it's become a tradition at this point so you know we had to bring it back. we asked the guys, what's the largest animal you could beat in a fist fight? 🤔🙈 Walker was very ready for this one 😂 #TakeNote#

An Illegal Alien Criminal from Haiti, who was released into our Country by the WORST President in History, Crooked Joe Biden, and the Radical Democrats in Congress, just beat an innocent woman to death with a hammer at a gas station in Florida. The video of her brutal slaying is one of the most vicious things you will ever see. This animal was allowed to stay here because the Biden Administration granted him, and all Haitians, “Temporary Protective Status,” a massively abused and fraudulent program which my Administration is working to terminate, but Deranged Liberal District Court Judges are standing in our way. This one killing should be enough for these Radical Judges to STOP impeding my Administration’s Immigration Policies, and allow us to END THIS SCAM ONCE AND FOR ALL. To my fellow Republicans, and frankly all Common Sense Americans, NEVER FORGET that Joe Biden and the Democrat Party turned the United States of America into a dumping ground, allowing Tens of MILLIONS of Criminals, Lunatics, and the Mentally Insane from all over the World to pour into our Country, totally unvetted and unchecked through our wide Open Borders. As I’ve said all along, if you import the Third World, you become the Third World, and that is what happened over the four years of Democrat Control. We are rapidly trying to reverse this decline through Deportations, but if the Democrats are ever given another chance at power, they will immediately REOPEN the Border, and allow America to once again be a Safe Haven for Criminals. Please say a prayer for this innocent woman’s family. We will ensure quick and severe JUSTICE is served in this case! I don’t recommend you watch this tape, because it is so terrible, but felt I had an obligation to put it up so that people can see what Democrats are protecting, and wanting to come into our Country, even now, after all we’ve been through. Again, viewer discretion advised — Not for children! President DONALD J. TRUMP (TS: 09 Apr 19:49 ET)

Generated with Kling AI 3.0 Prompt 👇🏻 Main Subject: Young Korean woman, early 20s, fitted riding vest over a long-sleeve shirt, jodhpurs, riding helmet, hair tucked back, focused nervous-excited expression. Location: Small countryside horse ranch, mid-morning. Wooden fences, a dirt riding ring, a saddled horse nearby, distant rolling hills. No crowds, no modern equipment. Visual Style: Ultra-realistic documentary realism, focused candid feeling, bright natural morning light. Camera Style: Early 2000s DV camcorder, handheld with slight bounce matching horse movement, autofocus hunting on the moving animal, soft grain. No stabilization. Timeline (15 sec, each slot = 2 compressed beats): 00:00–00:03 → She pats the horse's neck gently, then climbs carefully into the saddle. 00:03–00:06 → She grips the reins, then says to camera "떨린다, 진짜" ("I'm really nervous"), laughing. 00:06–00:09 → The horse walks forward slowly; she sways slightly, adjusting her balance. 00:09–00:12 → She relaxes a little, smiling as the horse settles into a steady rhythm. 00:12–00:15 → She looks at camera saying "이거 생각보다 재밌다" ("This is more fun than I expected"), grinning as it fades. Audio: Horse hooves on dirt, faint neighing, wind, distant birds. Her dialogue as noted above. No music. Goal: A nervous, joyful first-ride moment genuine, warm, believable.

