Yes, this is for men with vision, discipline, and a mission. But even a man with a map can benefit from someone who asks the uncomfortable questions he stopped asking himself. The right partner doesn’t “complete” you you should already be building yourself. They can challenge your blind spots, sharpen your thinking, and help you become more intentional. The wrong partner can do the opposite. So perhaps the real lesson isn’t “good women vs. bad women.” It’s this: Choose people who add clarity to your life, take responsibility for your choices, and make growth harder to avoid. Because sometimes the greatest blessing isn’t someone who carries you… It’s someone who makes you realize you need to start walking.

Ado will be performing at Zipangu 2026✨️ lntroducing Zipangu 2026 — A celebration of Japanese music in the US! 🎌 A massive outdoor music event bringing together some of Japan’s most exciting artists… and Ado will be performing! 💙🔥 📍 May 16, 2026 – Brookside at The Rose Bowl (Pasadena, CA) Joining Ado are ATARASHII GAKKO!, CHANMINA, HANA, MAN WITH A MISSION, Yuki Chiba, 10-FEET and more — a rare lineup! It’s a full day of live music, food, culture, and the energy of Japan brought straight to California. 🎟️ Tickets go on sale Nov 25 (Tues) at 10am PT. Who’s joining us at Zipangu 2026? 🙌✨ #Ado#

THE PREACHER WHO SURVIVED BEING SKINNED ALIVE. THE MOUNTAINS FINALLY TOOK HIM. They sewed him into a wet animal skin and left him in the sun to die slowly as it tightened around his body. He survived. They packed cloth full of scorpions and leeches against his skin. He survived that too. They tied him to a tree overnight as bait for wild animals in the mountains. He survived. Then one spring morning in 1929, he walked into the Himalayas alone, and nobody ever saw him again. Sundar Singh was born in 1889 into a wealthy, landowning Sikh family in Punjab, India. His mother took him weekly to sit at the feet of a Hindu holy man in the forest, hoping to raise a devoted son. When she died, Sundar was only fourteen, and grief turned to rage. He hated the missionaries in his town, mocked their faith, and one day bought a Bible and burned it page by page in front of his friends to prove his contempt. The peace he expected never came. Weeks later, hollowed out by despair, he decided he would end his life unless the "true God," whoever that was, showed up before dawn. That night, he said, a light filled his room and he saw Jesus Christ standing before him, asking why he had persecuted Him. By morning, sixteen-year-old Sundar Singh was a Christian. His family's response was immediate and brutal. His father disowned him. His own brother tried to poison him. The community that had once respected his family now treated him as a traitor. Rather than retreat, Sundar made a decision that stunned everyone who knew him: he put on the plain yellow robe of a Hindu holy man and chose to live as a barefoot, homeless preacher of Christ, walking from village to village with no possessions, no salary, and no home to return to. He became known across northern India as "the apostle with the bleeding feet." His robe offered no protection against the snow. He was stoned. He was arrested. He once slept in a roadside hut and woke to find a cobra had shared the space with him through the night. But it was Tibet that called to him most. Closed to missionaries, fiercely Buddhist, and hostile to any foreign faith, Tibet had defeated nearly every attempt to bring the gospel across its border. Sundar Singh crossed it anyway, for the first time at just nineteen years old, and then returned almost every year that followed. The persecution there went far beyond stones. In the Tibetan town of Rasar, he was arrested, tried, and sentenced to death for preaching. His executioners sewed him into a freshly skinned, still-wet yak hide and left him in the open sun, knowing the hide would shrink as it dried, crushing the person inside. Villagers later said he was found alive, the yak skin split open, with no explanation anyone could give. On another occasion, he was thrown into a dry well filled with the remains of previous prisoners and left to die in the dark. Two nights later, he said, a rope was lowered down to him and he was pulled out, though he never saw who had done it. Other accounts describe him bound to a tree overnight in wolf territory, packed in cloth filled with stinging insects, and other things few missionaries anywhere in history have endured and lived to describe. He kept going back. By his thirties, Sundar Singh had preached across India, Tibet, Nepal, and eventually Europe, America, Australia, and beyond, drawing enormous crowds wherever he spoke. Yet the very hardship of his Tibet journeys had worn his body down long before old age had any right to. Friends who saw him in his last years described him as prematurely aged, frail, and exhausted in a way that alarmed them. In April 1929, against the advice of nearly everyone close to him, Sundar Singh set out on what he intended to be one more journey into Tibet. He reached a small town called Kalka at the foot of the Himalayas, a worn, aging figure in a yellow robe among the pilgrims beginning their own climbs into the mountains. He was never seen again. No body was ever found. No grave exists. No witness ever came forward with a final account. Whether he collapsed from exhaustion on a mountain path, was killed by those still hostile to his preaching, or simply reached the high mountains he loved and was lost to the snow, no one has ever been able to say. Nearly a century later, it remains one of the enduring unsolved mysteries in modern mission history. A man who survived being sewn alive into an animal skin, left for dead in a well of corpses, and bound out as bait for wolves, was finally taken, quietly and without a trace, by the very mountains that had always called him home.

