#Admission 2020

[rabbitcruiser]

On 16 May 1702 much of Uppsala was destroyed in a large fire. 

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Hence, students pursuing computer science and engineering courses can have a rewarding career with numerous job opportunities. There are various CSE courses available for students to choose from based on their interests and passions.

Let’s look at a few popular CSE courses offered by the Department of Computer Science and Engineering.

[toppers1214]

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[raigarhopju]

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[indie05]

About You

Reader x Ex! Paige WC: 4.2K Warnings: Angst, mentions of depression, mentions of sex.

January 2020

"Have you figured out where you’re going yet?" Paige’s fingers trail lightly over your forearm and her eyes remain locked on the TV screen as an Illinois tourism ad plays, a montage of the state’s biggest tourist attractions flashing in soft, cinematic cuts when Northwestern’s campus appears with a tree-lined shot of the university’s archway—and your stomach twists.

"You know I haven't decided, P."

Upstairs, two acceptance letters sit untouched on your desk. Northwestern or UConn. The decision should’ve been easy. When Northwestern’s email had arrived, it felt like the pieces had finally fallen into place, it’s what you had always planned, always wanted.

It would have been a no-brainer if UConn hadn’t responded with an email of their own just minutes later, accompanied by a scholarship too good to ignore. And if that weren’t enough to tempt you, a package had shown up on Paige’s front porch that night—a stark white Huskies jersey with her last name and new number stitched on the back. A tangible, undeniable tie to her future, a future that at that point - didn’t include you.

Paige sighs, shifting beside you, she’s thinking. You can tell by the way her brow furrows just slightly, by the way she presses her lips together like she’s weighing her words carefully. "I know, I know," she murmurs, voice quiet. "I just…" She hesitates, searching for the right words. "I just wish you'd talk to me about it. Northwestern is great, and I don’t want to hold you back, but UConn is good too. And it’d be even better with you there."

She’s right. UConn is a great school, and getting to watch her finally dominate on the UConn court, seeing her in that jersey, hearing her name chanted through the packed arena—that would be incredible. But Northwestern… Northwestern is Northwestern. A top-tier school in a city that has been the backdrop of your dreams for as long as you can remember. The idea of turning them down feels impossible.

But Paige is here, with her arm slung protectively around your waist, molded into your side so perfectly that it makes you wonder if you two were born to be attached like this. Her blue eyes are locked onto yours, saying everything she’s too selfless to voice, but pleading regardless. She’s consumed you, and maybe that’s why the words leave your mouth before you even fully process them— “I’ve been thinking about UConn a lot."

You weren’t lying, but the weight of the admission feels heavier than you expected. Paige’s face mirrors your surprise, her expression flickering between disbelief and something else—something dangerously close to hope, a hope you’re not sure you have the guts to diminish, no matter the cost to you.

When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. "You really think you might go to UConn?" Willing your voice to be steady, to believe what you're about to say even as uncertainty claws at you.  "Yeah," you finally muster up, "I've been thinking about it. A lot."

For a moment, Paige just stares at you. Then, slowly, a small, shaky smile pulls at her lips. Her grip around your waist tightens. "You better not be messing with me."

A hesitant smile crosses your face, ignoring the way your heart hammers against your ribs. "I'm not," you say, glancing back at the TV. The ad is over now, the Chicago skyline fading to black. In its place, the dark screen reflects the two of you curled up together, limbs tangled, bodies pressed close. This—being with Paige—this is your future. Or at least you pray to God that it is.

September 2020

It had only taken one summer and trip to the city when you were seven years old for you to decide—Chicago was where you were meant to be. The memory is vivid: the skyline stretched high above you, the streets alive and practically humming. You had clutched your aunt’s hand and declared, with all the certainty of a child, that one day, you would live there.

Since then, every dream, every goal, every plan has centered around that promise. You've fantasized about it for years: attending college in the city or suburbs, staying in your aunt’s guest house in Evanston, spending your hard earned- but surely measly- paychecks on fancy dinners with your friends downtown that you’d get all dressed up for, and summers by the lake, with the warm pavement beneath your bare feet.

A postcard from that first trip, bought on a State Street tourist trap gift shop, had been taped over your bed at home for years. Now, it sits in a frame on your dorm room desk in Storrs, Connecticut—right beside a polaroid of you and Paige.

You’ve grown up, and the fantasy has changed. But it happened all too fast, which you assume is why your mother’s voice is echoing so mercilessly in your head as Paige dribbles down the court, her sharp movements effortless, and seeing her so in her element, so happy, so in control when you feel anything but almost makes you want to scream. 

