways. In hiding spots. In the spaces we missed. He caught the ones falling through our cracks." The school created a scholarship in his name. "The Stanley Okoye Second Chance Scholarship." For kids who are failing but trying. They turned his supply closet into a resource room. Kept his sign-up sheet on the door. But here's the truth. Stanley helped 200 kids over nine years. And died alone in a hallway at 2 a.m. Nobody there to catch him when he fell. The kids visit his grave every week now. Leave notes. Report cards. Acceptance letters. "You saw us when we were invisible." That's all. That's the story. A janitor who saved kids in secret and died before anyone could thank him properly. Look around. Someone's doing this right now. Helping in shadows. Seeing the invisible. Notice them. Before it's too late." . Let this story reach more hearts.... . AI image is for Demonstration purpose only . Credit: Mary Nelson

😄

Written by @crazyvibes_1 on X... "I found my father in his old recliner, a warm soda still in his hand and his police scanner buzzing loud static that shook the whole room. I did not cry. I just reached over and finally turned the scanner off. For most of my life, that noise was the sound of my anger. My dad was a retired firefighter named Robert Hale. He was tough, quiet, and stubborn in a way that made every argument feel like pushing a wall. After my mom died, he became even quieter. He stayed in that chair every day, listening to the county radio like he still worked the job. I work in a big architectural firm in Chicago. I spend my days drawing shiny buildings and clean lines that touch the sky. Everything in my world is planned, silent, and perfect. Coming home felt messy. Seeing him stuck in the past felt worse. "I just wish he would move on," I once told my wife. "He cannot accept that his career is over." I understand now that I was wrong. Three days after the funeral, I was cleaning out my childhood home. The place smelled like dust, pine cleaner, and my dad’s old flannel shirts. When I picked up the police scanner to throw it into a donation box, I saw a notebook sitting under it. It was not a diary. It was a log. Nov 3, 2022. 11:15 PM. 18 Willow Lane. Ms. Parker. Heater not working. Code 4. Jan 7, 2023. 9:00 AM. The Ramirez boy. Flat bicycle tire. Code 4. Sep 14, 2023. 2:30 PM. Mr. Dalton. Tree branch blocking driveway. Code 4. I remembered that in our county, Code 4 means Everything under control. But my dad was retired. Why was he writing these down? I drove to Willow Lane to ask. Ms. Parker answered the door, leaning on a cane. When I told her who I was, she covered her mouth with her hands and tears filled her eyes. "Oh, sweetheart," she said. "Your father saved me." "Saved you?" I asked. She nodded. "My heater broke during a snowstorm. I called 911 because I was scared. They told me it was not an emergency. Ten minutes later your dad showed up with his toolbox. He worked for hours in the cold until the heat turned back on. He told me he was sent by the department so I would not feel embarrassed. But I knew better. He was just kind." My chest got tight. I went to the next address. And the next. Every story was the same. Dad was not stuck in the past. He was listening for the people who slipped through the cracks. Small problems that still broke someone’s day. Things the city ignored or could not handle. A tree in a driveway that would take days for the city to remove. Dad came with a chainsaw after dinner. A child’s bike bent by a careless driver. Dad fixed it in his garage and left it on the porch without saying a word. He did not listen to the radio to remember the job. He listened because he wanted to help the people nobody else noticed. When we held his funeral, I expected a few firefighters, a folded flag, and the traditional bell for the Last Call. I did not expect the crowd. The church was packed wall to wall. People I had never seen stood shoulder to shoulder. A young father with oil on his hands from his job at the garage. An older woman with a baby on her hip. A veteran in a wheelchair. They did not know Captain Hale. They knew the man in the flannel shirt who showed up when life got too heavy to lift alone. That night, after everyone went home, I returned to the empty house. I sat in my father’s recliner and held the notebook again. A small yellow note slipped out. In his shaky handwriting, it said: "Leo, if you found this, I did not finish everything. Mrs. Carter on 5th Street has loose porch steps. Fix them for me. You always had steady hands." I stared at the quiet room. Then I looked at the police scanner. I turned it on. The static filled the air. Then a voice said, "Minor flooding reported on Elm Street. Assistance requested." I stood up. I took off my watch. I rolled up my sleeves. I grabbed his old toolbox. "Thanks, Dad," I whispered. "I hear you. I am going." https://twitter.com/CrazyVibes_1/status/1998074522155810978?t=BPpTPu7WhEF42CsqFe4a7Q&s=19

