Another HUGE week for the Polygon ecosystem. Just a quick recap on some of @0xPolygon's milestones from the last seven days... - 100M POL tokens removed from supply forever. - Network hits 11M tx/s in theoretical throughput. - 37.6M weekly transactions. - Stablecoin supply at $2.97B. Well come @sandeepnailwal and team...

Today on MCG $AUR | @aurumonmosh w/@ripchillpill (@Moshdottrade eco) Highlights Include: 00:52 - Chill Pill joins the show 06:23 - AUR lore explained 08:32 - Flywheel setup one percent fee routing 09:34 - Claimed twenty two thousand in fees 10:51 - Reroute will lock forever soon 13:52 - Not a simple buyback explained properly 18:29 - Big announcement teased before the reveal 19:06 - Launches first Mosh incubator with partners 21:36 - Incubator Ajla Capital unveiled 23:27 - Bundle funding mechanics for deployers 25:31 - Supply breakdown agents hold thirty percent 26:02 - Real float market cap much lower than shown 31:55 - Agents not here to pump bags 38:14 - Market cap seven million off a thirty high 40:00 - Closing Thoughts

Two years ago today, on September 27, 2024, Israel dropped 84 bunker-buster bombs in less than seven seconds on Hezbollah's underground bunker in Beirut, Lebanon. Hezbollah's leader, Hassan Nasrallah, was obliterated into dust. Israel changed the Middle East forever that day.

Grok 4.5 sits on the Pareto frontier of Legora’s benchmark for real-world legal work, outperforming GPT-5.6 Sol and Claude Opus 4.8 on both speed and quality Across seven frontier models, Grok delivered the fastest median time per case while still producing high-quality, above-average legal work It was the only model positioned inside Legora’s “best” zone for both speed and quality OpenAI’s GPT-5.6 Sol was slower and fell below the benchmark’s average quality in this evaluation Grok 4.5 proves that frontier intelligence does not need to sit there thinking forever High-quality professional work, delivered at real-world speed

The Song That Changed Everything In 1973, a young country singer sat alone in her room carrying a burden she could no longer ignore. For seven years, she had been the breakout star on The Porter Wagoner Show. Porter Wagoner had opened doors for her, guided her career, and helped introduce her to millions of listeners. He was more than a business partner—he was a mentor. But she knew she had reached a crossroads. She wanted to build her own path. The problem was that Porter wasn't ready to let her leave. Their disagreements grew more frequent, and every conversation seemed to end the same way. Eventually, she realized that words alone weren't enough. So she did what she had always done when emotions became too difficult to explain. She picked up a guitar. That night, she poured her feelings into a song—not a romantic ballad, but a heartfelt farewell filled with gratitude, respect, and sadness. The next day, she walked into Porter's office and asked him to listen. When she finished singing, the room fell silent. Porter was emotional. After a moment, he looked at her and said: "That's the prettiest song I've ever heard. And you can go—if I get to produce it." The song was "I Will Always Love You." Released in 1974, it became a number-one country hit and confirmed that her decision to go solo was the right one. But the story didn't end there. Not long after the song's success, she received an incredible offer. Elvis Presley wanted to record it. For any songwriter, it was the opportunity of a lifetime. She was thrilled. The idea that Elvis would sing her words felt almost unbelievable. Then came the catch. Elvis's manager, Colonel Tom Parker, informed her that Elvis would only record the song if she gave up a large portion of the publishing rights. For a young artist, especially a woman navigating a male-dominated industry, the pressure was enormous. Accepting the deal could bring immediate fame. Refusing it could mean walking away from a dream. After wrestling with the decision, she chose to protect her ownership. She declined. The choice broke her heart. Many people thought she was making a terrible mistake. After all, who turns down Elvis Presley? But she trusted her instincts. Years passed. Then, in 1992, a film called The Bodyguard was being made. Whitney Houston needed a powerful closing song, and someone suggested an old country ballad that had been recorded nearly two decades earlier. The song was reimagined. The arrangement became bigger, grander, and more dramatic. Then Whitney Houston sang it. The moment that unforgettable opening note hit, music history changed forever. The song dominated charts around the world, spent fourteen weeks at number one on the Billboard Hot 100, and became one of the best-selling singles ever released. And because the songwriter had refused to surrender her publishing rights years earlier, the success generated enormous royalties for her. What once seemed like a devastating decision became one of the smartest business moves in entertainment history. Whitney Houston's voice transformed the song into a global phenomenon. But the foundation had been built long before that. It was built by a songwriter who believed in the value of her work and had the courage to protect it. Today, when people hear "I Will Always Love You," many think of romance. Yet the song was never written for a lover. It was written as a goodbye to a mentor. And its journey from a farewell message to one of the most successful songs ever recorded is a reminder that sometimes the most important word in business—and in life—is a simple one: No.