"A person can love you back. A place can’t. Everyone wants to be loved, but don’t let the satisfaction of feeling loved take you out of a place you feel love for. Because at the end of the day, where you are can be permanent. And you’re so young—the people you’re with might not be." 

When you had first announced your decision to commit to UConn that had been her only argument against it before she kissed you goodnight, and never spoke against it again.

Regardless, the words pressed themselves permanently into your chest,  lingering through every minute of Paige’s first game of the season. You’re so distracted that you almost forget that it’s probably only the fourth time you’ve actually seen her for more than an hour since move-in day. She’d been so busy with practice and you with school, plus living on different sides of campus your time together has been almost non existent.

She calls you every night, sends a good morning text when she’s up at 6 A.M. for practice, but even with the lack of physical distance between you, thanks to the effort you had put into making that happen - you’re beginning to feel like you’re in a long distance relationship. 

But this is your future. Making Connecticut work. Following Paige wherever she gets drafted. Maybe even getting engaged, someday. It’s the realistic choice. The right choice. You remind yourself of that nearly every day.

And yet, no matter how many times you repeat it, the thrill of being here, of experiencing college together, has started to wane. And in its place, all you have is the harsh reality of your own dissatisfaction. 

November 2020

Your first Connecticut fall is not like fall back home. The leaves don’t change into bright reds, oranges, and yellows. The sun doesn’t shine through them and glimmer down on you making you feel a joy that up until that point, only Paige had been able to give you; instead it is wet, cold, and it just doesn’t seem to have an end. The sky is gray more often than not. The rain and wind storms come in fits and bursts, soaking the campus, making everything feel damp and heavy. And Paige—Paige is gone more than she’s present.

Basketball has always kept her busy, but college basketball is a different beast, one that devours her time, her attention, her energy. Even on the rare nights she sneaks into your dorm, curling around you, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, the chill remains, seeping deep into your bones, so deep that you’re not sure Paige could draw it out if she tried.

She hasn’t said anything about your change in mood. You don’t expect her to. You tell yourself this is normal. That you knew what you were signing up for. But the guilt is unbearable. Paige should be enough to make you happy. She is enough to make you happy. So why are you regretting your decision to follow her here so much?

It’s this thought—this horrible, gnawing thought—that leads you to where you are now: tucked away in a private study room, hunched over your laptop, the screen’s blue light burning into your tired eyes.

It’s a Saturday night, and instead of being at Paige’s game, instead of being anywhere near her, you are here, drowning yourself in schoolwork that needs to get done. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. Because the truth is that your grades need to stay high. And if you'd let yourself admit it… You’d realize the only reason you’re working this hard is to give yourself a chance to leave. So this distraction works, until Paige finds you.

The door creaks open and, at first, you barely register it. Your fingers stay frozen over the keyboard, vision blurring from a mix of exhaustion and unshed tears. The only sound is your breathing as you attempt to calm yourself down before turning to face the intruder when a familiar voice breaks through the silence before you can. 

"Hey."

You don’t look up right away. Instead, you blink rapidly, hoping she won’t notice how red your eyes are, how puffy your face must be. "Hi P," you manage, willing your voice not to break. 

Paige steps inside, closing the door softly behind her. She’s still in her sneakers, navy joggers and a UConn hoodie pulled over her game jersey. The damp chill of the fall air clings to her, but she radiates warmth, like she always does. She lingers by the door for a second, studying you. "You weren’t at the game." Her voice is careful—casual, almost. But you know her too well. You hear the layers of hurt beneath it, she never was a good liar. 

You swallow, you weren’t at the game. It’s not an accusation, she’s just stating a fact. But the way she says it makes it feel an awful lot like one.  "Yeah." You clear your throat, staring hard at your laptop screen. "I had a lot of work to do."

Silence.

Then Paige exhales, slow and measured. You don’t have to look at her to know she’s pressing her lips together, thinking through what to say next. "I get it," she says finally. "I just… I dunno, I thought maybe you'd at least come for a little bit."

She’s right, of course. You could have gone for part of the game. You could have shown up, even if only for her. "I was just really behind on this paper," you say instead, forcing a small, tight smile. "I’ll be at the next one, promise.”

Another silence stretches between you.

Paige shifts her weight from one foot to the other, like she’s debating whether to push or let it go. Finally, she sighs and moves closer, slipping into the seat across from you. She leans forward, resting her forearms on the table, studying you.

"Babe."