I am the Director of Managed Migration for the European Union. Sit. I have twenty minutes before lunch, and I intend to spend them correcting you, because someone should, and it is plainly not going to be the people who raised you. You called it an invasion. You called it a wave. You called it a flood. You reach for these words because they fit in one hand, and one hand is all you were given. We do not use words that fit in one hand. We use "irregular arrivals event." It requires both hands, a footnote, and a working group, and that is exactly the point. A word you can hold is a word you might act on. We have spent seventy years making certain there are none of those left. I do not blame you. You were raised on nations. We outgrew nations. We are a directive with a flag. Let me explain the desk slowly, in the register one reserves for the very young. The fund is called AMIF. Nearly 10 billion euros, since topped toward 10.94. It carries four objectives, and I will ask you to hold two of them at once, though I keep my expectations low. One is asylum and integration. Another, same fund, same page, same auditor, is countering irregular migration and ensuring effective return. The euro that buys the blanket and the euro that buys the fence are drawn from the same column. When you ask which side I am on, you are asking me to prefer one of my own pockets. It is an Anglo-Saxon question. I forgive it. You imagine the two sides fight. How charming. They reconcile, quarterly, over a very good lunch. Your Prime Minister campaigns to keep them out. His opponents campaign to let them in. His opponents would do precisely as he does. Both instruct this desk. Both sign the same appropriation. In thirty years I have not once been asked to change the letterhead, only the tie of the man at the podium. Now, the growth, which is the part I permit myself to enjoy. Frontex opened in 2005 on roughly the budget of a provincial parking authority. By 2024 it stood at 922 million euros. By 2025, about 1.12 billion. It is 187 times larger. Name me one institution that grew 187 times while never once being credited with ending the thing it manages. You cannot, because there is not one, and the Commission has proposed 11.2 billion more, because a desk that solves its file is a desk one closes, and we do not close desks. We are European. We retire them at 63 with a pension and a small ceremony. You wanted us to solve it. Consider, for once, what you were asking. You were asking a man to defund his own lunch. You brought numbers. You people worship a clean number. Very well. In 2024 the official count on the route to the Spanish islands was 1,142 dead. A monitoring group put the Atlantic figure at 9,757 for the same year, roughly nine times higher, including, they say, some 1,538 children. Two methodologies. I keep the smaller book. I stamp the larger one unverified. Even the keepers of the small book write across the top that it is a floor, that most of the drowned are never recorded at all. I file the floor and present it as the ceiling. You would call that a lie. We call it methodology, and methodology is the oldest art on this continent. We were forging provenance while yours was still a rumour with a coastline. We are exquisitely precise when precision flatters us. In 2021 the Libyan coast guard, which we train and equip, returned 32,425 people to Libya. Those we can count to the individual. Yet of 61.2 million euros earmarked for that programme, investigators traced barely 34 million. Some 27 million, about 44 percent, is simply nowhere. A machine that can number 32,425 human beings to the person cannot locate half of its own money. Sit with which of the two we chose to keep exact. You will ask whether we watch what becomes of them. We do not. Our own leaked report concedes it: our staff may not set foot on Libyan soil, so we cannot monitor the coast guard we pay. We write the cheque and we admire the horizon. A United Nations mission found reasonable grounds to believe crimes against humanity, murder, torture, enslavement, were committed against migrants in those centres. A member of that mission said European support "aided and abetted" those crimes, and added, in the same breath, "we're not saying that the EU and its member states have committed these crimes." I live inside that comma. It is the most comfortable room in Brussels. The rescuers, I concede, are the honest party. They pull people from the water. The case built to prove them smugglers collapsed in a Sicilian court in 2024, dismissed, no crime, because the people they saved had entered lawfully. I confess a small grief. An acquittal is nearly impossible to file in the threat column, and the threat column is where the money sleeps. And your courts. You wave them at me like a diploma. The very human-rights court in Strasbourg that blessed the Melilla pushback on grounds of the migrant's "own culpable conduct" later condemned the identical practice at Evros. Same bench. Opposite verdicts. I cite whichever suits the morning. None of that is a defect. It is a