Question for the Muricans here, so I'm English, as white as they come, love my country, hate how its going to absolute shit, in todays stream they mentioned 'if you are a citizen then just be American not -American, its basically a slap in the face' now I would love to be American, embrace everything it is and has to offer but when I place myself in the shoes of 'me' who has been there long enough and worked hard enough to get citizenship, to become American. I find it actually pains me to let go of being 'English'.... I become torn. It feels like choosing between two of my children... I would love America, but I would also love England.... I feel like just calling myself American would be a 'slap' to the country I knew and loved...
after reading that, would you still feel insulted if I called myself 'English-American'? Honestly I don't think I could ever see myself as truly American unless I was born and raised there no matter how much I love it, embrace it, fight for it or even if I was to spend the next 40 years there....
But then again our cultures are a lot more compatible and I would be going there for the purpose of assimilating with, contributing to and loving America...
although I realise there is a difference between race/ethnicity and nationality so in my eyes no matter your ethnicity, if you are born and raised in England you are just English.
Just something I'm pondering....
We can't show this anywhere else on the internet but here. Enjoy.
As promised...
After this, there should be no question as to why Melee K dominated so hard. These girls just didn't know who they were messing with.
Unfortunately, the Futa allegations won't be dying anytime soon.
Enjoy, Normies™! I worked incredibly hard on this one, and I think you'll all like it. This is easily my best work yet.
Also: Normally I don't call people out in here, but @AnDoRaY_OoLtAy, I need you to weigh in, bud!
What's up Normal Men? Trying to add to the video game related happenings around here I just heard that the palletized load pictured is on its way to me.
It's a complete DDR Extreme cab with a CRT display! I also didn't know they split apart this way for shipping 😄 Always wanted to have one, now time for a new challenge in getting the thing working!
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Side Scrollers PLUS members....
You already know you’re getting the best value on the internet – but today, we take it to a whole new, borderline ridiculous level. Forget exclusive shows, behind-the-scenes content, or bonus streams… you’re getting PREMIUM SCAR CONTENT. That’s right – the raw, unfiltered aftermath of my ankle surgery, in glorious detail, only for the chosen few. It's disgusting & will be GNARLY when it's healed.
You’re welcome.
With that said, what is the worst injury you've ever had? Have you had to have surgery before? Tell me in the comments PLUS Members!
We never meant for today to turn into a full-blown pilgrimage. Originally, we planned a livestream. Buc-ee’s would be the backdrop — oversized snacks, perfectly arranged brisket burritos, and the distinct scent of gasoline and nostalgia in the air. But, somewhere between idea and execution, we said “nah.”
Instead, we lived it.
Before we even stepped through Buc-ee’s automatic doors, we were greeted by a fan — a small but energizing reminder that what we do matters to people. And then, with the kind of anticipation you normally reserve for concerts or Christmas mornings, Blabs declared her one true goal: eat.
Blabs, already vibrating with excitement, stood before the sandwich counter like a worshipper at an altar. Her hands jazzed, clasped, fluttered, pointed. The Big Buckin’ Brisket Sandwich was tempting, but the Carolina Pulled Pork stole her soul. She literally hugged the sign.
“Ohhh, maybe I’ll get both,” she mused. “I’m getting fat-ass today.”
A bold declaration. A Buc-ee’s declaration.
She danced toward the bakery. Oatmeal raisin cookies, massive cinnamon rolls, muffins the size of small dogs — she surveyed them all like a war general planning a sweet invasion. Meanwhile, I was struggling with my own indecision. Chicken and fries? A burrito? Brisket? Cheesesteak? It was a battlefield of carbs and smoked meats.
Eventually, I landed on the pulled pork. Blabs did too. And just like that, we made our way out to the car — two champions, two sandwiches, no napkins.
We forgot drinks. That was mistake number one. Mistake number two was thinking I’d get the first bite in before Blabs.
Because by the time I opened my sandwich wrapper, she was halfway done. I've never seen anyone eat a barbecue sandwich with such speed, such joy, such… grace? Is that the word? Probably not. But impressive? Hell yes.
She danced with every bite. She hoovered. She transcended. “It’s so freaking good, bro,” she managed between mouthfuls.
It wasn’t just eating. It was a performance.
When the last bite vanished, she leaned back, fully satisfied, glowing like someone who just achieved true peace. Ten out of ten. Would eat again. Probably twice today.
Meanwhile, I was still on bite one.
But we weren’t done. Oh no. You can’t just leave Buc-ee’s after one round. We went back in, like hobbits returning to Mordor — except instead of a cursed ring, we were chasing pecans and Rice Krispie Treats.
Blabs wandered through the store like she was in a trance. Candies. Drinks. Nuts. Bakery goods. That glazed pecan display practically called to her by name. She considered everything and then some: peppered turkey strips, oatmeal raisin cookies (again), fudge, Rice Krispie Treats the size of VHS tapes. She caved. She grabbed a cart.
Women be shopping. Yes, even at Buc-ee’s.
There was a moment of existential crisis near the fudge. A penny press nearly brought her to tears of joy. She packed pennies. This was not her first Buc-ee’s rodeo.
At one point, we passed a teenage influencer loudly proclaiming to his 12 followers, “THIS is Buc-ee’s.” Blabs side-eyed him while gripping her peppered turkey like a survivalist. She wasn’t here to post. She was here to consume.
At checkout, the final damage: $39.16. Worth every penny.
She debated adding more beaver nuggets but showed rare restraint. As we walked out, the Texas heat hit like a wave, and the sadness set in. The doors whooshed shut behind her — the gates of Valhalla, closing. There was a look in her eyes. The look of someone who’d found love… and had to leave it behind.
In her bag: one brisket burrito, to be savored across the next few nights like a squirrel rationing acorns. In her heart: memories of pulled pork perfection.
And maybe — just maybe — we bring the King of the Couch crew here next time. An army of content creators, united under the Buc-ee’s banner, battling it out, fueled by brisket and joy.
Until then, we live with the memory. And Blabs? She’ll dream of that sandwich.