You freeze. She doesn’t say anything else right away—just that. Just babe. Slowly, you lift your eyes to hers. She doesn’t look angry. She doesn’t even look disappointed. She looks worried. "What’s going on?" she asks, voice quieter now, and your stomach twists. "Nothing," you say quickly. Too quickly. Paige tilts her head, eyebrows drawing together. "Come on."

You press your lips together, grip tightening on your laptop. Say something. Say anything. But your mind is blank, scrambled, a mess of words and feelings that you don’t even know how to begin to untangle yourself, let alone explain.

Paige exhales through her nose, leaning back slightly. "You’ve been… off," she begins slowly, carefully. "I figured it was just school stress, but…" She hesitates, searching your face. "Is there something else going on?” 

Your pulse pounds in your ears. You could tell her. You should tell her that some days, you feel like you’re suffocating here. That you miss the idea of Chicago so much it aches. That you feel like you’ve lost something, like a piece of yourself got left behind when you chose to come to UConn. That sometimes, when she’s not around, you feel so alone you can barely breathe. You need to tell her that you’ve thought about transferring. You need to tell her that your mom has already filled out the application for you and all you need to do is press send. But you don’t. Instead, you force a laugh—too light, too casual. "It’s just school, P. Seriously."

She studies you for another moment, like she knows there’s more, like she’s waiting for you to crack. But you refuse to let her see it. So finally, she sighs and nods, accepting your answer, even if she doesn’t quite believe it. "Okay." She reaches across the table, wrapping her fingers around yours, warm and solid. You try to focus on that, on the comfort and familiarity of her touch. "Just… don’t shut me out, okay?" she murmurs. You nod, not willing to admit to her or yourself that you already have.

Paige squeezes your hand again, then stands, stretching her arms above her head. "Come back to my place? We can watch a movie or something." For a split second, you almost say no. But then you see the way she’s looking at you—hopeful, tired, and a little too worried for your liking, and you can’t bring yourself to say deny her. "Yeah," you murmur. "Okay." She smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head before reaching for your bag. "Let’s go." You follow her out of the study room, letting the door click shut behind you.

January 2021

The apartment is quiet except for the obnoxious hum of the janky old heater and the distant sound of laughter coming from the dorm upstairs. It’s late—so late that even the digital clock on your nightstand seems to blink tiredly, the numbers glowing 1:42 AM. Really, you should be asleep. Paige should be asleep. But instead, you’re both lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling, caught in a silence thick enough to suffocate you. You close your eyes, and inhale deeply. You know what you need to do. But the words form a knot in your throat. 

"You're thinking too loud," Paige murmurs against your shoulder, her voice raspy, and unfairly attractive, which is not what you need at this moment.  You let out a soft, breathy laugh, but it feels forced. "Sorry." 

She shifts, propping herself up on one elbow. Her bright blue eyes cut through the darkness and bore into you. "What’s wrong?"  You swallow, keeping your gaze fixed on the ceiling. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the blanket.  She’s given you the opening, now is the time to say it. "I got into Northwestern." A weight lifts off your chest, and you almost want to cry at how relieved you are to have told her even though you don’t know what’s about to happen.

Paige doesn’t respond at first, and for a moment, you think maybe she didn’t hear you. But then, she pulls away, sitting up completely.  "What?" You finally turn to face her. Her expression is perhaps for the first time in all the years you’ve known her, completely unreadable, but her blue eyes are wide, searching.  "I applied to transfer," you say quietly, your chest tightening all over again. "And I got in." 

Paige blinks, like she’s trying to process it, like maybe she misheard you. "Since when have you been thinking about transferring?" You hesitate. Since September. Since the second I stepped onto this campus and felt like I’ve been slowly losing myself while you barely noticed. But saying that feels cruel, so you settle for—  "A while." Paige scoffs, running a hand through her hair. "A while? And you’re just now telling me?" Your stomach twists. "I didn’t know how."   

"Jesus”, She exhales sharply, shaking her head. "So what, you just decided you were leaving without even talking to me about it?" "No—Paige, I—"You sit up too, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, planting your feet on the floor. Your hands press against your temples, trying to steady yourself. "I haven't decided anything yet. I just… I needed to know if I had the option."

"And now you do." Her voice is clipped, sharp in a way you rarely hear from her.   You glance at her, at the way her jaw is clenched, at the way she’s gripping the blanket so tightly her knuckles have turned white. You’ve seen Paige frustrated before—on the court, after a bad game, after a bad call—but this is different. This isn’t just frustration. This is hurt.  