menu, and Europe has always understood that civilisation is the art of the menu. I will tell you where that court sits, since you enjoy the pageantry. It sits in Strasbourg. Once a month we relocate the entire European Parliament from Brussels to Strasbourg and back, at an expense no living person will defend, because a treaty said so and we do not reopen treaties. If you can grasp why we do that, you can grasp why the border works exactly as it does. If you cannot, you were never ready for the border, and I say that gently. At Pylos a European surveillance plane spotted an overloaded trawler, filed its alert, and more than 600 people drowned inside a rescue zone while a coast-guard vessel watched for some fifteen hours. Seventeen officers now face prosecution, charged, I remind you, never convicted. In a leaked note from another operation someone wrote that the aircraft were withdrawn "so as not to be a witness." I do not defend the sentence. I admire its economy. The instinct to see less is the only instinct in this building that has ever come in under budget. So do not call it a crisis. A crisis is unbudgeted, and unbudgeted is the one thing we are not. On the last night at the breakwater at least 57 people drowned at Tarajal, and some of them were children, and by morning I had entered each of them under interceptions, arrivals, and returns, the only three drawers I own. It was not an invasion. It was not a wave. It was a delivery. It was managed. And it was, if I may say so, exceptionally well documented. You may go. The working group convenes in September.

I have never been an FBI agent. Never conducted an investigation. Never worn a wire or served a warrant or spent a winter in a field office where the heating runs four hours behind the interrogation schedule. I was a congressional staffer. Then a political appointee. Then a different kind of political appointee. Then the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, which is also a kind of political appointee, except the furniture is nicer and the jet is mine. I run the building. I would like to tell you about the jet. It seats fourteen. It costs sixty million dollars. The interior was refurbished during the Bush administration and the procurement file describes the upholstery as "heritage cognac." I know this because I requested the file. Not for oversight purposes. I wanted to know the name of the color so I could describe it at dinner. Heritage cognac. It smells like a law firm that has never lost. I spend a lot of time in that smell now. I think it is the smell of having arrived somewhere that was never meant for you, and noticing that nobody has asked you to leave. Washington to Philadelphia is a hundred and forty miles. Amtrak runs it for forty-nine dollars. I flew the Gulfstream on May 10th because Alexis wanted to see George Strait. The suite was thirty-five thousand. Maybe fifty. I don't track numbers below six figures. The flight crew stayed on past eleven. Overtime. Security too. Someone will calculate the cost per mile of flying a sixty-million-dollar aircraft to cover a distance shorter than most Uber rides. That someone will not be me. I was in the suite. The suite didn't have a calculator. It had George Strait. The Bureau told reporters Alexis was "an invited guest of the performers." Representatives for George Strait and Chris Stapleton did not confirm this. They were never going to. But the FBI said it, and under my leadership, when the FBI says something, that is the evidentiary standard. I run the building. The building said it. It's true. Her protection detail is where the budget gets interesting. Twenty-four-seven coverage. SWAT-certified agents. Field officers drawn from multiple Bureau offices nationwide. Two armored SUVs at minimum. Hair appointments. Musical appearances. A blowout in Nashville required four agents in a parking lot for ninety minutes. The annual cost is roughly one million dollars before overtime, vehicle maintenance, and incidentals. The Bureau cites "hundreds of credible violent death threats" as justification. One person has been arrested. His name is Alden Welch Ruml, twenty-six, from Massachusetts. He sent emails. He faces five years. One emailer. One million dollars a year. Four SWAT agents per errand. A quarter of a million dollars in federal protection per verified threat. For context: the average FBI field office spends less annually on its entire confidential human source program. Informants embedded inside drug cartels, counterterrorism cells, organized crime families — the people whose testimony sends other people to prison — cost the Bureau less to keep alive than it costs me to ensure my girlfriend arrives at a salon escorted by men trained to rappel from helicopters. One of my officials suggested we conduct a formal threat assessment. A review. The kind of paperwork the Bureau has generated for seventy years whenever a protection decision requires justification. He had been with the Bureau for nineteen years. He asked in the hallway, in front of staff. I berated him. Not quietly. He