One Month Later, We Are Still Fighting for Justice for Wang Wang Today marks one month since Wang Wang, a gentle stray mother dog in Jieyang, Guangdong Province, China and her three newborn puppies were brutally tortured and killed. According to information later circulated online, five minors were involved, including one who filmed what happened; the official notice identified four directly involved boys, all under the age of 14. The videos and reports show that this was not a momentary outburst, and it cannot be dismissed as “children not knowing better.” It was prolonged, escalating cruelty. Wang Wang's three puppies—barely old enough to open their eyes—were beaten to death. Wang Wang was restrained by the neck, repeatedly beaten, doused with a flammable liquid and set on fire, with eyes gouged out. She was so sweet that she did not even try to attack them. Even in her final moments, she reportedly struggled back toward her babies and used the last of her strength to lick their bleeding heads. Meanwhile, the perpetrators filmed, laughed and cheered. This was not ordinary childish misbehavior. It was the deliberate creation, observation and celebration of suffering. It challenged the most basic limits of human conscience. What makes this even more unbearable is not only the cruelty itself, but the absence of clear, transparent and credible accountability. Local authorities stated that the four directly involved boys had been sent to a specialized school for education. Yet the public has received little meaningful information about what intervention, psychological assessment or continued supervision actually followed. People familiar with the case said they were not sent to any "special school", and the authorities had never criticized such horrid behaviors. The parents and family of these perpetrators even threatened to kill more dogs and cats in response to online fury. And at least one father of the killers did kill more animals and brag about it. China still lacks a nationwide anti-cruelty law specifically protecting companion animals such as dogs and cats. Existing laws cover wildlife, livestock and laboratory animals in different ways, but significant gaps remain when someone deliberately tortures an ordinary companion or stray animal. This is not a debate about vegetarianism, and it is not about telling people what they may or may not eat. It is about whether a society is willing to draw a basic legal line against deliberately torturing a sentient being for pleasure, entertainment, attention or online content. Justice means establishing the truth, requiring serious psychological evaluation and long-term intervention, holding guardians accountable, preventing perpetrators from owning or accessing more animals, and creating laws with meaningful consequences and deterrence. Because when children can torture defenseless lives while laughing—and the adults and institutions around them remain silent—the damage extends beyond the animals. It reaches the moral foundation of society itself. Wang Wang never had a real home. She reportedly sheltered her puppies in a small hole, trying to keep them safe. She may never have known comfort or had a truly good meal. But this Earth was her home too. She and her babies harmed no one. They were simply trying to survive. Yet even that most basic right was denied to them. Today, we remember Wang Wang and her three puppies. We will continue to say their names. We will not allow them to become another horrific video that briefly circulates online and is then forgotten. We must turn our grief into strength: continue speaking, advocate for China’s long-overdue animal anti-cruelty legislation, and work toward a society in which more animals like Wang Wang can live peacefully—and those who choose to harm defenseless lives know that there will be consequences. Cruelty is not entertainment. Abuse is not freedom. Deliberately inflicting suffering must have consequences. Justice for Wang Wang and her family.

I'm a cardiologist. Every day I tell patients some version of the same hard truth: the heart muscle you lost in your heart attack is gone. It won't grow back. We can open the artery, but the dead zone becomes scar — and scar doesn't beat. A 25-year-old scientist in Argentina is trying to prove me wrong. And her approach is clever enough that I'm rooting for her. Here's the problem she's attacking. When an artery blocks, heart muscle in that zone starts dying within hours. Unlike your skin or your liver, the adult human heart barely regenerates. So your body does the only thing it can — it patches the hole with fibrous scar. That scar doesn't contract. The heart pumps weaker, stretches, thins, and marches toward heart failure. This is why roughly half of heart failure patients die within five years. We manage the decline. We don't reverse it. Pilar Ferrer and her team at Amnova Biotech are going after the thing we've never solved: rebuilding the muscle itself. Their tool is inspired by one of the most quietly remarkable tissues in biology — the amniotic membrane. The sac that surrounds a baby in the womb. It's rich in regenerative and anti-inflammatory factors, and doctors already use it to heal stubborn wounds and repair the cornea. They've turned that biology into an injectable hydrogel. Cell-free — no stem cells, no animal components. It ships as a room-temperature powder, gets reconstituted, and is injected directly into the damaged heart zone, ideally during bypass surgery — the operation another Argentine, René Favaloro, gave the world. Once inside, it acts as a temporary scaffold that reengineers the healing environment: it calms the destructive inflammation, grows new blood vessels, and signals the heart's own cells to proliferate and repopulate the dead zone. Instead of surrendering to scar, the tissue gets a second chance to rebuild. The early data, in sheep — chosen because their hearts are close to ours in size and physiology — showed at 28 days: smaller infarcts, improved heart function, more new blood vessels, more dividing cardiac cells. Now the honest part, because I owe you both halves. This is early. It's preclinical. And the history of cardiology is a graveyard of therapies that looked beautiful in sheep and pigs and then failed in humans — different immune responses, different healing, different scale. Human trials aren't expected until around 2028. There is no peer-reviewed efficacy publication yet. This is a candidate to watch, not a treatment to expect. But I want to tell you why it still moves me. The whole strategy is elegant. It doesn't fight the body — it borrows the body's own oldest regenerative wisdom, the biology that builds an entire human being from scratch, and points it at a broken heart. It's cell-free, so it sidesteps the rejection and manufacturing nightmares that have stalled stem-cell approaches. It's stable at room temperature and delivered during an operation we already perform. Practical, not sci-fi. And it's the frontier I've been writing about for months, arriving from an unexpected place: the shift from managing damage to reversing it. Gene editing for cholesterol. Cell therapy for diabetes. Enzymes that erase arterial aging. And now, maybe, a gel that teaches the heart to remember how to heal. For my entire career, "the muscle is gone" has been a sentence with no appeal. A 25-year-old may be writing the appeal. Science with an Argentine accent — born in the same country that gave the world the bypass. Worth watching closely.