"Paige, please," you say, softer now. "I wasn’t trying to hide it from you,  I just never knew how to bring it up." She just lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand over her face, hiding her eyes which have pooled with unshed tears. "Could’ve fooled me."

"I just—" Your voice catches. You exhale, trying again. "I didn’t want to hurt you." 

"Oh, so now you care about that?" It would have been less painful if she’d punched you, and Paige knows it, she wanted it to hurt. She shakes her head, her expression twisting. "Do you even want to be here with me?” 

The question hangs in the air, and your hesitation—just a split second too long—is all the answer she needs.  Paige lets out a hollow laugh and looks away, wiping her eyes. "Wow." 

"It’s not that simple Paige,” you begin. "But isn’t it?" Her voice cracks slightly, and you decide that it might be the worst sound you’ve ever heard. "Because it seems pretty simple to me. You regret coming here with me. You wish you had just gone to Northwestern in the first place. And now you’re trying to undo it all.” 

"That’s not fair."  You try to argue. "Then tell me what this is” she almost screams, meeting your gaze head-on. Her blue eyes, usually so warm, are hard now, guarded. "Because that’s exactly what this feels like to me." You open your mouth, then close it, because—what can you even say? She’s not wrong.  

From her perch on the bed you hear her exhale, running a hand through her hair. "So what are you gonna do?"   

This time, you don’t lie "I don’t know." And that’s the worst part, isn’t it? Not knowing. The feeling of being split in two, trapped between the love you have for her and the love you have for the life you thought you’d have. 

Paige studies you for a long moment, then nods once—sharp, decisive. She swings her legs over the bed and stands, crossing the room to grab her hoodie off the back of her desk chair.   "Where are you going?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know." She doesn’t look at you as she pulls the hoodie over her head, grabbing her keys off the dresser. 

"Paige—"  

"I just need some air."

And then she’s gone.  

You sit there, frozen, staring at the spot where she stood just moments ago. Your whole body feels numb, the reality of what just happened hasn’t fully settled in yet.   The room is quieter now, emptier. You glance at the clock again—2:04 AM—then at the acceptance letter still sitting in the drawer of your desk, folded neatly in its envelope, just waiting for your decision, but deep down you know it was made years ago. 

April 2025

You didn’t hear from her after that night, not when you called her a million times the next morning, not when you texted to let her know that you were leaving, not even to say goodbye.

She never replied when you texted her after she tore her ACL, not even when you congratulated her after she won the national championship just last month, she was completely silent. 

Everything you knew about her now was gathered from news articles, gossip on social media, and the few mutual friends you had left from high school. You knew she never actually started dating anyone again but with the number of stories you’d heard about the beds she was spending her nights in, the roster of girls she had on speed dial at UConn, you almost wish she was dating someone else instead. 

The two of you had graduated now, separately. And while your life continued in Chicago, building your career and putting down roots. Paige had stayed another year at UConn and now was just waiting on the draft to start her career in the WNBA, just like she’d always dreamed of. 

And that leads you to where you are now. A bar tucked away on a small side street downtown, your weekend spot. The bass rattles the walls, a steady, pulsing rhythm that reverberates through your ribs as you swirl the last bit of whiskey in your glass. It is packed—some exclusive afterparty in the VIP section that had bled out onto the dance floor, bodies pressed together, laughter and conversations blending into an indistinct hum. 

You don’t even know why you came. Maybe to find someone to go home with, maybe because your friends dragged you here, maybe because it was easier than being alone.

You lean against the bar, facing away from the crowd, checking your phone even though there’s nothing to check. That’s when you hear it—low, smooth, slightly slurred from the amount of alcohol she had clearly had. "Looks like you’ll need a refill soon"

You barely react, letting out a quiet scoff, eyes still on your drink. "I’m okay, thank you." Silence. Then— "Damn. Won’t even look at me?" Something in your chest tightens. A pulse of recognition. You don’t want to turn around. You don’t want to, but you do.

And there she is. 

Paige. Fucking. Bueckers.

It’s been four years. Four years since the last time you spoke, since the night she walked away from you and never looked back. And now she’s leaning against the bar like she owns it, a half-empty beer in her hand, the other stuffed into her pocket. Her blonde hair is damp at the edges, curling slightly from the humidity of the packed club. She looks good, too good. 

The room is dim, but not enough to hide the way her eyes widen—just for a fraction of a second—before she schools her expression back into something unreadable. "Shit," she mutters, mostly to herself. "I didn’t even recognize you."