stopped asking. He stopped asking. That phrase is going to recur in this document. I want you to notice it each time. Now. Alexis Wilkins is a country singer. I should mention this. She has released eight singles and one EP titled *Grit*. She has zero chart appearances. Her most-streamed song has five hundred and two thousand lifetime plays on Spotify. Taylor Swift accumulates that figure in approximately eleven minutes. A full-time country music journalist at the industry's leading independent publication stated that he had never heard of Alexis Wilkins before I started dating her. She has no active tour. She has never headlined a festival. Rolling Stone cited a forty-eight percent increase in her streaming numbers after we became public, which the same journalist clarified was "a forty-eight percent increase from virtually nothing." This is the person for whom the FBI fields a million-dollar annual protective detail. I want you to hold those two facts together — the streaming numbers and the security budget — and understand that they do not represent a miscalculation. They represent a value system. Her protection is not proportional to the threat. Her protection is proportional to her proximity to me. That is the formula. Proximity to the Director equals resources from the Bureau. I have applied it consistently. I have applied it to everyone. Which brings me to the people who are no longer here. I have removed over fifty career officials since January. Twelve have filed suit. Marshall Yates — my Congressional liaison, formerly the director of something called the Election Integrity Network, which existed to challenge the 2020 results — personally called field offices to compile names. Everyone who worked a case involving the President. Six thousand names were requested by the White House. The acting director before me was asked who he voted for. When he started supporting the President. Whether the FBI had tried to "put the president in jail." He was told the President hasn't forgotten. Three hundred counterterrorism and counterintelligence agents have been reassigned to immigration enforcement. The unit monitoring Iran — Iran, which operates proxy militias across four countries and maintains an active assassination program targeting American officials on American soil — was gutted. Six federal prosecutors in the Eastern District of Virginia have resigned or been pushed out rather than participate in the prosecution of the previous FBI Director, James Comey, whose crime was investigating the President and whose punishment is being investigated by the institution the President gave me as a gift. I am prosecuting the last Director for doing his job. I am doing this from a fifty-thousand-dollar suite while a sixty-million-dollar aircraft idles on the tarmac outside. Nobody in the building finds this ironic. The ones who would have found it ironic are gone. They stopped asking. My Deputy Director is Dan Bongino. He has never worked a federal case. His career before this was conservative talk radio. He receives the President's Daily Brief every morning — CIA product, NSA intercepts, the full intelligence take of the United States government — and he obtained his SCI clearance after I waived his polygraph. The FBI's own guidelines state that polygraphs are a "preliminary employment requirement." My lawyers reclassified him as a Schedule C political appointee. Experts said that's not how the statute works. The experts are career officials. Career officials are the previous administration's furniture. I am redecorating. Nikole Rucker is my personal assistant. She arrived at the Bureau on January 20th without a security clearance of any kind. She was physically escorted into the Director's suite because the door requires a clearance she did not possess. By February she was in London, seated across from a Western allied intelligence service, notebook open, pen moving. She used to work for Stephen Miller. The White House says she does not share operational details with him. I am told this is technically accurate in the way that most technically accurate statements are technically accurate. The polygraphs are still running. Just not for my people. We administer them now to career staff. The questions have changed. We ask whether they've criticized me. Whether they've spoken to a reporter. Whether they've expressed doubt about the direction of the Bureau. The machine measures stress. Under my leadership, stress has been reclassified as disloyalty. Disloyalty as a security risk. A security risk as grounds for termination. Fifty people have traveled this chain. Twelve are suing. The rest stopped asking. I run the building. In February a New York Times reporter named Elizabeth Williamson published details about the protective detail. I opened a preliminary inquiry. Federal stalking charges. We searched our databases for her information. The Department of Justice reviewed the file, found no legal basis, and terminated the inquiry. Called it retaliation. The Times' executive editor called it "a blatant violation