GERALD & THE FEATHERED BANDITS — PART III: THE MIDNIGHT PROCESSION Midnight. There are certain things in life that should concern you. A random knock at your door when you aren't expecting anyone. Your dog staring intently into an empty corner of the room. Hearing your name whispered when you're the only soul in your home. A child calmly telling you in detail how they died. And now apparently... being summoned into the woods at midnight by a crow who just recently kidnapped your best friend and threatened to seize her fucking toe. Yet here I stood. At 11:57 PM. Outside. Wearing my crown of sticks. Because apparently when Gerald said "we ride at midnight," he indeed expected formal attire. Kitten stood beside me gripping the walnut Gerald had given her. She had not let go of it since receiving the damned thing in the dungeon. Not because she'd grown emotionally attached to it. But because Gerald had made it exponentially clear that losing it would have... consequences. "I still don't understand why I have to carry this fucking walnut." "It's probably ceremonial." "He threatened my toe over this god forsaken organization." "Technically, I was the one who threatened your toe. Gerald just merely provided the options of such threats." She slowly turned toward me. "That somehow makes it worse." Fair. 11:59. Nothing. No Gerald. No crows. No humming. Just darkness. Then... Midnight. Every light on the block went out. Not flickered. Not dimmed. Just out. Kitten grabbed my arm. "Bexxy." "Yeah." "Was that Gerald?" "Genuinely I don't have any idea anymore." Then we heard it. Click. A talon scrapping against metal. Another. Click. Then another. Click. One by one, shapes began appearing along the power lines. Crows. Hundreds of them. Completely silent. No squawking. No wings. Nothing. Just black silhouettes appearing against the moonlight. Watching. Waiting. Then Gerald landed on my mailbox. Which reminds me...through all of this...I STILL HAVENT BEEN ABLE TO GET MY FUCKING MAIL. Irrelevant. Except... Gerald looked different. Around one leg was a tiny piece of crimson cloth. Around the other... a little silver chain. And hanging from his beak was— "Is that my fucking necklace?" Kitten whispered. Gerald looked at her. Hmmm. "WHEN DID YOU TAKE THAT?" Gerald turned his back. Apparently questions were not on tonight's agenda. Figures. Then the cortege began. Gerald flew. The militia followed. We did as well. Because at this point, if Gerald walked into a fucking volcano I'd probably sigh, grab some snacks, and follow him just to see how the plot developed. Fuck it, why not? We entered the woods. The deeper we walked, the quieter everything became. No insects. No wind. No leaves moving. Nothing. Even our footsteps seemed wrong. Muted even. Like the forest was swallowing the sound. Kitten moved closer. "I don't like this." "You haven't liked any of this." "AND HAVE I BEEN WRONG YET?" ... I loathe when she does that. Ahead of us, Gerald landed on a crooked branch of a large decaying tree. Weird choice. Hmmm. We stopped. He looked at Kitten. Then at the walnut. She held it up. "Yes, I still have your stupid fucking nut." Gerald puffed his feathers. "Sorry. Your incredibly important sacred nut." Gerald nodded. Progress. *spirit fingers* Then he looked at me. More specifically... at my crown. I adjusted it. "What?" Hmmm. "Gerald, I wore the fucking crown. What more do you want from me?" He flew down and landed upon a stone. Except... it wasn't just a stone. There were markings carved into it. Ancient ones. There were circles. There were lines. And symbols I didn't recognize. But directly in the center... a crown. The same crooked, uneven shape as the crown sitting on my head. My stomach dropped. "Kitten.." "Yes?" "Remember when we thought the stick crown was stupid?" "I STILL think it's stupid." "There is literally an ancient drawing of it." "Two things can be true at once." Gerald tapped the stone. Once. Twice. Thrice. The ground shook. Nope. Absolutely the fuck not. The earth beneath the stone cracked open with a low grinding sound. Cold air scuttled out from beneath us. And suddenly there were stairs. Going down. Because apparently Gerald's real estate portfolio consists exclusively of places that would get us murdered in the backrooms. Kitten looked towards me. I looked towards Kitten. "I'm NOT going down there." Gerald: Hmmm. Kitten: "Fuck you Gerald." Gerald slowly looked at her feet. ... "STOP LOOKING AT MY FUCKING TOES." I grabbed her arm. "Come on." "I hate you right now." "You've stated that already." And down we went. Gerald first. Me second. Kitten third. And behind us... the crows. Thousands of them. Silent. Watching. Descending. At the bottom was