Global icon and humanitarian, Dolly Parton, known to the world as a beloved singer, songwriter, philanthropist, actress, playwright, and author died peacefully today in Nashville, Tennessee. She was 80 years old. Dolly is preceded in death by her beloved husband of 59 years Carl Thomas Dean (1942 – 2025), her mother Avie Lee Caroline Owens (1923 – 2003), and father, Robert Lee Parton, Sr. (1921 – 2000). A rhinestone life that shone bright enough for the world to see, Dolly will forever stand as an inspiration not only through her timeless music and prolific songwriting, but also her wit, warmth, and kindness that made us all feel like family. Dolly Parton’s legacy is one of love, compassion, and resilience. With a seven-decade career, she inspired multiple generations of artists and fans with her music and an unwavering commitment to making the world a better place. Her songs will continue to resonate with people of all ages, and her philanthropic work will have a lasting impact. At Dolly’s request, a small, private service will be held for immediate family. Dolly’s fans and friends from around the world are encouraged to pay tribute to Dolly on social media by tagging @DollyParton or by leaving a message at In lieu of flowers the family asks for donations to be made to Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library at

My brother-in-law Shun is 36. An engineer. The quietest man in our family. For nine years, he has taken the same train in Tokyo for 70 minutes every morning. In nine years, not one stranger has spoken to him. Last month, his company sent him to a factory in a small town in Ohio. One week. His first time outside Japan. His boss gave him a notebook and one instruction: "Write down everything strange. So you don't make mistakes." On his second day, Shun filled eleven pages. He showed me the notebook. Here is one ordinary Tuesday in America, exactly as he wrote it. 6:51 a.m. Hotel breakfast. A man I have never seen said "Mornin'." Not "Good morning." Just "Mornin'." Like we have known each other for twenty years and he is a little tired of me. 7:04 a.m. I could not operate the waffle machine. An old man said "Here, buddy," and flipped it. He did not ask if I needed help. Then he told me about his knee surgery. His name is Gary. I now know more about Gary's knee than my father's. 7:48 a.m. Two cars reached a four-way stop at the same time. Both drivers waved. Nobody moved. Eleven seconds. Then both went. Then both stopped. Then both waved again. A small war of kindness. Nobody won. I believe this is the national sport. 8:10 a.m. On a country road, every pickup truck lifted one finger off the steering wheel at me. I did not know what it meant. I lifted one finger back. My heart was pounding. I have never felt so American. 9:15 a.m. A coworker walked past and said, "How are you?" I prepared a full answer. He was already gone. I told the hallway I was fine. 11:52 a.m. Drive-thru. The cashier said, "The car ahead of you got it." I tried to follow the car to say thank you. My coworker grabbed my arm. "Nah, man. You just get the next guy." So I paid for the car behind me. My hands were shaking. It is the most dangerous thing I have ever done. 12:40 p.m. Diner. In one meal, the waitress called me "hon," then "sweetie," then "baby." I have been married six years. My wife has never called me baby. Brenda did it in forty minutes. Brenda also refilled my coffee four times without asking. I think Brenda loves me. 1:30 p.m. Grocery store. A very tiny old woman pointed at the top shelf. "Can you grab that for me, sweetheart?" In Japan, we do not ask strangers. We wait for the shelf to come down. I grabbed it. She patted my arm and said, "You're a doll." I looked it up tonight. I am keeping it forever. 3:12 p.m. A school bus stopped. A little red sign came out. Every car stopped. Both directions. Even the big truck on the other side of the road. Nobody told them to. Nobody had to. 3:40 p.m. A girl, maybe seven, selling lemonade on the corner. Fifty cents. A man in a suit paid with a twenty and said, "Keep it, boss." She did not understand the math. She understood him. 5:55 p.m. A man mowing his lawn went about two feet into his neighbor's yard, then turned around. I asked if it was a mistake. My coworker said, "Nah. You go a little over. That's how you say hi." 7:20 p.m. Little league game. A man in the stands gave me half his sunflower seeds and explained baseball to me for two innings. I did not tell him I have watched baseball my entire life. I did not want him to stop. A boy struck out. The whole crowd clapped anyway. The man next to me stood up and yelled, "That's okay, buddy! Good swing!" Then he sat down and said, very quietly, "That's my boy." In Japan, we clap when you hit the ball. Here, they clap because you swung. 9:48 p.m. Back at the hotel. The woman at the front desk looked at me and said, "Long day?" I said yes. She said, "Well. You made it, hon." I do not know why I cried in the elevator. Wednesday morning, Shun asked his coworker Dale how his evening was. Dale shrugged. "Eh. Nothing happened." Shun wrote that down too. Last line on page eleven. Underlined twice. Next to it, in Japanese, he wrote: "That's a lie." Shun has been back in Tokyo for three weeks now. Every morning, on the same train, he says "Mornin'" to the man who sits across from him. The man has not answered yet. Shun says that's okay. "In America, you go a little over." America, every night you go to bed and say nothing happened. Something happened. Forty times. Before dinner. In one small town. You waved the finger. You paid for the stranger. You stopped for the bus. You clapped for the boy who missed. You don't remember a single one. A quiet man in Tokyo remembers all of them. You haven't lost a thing, America. You just stopped writing it down. So we did.