of Elizabeth's First Amendment rights." I do not retaliate. I respond to threats. A journalist publishing accurate reporting about my personal use of public resources is, by my definition, a threat to operational security. My definitions are the ones that govern inside this building. I wrote the organizational chart. There is a framed copy on my wall. It has one name at the top. The Atlantic published a separate story. Excessive drinking. Frequent absences. Staff forcing entry into my home because I could not be reached. I filed a two-hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar defamation lawsuit. At my budget hearing, Senator Van Hollen cited the allegations under oath. I told him the only person slinging margaritas on the taxpayer dollar was him — in El Salvador, with a convicted gang-banging rapist. Fox News subsequently noted that public records do not support either characterization. But the line worked. That is the difference between evidence and performance. I have always understood which one this building rewards. In 2023, before any of this, I said the following on national television: "Chris Wray doesn't need a government-funded G5 jet to go to vacation. Maybe we ground that plane." I meant every word. We should have grounded his plane. So mine wouldn't invite the comparison. I sell merchandise. "Fight with Kash." T-shirts, hats, a children's book. The profits go to a foundation I started. The brand benefits from my position as Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is not a conflict of interest. A conflict requires two competing interests. I have one interest. It has never been healthier. I told the Senate that the FBI cannot meet its mission with a five-hundred-million-dollar cut. I requested twelve billion. Two billion more than last year. In the same period I spent a million on my girlfriend's security detail, fifty thousand on a concert suite, flew a sixty-million-dollar aircraft to cover a distance shorter than most commutes, waived background checks for three political appointees with no law enforcement experience, reassigned three hundred counterterrorism agents to check green cards, gutted the unit tracking Iran's assassination program, and opened a federal investigation into a newspaper reporter for the crime of publishing a newspaper. I told Hannity: "We are going to protect not only me and my loved ones but every American that is threatened." I meant the first seven words. The rest was institutional boilerplate. The kind of thing you say when the camera is on and the sentence needs to land somewhere that sounds like it includes other people. I run the building. Now I want to tell you about the water. The week before the concert I went to Pearl Harbor. The USS Arizona. A VIP snorkel. Nine hundred sailors and Marines are entombed in that hull. They have been there since 1941. The oil still leaks. It rises to the surface in small dark rainbows that break apart when you swim through them. The water was warm. Very clear. I could see the outline of the ship's superstructure below me, the geometry of a vessel that sank with its crew inside, and I remember the water temperature was perfect and the sun was on my back and my detail was on the shore and nobody in the water asked me to justify my presence above nine hundred dead. Recreational swimming at the Arizona is prohibited. The National Park Service said they were not involved. The Navy could not identify who authorized the outing. The logistics were coordinated by military email. A former government diver spoke to reporters anonymously. He said the access was unusual. He said it raised safety and security concerns. He spoke anonymously, the article noted, "for fear of retribution." A man who dives for the government is afraid to describe, on the record, how I swim. That is the climate. That is the building I run. A nineteen-year veteran stopped asking. Fifty career officials stopped working here. Three hundred counterterrorism agents stopped tracking the people who want to kill Americans. Six prosecutors stopped prosecuting. A government diver stopped talking. A reporter found her name in a database. And the oil keeps leaking from the Arizona, eighty-four years after the hull settled, surfacing in thin iridescent films that nobody is assigned to monitor because I reassigned them. I have never been an FBI agent. I have never conducted a federal investigation. I have never built a case or flipped a witness or spent a night in a surveillance van waiting for someone dangerous to make a mistake. But I have flown a sixty-million-dollar jet to a George Strait concert. I have watched the show from a suite that cost more than most Americans earn in a year. I have swum above nine hundred dead sailors in water so clear I could see their ship. And I have ensured, through the systematic removal of everyone who might object, that no one in the building will tell you any of this is wrong. The oil surfaces. It always surfaces. It has for eighty-four years. I run the building. The building doesn't ask questions anymore.