a subterranean abyss. Cobblestone walls. Old candles. Bones. Before anyone gets dramatic— animal bones...I think. Yeah we're going with animal bones. For legal purposes. And in the middle of the cavernous hall sat a giant wooden table. Gerald landed on it. The other crows arranged themselves against the walls. Every single one facing us. Kitten whispered: "This feels a bit cultist." "They're crows." "Crows could have cults." "Can they?" "LOOK AROUND YOU." Again. Fair. Gerald tapped the table. On it was a map. to our neighborhood. Except this map was old. Extremely old. There were no modern streets. No homes. Just the forest. A creek. A few strange symbols. And one vast black circle. Directly underneath... my home. I stared at Gerald. "What the fuck is that?" Gerald didn't hum. For the first time since meeting him... Gerald didn't make a sound. He solely stared at the circle. And suddenly... every crow in the chamber lowered their heads. That was considerably worse than humming. Kitten whispered: "Bexxy..." "I see it." "Why are the murder birds bowing?" "YOU KNOW AS MUCH AS I KNOW!" Gerald finally looked at me. Then my crown. Then the circle. Everything clicked. The surveillance. The scouting. The militia. The coronation. The dungeon. Framing me. I still don't know what for... Kitten. The midnight procession. Gerald didn't make me King because he liked me. That raven-feathered little fucker had been drafting me. For something... ...Something beneath my home. "Gerald..." He ever so slowly nodded. Then he turned toward Kitten. Her trial had begun. Gerald tapped the walnut. Then pointed toward the black circle. Kitten stared at him. "Absolutely fucking not." Gerald: Hmmm. "No." HMMMM. "MY TOE IS NOT PART OF THIS NEGOTIATION!" Gerald looked at me. I shrugged. "He's got you there." "YOU ARE A TERRIBLE KING." "Give me a week." Gerald pointed again. Kitten sighed as she walked toward the table. And placed the walnut directly over the black circle. Nothing happened. We waited. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen. Kitten looked at Gerald. "There. I did your dumb little—" THUMP. Something beneath us shifted. The candles went out. Every crow exploded into an ear curdling screech. Kitten grabbed me. "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!" "GERALD?!" Then— THUMP. Closer. Silt fell from the ceiling. Gerald flew onto my shoulder. His claws dug deeply into my shirt. And for the first time... Gerald looked afraid. Not nervous. Not cautious. Completely and irrevocably afraid. Which was entirely fucking inconvenient. Gerald is supposed to be the terrifying one. "Gerald..." Very quietly... barely more than breath... Hmmm. And somehow... I understood him perfectly. Whatever is it is...it knows the King has returned. ... Kitten stared at me. "What did he say?" I looked into the darkness. "Nothing." "Bexxy." "Nothing of importance." THUMP. "YOU ARE A HORRIBLE FUCKING LIAR." "Stating the obvious..." The crows abruptly took flight. Thousands of wings beating through the chamber. Gerald screamed. And every bird vanished up the staircase. I grabbed Kitten. "RUN." "YOU DON'T HAVE TO FUCKING TELL ME TWICE." We sprinted. Up the stairs. Through the woods. Branches tearing at our clothes. Crows screaming overhead. Something moving through the trees behind us. Something BIG. I refused to look back. Kitten did. She immediately regretted it. "BEXXY." "DON'T!" "BEXXY!" "I DON'T WANT TO KNOW." "RUN FUCKING FASTER!" Excellent feedback. We burst through the tree line. The streetlights sputtered back on. And everything stopped. Silence. No footsteps. No movement. Nothing. Gerald landed on my mailbox. Perfectly calm again. Of course he was. I bent over trying to breathe. Kitten was still clutching at my arm. "Gerald..." He looked at me. "What the FUCK did you have us wake up?" Gerald tilted his head. Hmmm. Then he dropped a tiny piece of paper at my feet. Two words. PHASE ONE. ... I stared at him. "WHAT THE FUCK IS PHASE ONE?!" Gerald flew away. Kitten and I just stood there in silence. Finally she looked at me. "I want it officially documented that I was completely against this from the beginning." "Noted." "I'm keeping my toe." "We'll discuss it." "THERE IS NOTHING TO DISCUSS!" From somewhere deep into the darkness: HMMMMMM. Kitten looked toward the woods. "I SWEAR TO GOD, GERALD!" And somewhere beneath my home... Something knocked a dangerous knock. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. Ill fortunes always bears three fruits. So anyway... I don't think Gerald is trying to overthrow me anymore. Which is great. Unfortunately... I am certain he made me King and we're going to war. With what? I can only assume it wont be any good.