Written by @crazyvibes_1 on X... "I found my father in his old recliner, a warm soda still in his hand and his police scanner buzzing loud static that shook the whole room. I did not cry. I just reached over and finally turned the scanner off. For most of my life, that noise was the sound of my anger. My dad was a retired firefighter named Robert Hale. He was tough, quiet, and stubborn in a way that made every argument feel like pushing a wall. After my mom died, he became even quieter. He stayed in that chair every day, listening to the county radio like he still worked the job. I work in a big architectural firm in Chicago. I spend my days drawing shiny buildings and clean lines that touch the sky. Everything in my world is planned, silent, and perfect. Coming home felt messy. Seeing him stuck in the past felt worse. "I just wish he would move on," I once told my wife. "He cannot accept that his career is over." I understand now that I was wrong. Three days after the funeral, I was cleaning out my childhood home. The place smelled like dust, pine cleaner, and my dad’s old flannel shirts. When I picked up the police scanner to throw it into a donation box, I saw a notebook sitting under it. It was not a diary. It was a log. Nov 3, 2022. 11:15 PM. 18 Willow Lane. Ms. Parker. Heater not working. Code 4. Jan 7, 2023. 9:00 AM. The Ramirez boy. Flat bicycle tire. Code 4. Sep 14, 2023. 2:30 PM. Mr. Dalton. Tree branch blocking driveway. Code 4. I remembered that in our county, Code 4 means Everything under control. But my dad was retired. Why was he writing these down? I drove to Willow Lane to ask. Ms. Parker answered the door, leaning on a cane. When I told her who I was, she covered her mouth with her hands and tears filled her eyes. "Oh, sweetheart," she said. "Your father saved me." "Saved you?" I asked. She nodded. "My heater broke during a snowstorm. I called 911 because I was scared. They told me it was not an emergency. Ten minutes later your dad showed up with his toolbox. He worked for hours in the cold until the heat turned back on. He told me he was sent by the department so I would not feel embarrassed. But I knew better. He was just kind." My chest got tight. I went to the next address. And the next. Every story was the same. Dad was not stuck in the past. He was listening for the people who slipped through the cracks. Small problems that still broke someone’s day. Things the city ignored or could not handle. A tree in a driveway that would take days for the city to remove. Dad came with a chainsaw after dinner. A child’s bike bent by a careless driver. Dad fixed it in his garage and left it on the porch without saying a word. He did not listen to the radio to remember the job. He listened because he wanted to help the people nobody else noticed. When we held his funeral, I expected a few firefighters, a folded flag, and the traditional bell for the Last Call. I did not expect the crowd. The church was packed wall to wall. People I had never seen stood shoulder to shoulder. A young father with oil on his hands from his job at the garage. An older woman with a baby on her hip. A veteran in a wheelchair. They did not know Captain Hale. They knew the man in the flannel shirt who showed up when life got too heavy to lift alone. That night, after everyone went home, I returned to the empty house. I sat in my father’s recliner and held the notebook again. A small yellow note slipped out. In his shaky handwriting, it said: "Leo, if you found this, I did not finish everything. Mrs. Carter on 5th Street has loose porch steps. Fix them for me. You always had steady hands." I stared at the quiet room. Then I looked at the police scanner. I turned it on. The static filled the air. Then a voice said, "Minor flooding reported on Elm Street. Assistance requested." I stood up. I took off my watch. I rolled up my sleeves. I grabbed his old toolbox. "Thanks, Dad," I whispered. "I hear you. I am going." https://twitter.com/CrazyVibes_1/status/1998074522155810978?t=BPpTPu7WhEF42CsqFe4a7Q&s=19

And there it is… the 2020 election IS NOT OVER. President Trump said it’s all going to come out over the next few months “Loud and Clear”, because “we have all the information”. WE HAVE IT ALL… I keep saying it. These things are on a time-released schedule. 💧💧💧 https://rumble.com/v72ssc2-trump-2020-election-over-next-few-months-its-all-going-to-come-out.html 📱 ReTWEET 📱 ReTRUTH