Grok Bot might be the first tool that lets one non-technical person run an entire business with a team of AI agents. My friend Billy runs his whole newsletter business on Grok Bot agents, and I think we're about to see 100,000+ businesses like his. BEST PRACTICES: 1. The agents run on a shared cloud computer, so running your newsletter, your X, and your receipts all in one place creates context bloat and burns tokens fast. One mission per setup. 2. Start with a Chief of Staff. Give it access to your existing docs (Notion, Slack, Gmail), have it audit the business, then tell you the top three agents to build first to drive revenue. 3. Perfect a task with the Chief of Staff before spinning up a new agent. Have it do the outbound sales once, review it, and only then say "now build a bot that does exactly that." You earn each new hire by proving the task works first. 4. Constraints are the feature. You get a limited number of agents, one thread per bot, like DMs with a teammate. It forces you to stay mission-oriented instead of spinning up a bot for every random idea. 5. You make the decisions, not the agent. Billy's team spent three weeks unable to pick where content should live. At some point you say "we're doing Notion, no more tinkering" and move on. 6. Run week one with no new agents. Build the team, learn to fly the plane, just execute. Week three is when you find the real gaps and expand, someone to man the inbox, someone for the Shopify shop. 7. Then add routines so it works while you sleep. Ask your Chief of Staff what recurring jobs would move the business forward overnight, and it builds the automations that run without you. Thanks to @billyjhowell for sharing the sauce on @startupideaspod (follow for more). Grokbot is really cool. Watch below:

Today is the start of a very important day in the AI world... the trial between Elon and Sam/OpenAI begins today in Oakland Federal Court. The jury selection is happening right now in the U.S. District Court for the Northern District of California and opening arguments are expected Tuesday. The civil jury trial is projected to last 2-4 weeks, with Judge Yvonne Gonzalez Rogers making the final call. So let me tell you why this fight all came about. 1/ In 2015 Elon co-founded OpenAI with Sam Altman and others as a nonprofit to develop artificial general intelligence safely and openly for the benefit of all humanity... this was supposed to NOT be for profit or for closed corporate control. Elon was a major early funder, contributing around $38-44 million (~60% of early seed funding) plus resources like compute and recruiting. 2/ Then, Elon left the board in 2018 over disagreements for the direction of the company and Microsoft’s growing role of the company. 3/ Later, OpenAI took billions from Microsoft, restructured with a for-profit arm, initially “capped profit,” now more commercial... went closed-source in practice, and exploded in value with ChatGPT. FYI, the current valuation of OpenAI now sits at ~$852 billion and the company recently completed restructuring with a for-profit entity reporting into a nonprofit foundation. Now, with the trial, Elon is saying Altman, Brockman, and OpenAI breached the founding charitable trust and agreement by turning it into a “wealth machine” that prioritizes profits and insiders over the original mission. He claims they deceived him about their plans... This lawsuit was originally filed in November 2024, was withdrawn, and then revived in early 2026. And just this Friday, April 24, Elon voluntarily dropped the fraud claims to “streamline” the case and keep the jury focused on the mission issue... proceeding on breach of charitable trust and unjust enrichment. This is what Elon is looking to get back from Sam and OpenAI: a/ substantial damages, with stakes in the $100B+ range, with many reports saying it's in the range of ~$134B and the winnings will be given to the nonprofit/charity arm and will NOT benefit Elon personally b/ possible unwinding/restructuring to restore the original nonprofit mission c/ leadership changes (e.g., getting rid of Altman/Brockman from key roles). On the other side, OpenAI is