She promised her twelve-year-old daughter she would be back before the movie ended. Then she walked out of the Paris cinema to warn her Resistance cell, was caught by the Gestapo instead, and spent the next twenty months trying to stay alive in Ravensbrück. Her name was Odette Fabius. She was born in Paris on August 15, 1910, into a wealthy assimilated French-Jewish family that had been in France for generations. Her father Robert Schmidt was a respected lawyer. Her mother came from a prominent commercial dynasty. She grew up in comfortable Parisian bourgeois circles — good schools, cultured summers, the specific social world of the French Jewish upper class of the 1920s. She married a French banker named Roger Fabius in 1928, when she was eighteen. Their only child Marie-Claude was born in 1930. By 1940, when the Wehrmacht occupied France, she was thirty years old. The Fabius family had every reason to keep their heads down. Assimilated Jewish families in occupied France in 1940 faced an escalating series of decisions, each one worse than the last. Register with the authorities. Wear the yellow star. Comply with the specific institutional apparatus that the Vichy government and the German occupation were building against them. Or resist. Odette chose the second option almost immediately. In November 1941, at thirty-one, she was recruited into the Alliance network — a French intelligence-gathering operation led by Marie-Madeleine Fourcade that fed direct military intelligence from the Free Zone in southern France to British Intelligence in London. Alliance operated primarily in and around Marseille. Members were assigned animal codenames. Fourcade was Hérisson — Hedgehog. The specific institutional operating principle was that no one in the network knew the real name of anyone else, so that if any one member was captured, the network could survive. Odette moved to Marseille to work. She spent 1941 through 1943 collecting intelligence, running couriers, sheltering fellow agents, and — as the German security apparatus tightened its grip on southern France — coordinating with London on air-drop landings for downed Allied pilots. Her twelve-year-old daughter Marie-Claude went with her. On the afternoon in question, in the early spring of 1943, Odette had taken Marie-Claude to a Marseille cinema. Marie-Claude was twelve. Odette was thirty-two. Halfway through the film, she leaned over to her daughter and told her she needed to run a quick errand. She promised she would be back before the film ended. She left Marie-Claude in the seat. She walked out of the cinema, into the streets of occupied Marseille, and toward the safe house where members of her Alliance cell were meeting. She had received urgent intelligence that the Gestapo was closing in on the meeting. She was going to warn them. She did not get there in time. She was arrested on the street by German security agents before she reached the safe house. She was interrogated for weeks in a Marseille prison. She was labeled — in her own subsequent trial file — a dangerous terrorist. She was held in total isolation. She gave the Gestapo nothing. Marie-Claude waited in the darkened cinema until the film ended and the lights came up. Her mother did not appear. She eventually made her own way home. Her father Roger, warned by the network of what had happened, took her into hiding immediately. Marie-Claude spent the remainder of the war under a false identity in the French countryside. She would not see her mother again for over two years. In April 1943, after two months in Marseille, Odette was transferred to Fresnes prison outside Paris — the main German security prison for political detainees in the occupied zone. She spent another eight months there, still refusing to name a single member of the Alliance network. On January 31, 1944, she was loaded onto a deportation train. The convoy she was on carried approximately one thousand women. Every prisoner number began with the digits 27. Hers was 27393. The train arrived at Ravensbrück concentration camp in northern Germany before dawn on February 3, 1944. Ravensbrück was the specific Nazi camp system's principal concentration camp for women. Over the course of the war, approximately one hundred and thirty thousand women passed through it. Approximately forty thousand of them died there. The remainder were selected for forced labor in the camp's associated munitions plants, medical experimentation subunits, or transferred onward to Auschwitz. Odette