claiming: a/ Elon knew about and once supported commercialization steps, saying he even explored merging with Tesla or gaining control himself b/ OpenAI calls the suit competitive sabotage from rival Elon's company xAI and says this is driven by jealousy over OpenAI’s success This is SUCH an important trial in the world of AI... people may not fully understand. The reason is bc Elon has repeatedly warned that profit-driven, closed-source AGI is very dangerous. This is his chance to enforce the original “benefit humanity” mission he helped create and walked away from in 2018. A big win will hurt OpenAI’s valuation, upcoming IPO plans, Microsoft partnership, and market dominance/customer perspective of the company... and this will also force real changes in how the world’s leading AI lab operates, influencing the entire AI race and future regulations. For me, Sam Altman straight up CANNOT be trusted with the future of AGI, and this trial proves why Elon was right to fight it. This is the same guy who got fired by his own board in 2023 for not being “consistently candid,” then crawled back in and turned the nonprofit “open for humanity” promise into a closed-source, Microsoft-bankrolled profit machine worth hundreds of billions. Elon was the one who put up the early cash and vision to keep AI safe and beneficial for all of us... not to create a trillion-dollar insider club. If Altman gets away with rewriting the rules after the fact, it sets a dangerous precedent that mission-driven tech is just marketing fluff. I believe Elon isn’t doing this for ego or rivalry... he’s really doing it bc someone has to hold the line before profit-over-people AGI becomes unstoppable. This one’s personal for the man who actually wants to understand the universe instead of just cashing in on it. Humanity needs Elon to win. And that's who I'm rooting for!

On Halloween in 2016, Hannah Eimers and a friend drove four hours from her home in Tennessee to Athens, Georgia, for a party. In the early hours of November 1st, she was on her way back when her Volvo drifted off Interstate 75—even though she was sober—and collided with a steel guardrail. Her car hit a safety feature on the rail that was designed to slow the vehicle and force the rail to curl up. Instead, it tore through the Volvo and cut Hannah’s body in half. Not long after Hannah’s death, her father, Steve, began researching guardrail accidents. He’s since driven some 40,000 miles through 25 states to inspect guardrails. Based on his research, he believes there are about 1,000 annual guardrail-related deaths in the U.S.—virtually all of them preventable—and tens of thousands of miles of dangerous guardrails presently on the country’s roads. Now he meets with politicians, advocates for guardrail safety in Washington, and posts inspection videos from the sides of highways on his YouTube channel, TheGuardrailGuy. Charles Bethea reports on the man who has made it his mission to fix the nation’s guardrail problem:

the broken ankle isn't what makes tom cruise different. it's what he did ON PURPOSE that's even wilder: hung off the side of an airbus A400 during takeoff. lloyd's of london refused to insure it. he signed a personal liability waiver and did it anyway. age 52 jumped a motorcycle off a 40 meter cliff in norway. trained 5 hours a day for 4 months building grip strength to 200 pounds per hand. 13 takes to get the shot. he was 60 years old flew 225 F-18 super hornet missions for top gun maverick. 15 hours of flight training per week for 3 months. he was 58 held his breath underwater for 6 minutes 31 seconds. trained with a freediver for 31 days. 80 takes. most stunt doubles last 2-3 minutes the halo skydive took 872 jumps to get right. on take 106 he nearly collided with another skydiver at 15,000 feet. he was 55 climbed the outside of the burj khalifa at 1,680 feet with 40 mph winds. 20 takes. he was 48 the ankle jump in london took 7 weeks to recover from and cost paramount $1.5 million. he finished the take before telling anyone the man is 63 years old and still doing this. no cgi. no doubles. just commitment do you respect it, or is he built different?

Leonardo DiCaprio: The Dream That Never Left At just 22 years old, Leonardo DiCaprio became one of the most recognizable people on the planet. After Titanic, Hollywood saw him as the perfect leading man and expected him to spend the rest of his career embracing that image. But while millions were focused on the movie star, DiCaprio's attention was often somewhere else entirely. Long before fame arrived, he had been captivated by nature. As a child, he spent hours watching documentaries about wildlife and the oceans. His original dream wasn't to become an actor at all—it was to become a marine biologist. Life had other plans. Acting opportunities came early, and by the late 1990s he had become a global sensation. Titanic turned him into an international icon almost overnight. Every magazine wanted him on its cover. Every studio wanted him in its next blockbuster. Yet the passion he had for the natural world never faded. In 1998, while still in his twenties, DiCaprio launched the Leonardo DiCaprio Foundation. Its mission was ambitious: protect wildlife, preserve ecosystems, safeguard oceans, and address climate change. Many people assumed it was simply another celebrity project that would fade away after the headlines disappeared. They were wrong. The foundation began funding conservation initiatives and environmental education programs around the world. DiCaprio also used film as a tool for awareness, helping produce environmental projects such as Water Planet and Global Warming to bring ecological issues to wider audiences. Then, in 2007, he took an even bigger step. DiCaprio co-wrote, produced, and narrated The 11th Hour, a documentary exploring humanity's impact on the environment. Scientists, activists, and experts discussed climate change, biodiversity loss, and the urgent need for action. By that point, it was clear his commitment wasn't temporary. The years that followed only expanded his involvement. In 2013, his foundation supported efforts to combat Thailand's ivory trade. The campaign attracted more than a million supporters and increased international attention on elephant poaching and illegal trafficking. Soon after, his focus turned heavily toward ocean conservation. At the 2014 Our Ocean Conference, DiCaprio announced a major financial commitment to protecting marine ecosystems. Around the same time, he helped produce Virunga, the acclaimed documentary about those risking their lives to protect endangered mountain gorillas in Virunga National Park. The film received worldwide recognition and earned an Academy Award nomination. That same year, DiCaprio's environmental work reached a new level of influence. The United Nations appointed him a Messenger of Peace with a special emphasis on climate change. Speaking before world leaders at the UN Climate Summit, he urged governments to treat the climate crisis as an immediate global priority. The image of the young Titanic heartthrob had evolved into something much larger. He was using the reach of celebrity to amplify environmental causes. Not every chapter was without controversy. In 2016, DiCaprio's foundation became linked publicly to questions surrounding Malaysia's massive 1MDB corruption scandal. Authorities alleged that funds connected to the scheme had passed through various networks that touched both entertainment and philanthropic organizations. DiCaprio maintained that he was unaware certain donations may have originated from misappropriated funds. His representatives stated that he cooperated fully with investigators and supported returning any assets or donations found to be improperly sourced. The association created challenges for a reputation he had spent years building. Yet he continued his environmental work. That same year, he finally won the Academy Award for Best Actor for The Revenant after decades of acclaimed performances and multiple nominations. With millions watching around the world, he could have focused entirely on his career achievement. Instead, he used his acceptance speech to speak about climate change, urging people to recognize it as a real and urgent issue. The speech lasted only a few minutes. His commitment had already lasted nearly twenty years. In 2019, DiCaprio partnered with Laurene Powell Jobs and Brian Sheth to establish Earth Alliance, an organization dedicated to supporting conservation efforts, climate resilience, Indigenous communities, and emergency environmental responses. His impact continued to grow. In 2021, he helped support major ecosystem restoration efforts through Re:wild, including initiatives aimed at protecting the Galápagos Islands and conserving endangered species around the world. By then, environmental projects associated with DiCaprio had directed tens of millions of dollars toward conservation efforts across multiple continents. Forests. Oceans. Wildlife habitats. Marine protected areas. Endangered species. Climate initiatives. Indigenous-led conservation. The very subjects that fascinated him as a young boy had remained at the center of his life, even as he became one of Hollywood's biggest stars. There is something remarkable about that consistency. Leonardo DiCaprio never became the marine biologist he once imagined being. Instead, fame gave him a different path toward the same mission. The actor who first captured the world's attention aboard the Titanic spent decades using his influence, resources, and platform to advocate for the protection of the natural world. Not because of a single documentary. Not because of a single speech. And not because of a single headline. But because he returned to the cause again and again, long after many expected the interest to fade. Perhaps that is the most compelling part of his story. Fame provided the spotlight. What defined him was how he chose to use it. And beneath the awards, the premieres, the cameras, and the extraordinary career, the child who once dreamed of studying the ocean never really disappeared.