did not intend to disappear into it quietly. Within her first days at the camp she attempted to escape. Three days later she was recaptured. The punishment was fifty lashes with a leather whip in the camp courtyard while other prisoners were forced to watch. The SS officer administering the beating counted the strokes out loud. He was, on the recorded testimony of several fellow prisoners who witnessed it and survived, expecting Odette to scream, to beg, to give some sign of breaking. She made no sound. Not one, across all fifty strokes. When it ended, the officer reportedly demanded to know how she had stayed silent. Her answer, on the recorded testimony passed down by the survivors of her block, was five words. Je suis française. C'est tout. I am French. That is all. Eight days in an isolation cell followed. Then transfer to the Strafblock — the punishment barracks — where the specific mortality rate exceeded that of the rest of the camp. A fellow prisoner named Dorothea Binz-Schneidenbach, a Belgian artist, sketched her by candlelight in the days after the beating — thin, shaved, wounded, upright. That drawing survived the war. It now hangs in the Museum of Jewish Art and History in Paris. By the winter of 1944-45 Odette was failing. A French physician imprisoned at the camp — Dr. Anne Spoerry, who would after the war become one of the most famous flying doctors in East Africa — quietly took her into the camp infirmary and hid her there from January through April 1945. Spoerry protected Odette from the daily selections that were sending failing prisoners to the gas chambers at the neighboring Uckermark subcamp. That single specific decision by Spoerry is why Odette lived. On April 23, 1945 — days before the German surrender — the Swedish Red Cross negotiated the White Buses evacuation that carried surviving female prisoners of Ravensbrück out of the camp system and into neutral Sweden. Odette was in one of the buses. She spent the following month unconscious in a school in a small Swedish town that had been converted into a hospital. She lived another forty-five years. She was reunited with Marie-Claude and Roger in Paris in the autumn of 1945. She wrote a memoir titled Un lever de soleil sur le Mecklenburg — A Sunrise over Mecklenburg — published in 1986. She was made a Commander of the Legion of Honour. She held five separate French wartime decorations, including the Medal of the Escaped — awarded, fittingly, to those who had attempted to escape from a concentration camp. She died in Paris on August 19, 1990, at eighty years old. Marie-Claude, the little girl from the Marseille cinema, lived into her nineties. When she was asked, decades later, whether her mother should have taken the specific risks she took, whether the specific afternoon in the cinema was a mistake, whether a mother should have chosen the Resistance over her own child, she never hesitated. She said her mother could not have been any other way. She said that was simply who her mother was. Some people are taken from this world. A rare few refuse to be erased from it. Odette Fabius was one of them. If her story stayed with you, drop one word in the comments — Odette, Marie-Claude, silence, anything that comes to mind. Tap the like button so more people find this story. The page is small. Every reaction helps us keep telling stories like this one.

Giant panda Jin Xi and Zhu Yu enjoyed a cooling treat at Zoo Aquarium Madrid in Madrid, Spain, on July 2, 2026. As high temperatures persist across much of Spain, Zoo Aquarium Madrid helped its animals beat the heat by providing frozen treats made from fruits, vegetables and meat.

I’ve been reflecting on the observation that technology changes are faster than ever, but human needs and wants remain the same The most powerful experiences I’ve had this year were tech-free. Watching the US beat Bosnia live with 60,000 other Americans. Hosting the South Bay Renaissance kickoff with 200 folks just 7 days after the tweet. Playing soccer with my kids and winning an adult rec league in Portola Valley. Humans need community. We are fundamentally social animals. We want to spend time with others who share our interests, our backgrounds, our neighborhoods. When designing tech products, my focus is not to make more addictive experiences that draw us away from physical reality. It’s to add more vibrancy to our real lives. That North Star is what inspires me to build Tribe and hope will also guide the thousands of founders building products today.