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh, turning fully toward her now. "Makes sense, it’s not like you’ve made any effort to see me in the past four years."

She raises a brow but says nothing.

"What are you even doing here, Paige?" you ask, your voice sharper than you intended it to be. Paige exhales through her nose, dragging a hand through her hair. She looks like she’s still processing, she wasn’t prepared for this, for you. "Right," she mutters, half to herself. "You’re in Chicago."

You cross your arms, studying her. "What? Did you forget?" She meets your gaze then, something flashing behind her eyes—something that looks too much like guilt. "No," she says after a beat. "I didn’t forget." The words hang between you, heavy and unspoken.

Four years. Four years of not forgetting.

You should walk away. You should. You owe her nothing. But there’s something about the way she’s looking at you now—like she wasn’t expecting to see you, like she wasn’t ready to remember—that makes you curious, so you stay.

Paige lets out a dry laugh, shaking her head. "This is so fucking stupid" she scoffs out shakily, beginning to turn away but something about her makes you revert right back to your 17 year old self, bold and absolutely unwilling to let her go until you've gotten your fix. Grabbing at her forearm, you look down pointedly at her drink “don’t go yet, looks you’ll need a refill soon too.”

Everything afterwards is rushed. Messy. Desperate in a way that feels a little too dangerous for your liking.

Paige’s back slams against your front door the second it closes behind you, and her mouth is on yours before you can think. She tastes exactly how you remember, her hands gripping your waist, fingers pressing, pulling, taking. It’s like she’s trying to prove something—to herself, to you, to the four years of distance between then and now.

Clothes hit the floor before you can realize what’s happening. The bed creaks beneath you as she pushes you down on it. Her lips drag over your throat, her breath hot against your skin. "You’re still so fucking hot," she mutters against your collarbone.

You bite back a groan. "Shut up."

She grins against your skin, teasing. "Make me."

So you do, in the way only you know how.

[pasiveagressive]

Halloween Icons || M.V.33

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paddockgossip In honor of their 10th annual Halloween Party coming soon, we are counting down with Y/N and Max's iconic halloween costumes over the years!

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paddockgossip 2012 Halloween: Even before she and Max were showing us how to be the world's best couple Y/N was slaying halloween down!

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paddockgossip 2013 Halloween: Another slay without Max! This time with two of her besties!

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paddockgossip 2014 Halloween: Max and Y/N's first halloween as a couple, looking absolutely adorable as Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable!

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paddockgossip 2015 Halloween: Ruh Roh Raggy, Y/n and Max in 2015 as Scooby and Shaggy!

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paddockgossip 2016 Halloween: Taking things a bit more sinister, Max and Y/N in 2016 as a Purge couple! This is also the first year Y/N and Max hosted what would become their annual Halloween Party!

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paddockgossip 2017 Halloween: These killers will make you Scream! This years party hosted was the first one that was really popular almost every driver on the grid attended as well as some smaller celebrities!

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paddockgossip 2018 Halloween: Y/N and Max as Romeo and Juliet from the 1996 adaptation! Y/N has claimed this as one of her favorite movies in the past!

The 2018 party was the first one that really resembles what it still looks like today, they rented a club, a DJ, a photographer and more. The guest list was in the 100's for the first time!

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paddockgossip 2019 Halloween: Hide your wallets and jewelry, Bonnie and Clyde are in town!

In 2019 Max and Y/N decided to charge admission into the party in the form of donations to Charities!

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paddockgossip 2020 Halloween: First time they ever 'repeated' a costume, back as Bonnie and Clyde but this time after the shootout!

No Party this year because of the global pandemic! The couple still requested that their friends donate to charities to help support those that lost their jobs due to the pandemic!

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paddockgossip 2021 Halloween: Not much to say about this one, Catwoman and Batman,

Max and Y/N had their party in person again this year after taking the previous year off for the pandemic!

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paddockgossip 2022 Halloween: My personal favorite Max and Y/N costume, they absolutely killed it as Joker and Harley Quinn!

They asked everyone to dress up as heroes or villians at this years party:

Daniel went as Loki

Lando went as Darth Vader

George and Carmen went as Mr. Incredible and Elastagirl

Charles and Alex went as Superman and Lois

keep reading

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paddockgossip 2023 Halloween: Of course our Halloween Icons went as Barbie and Ken in 2023, with a first for Max and Y/N a costume change mid-party!

We can't wait to see what they dress up as this year!

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youruser We couldn't decide which costume to do this year so we decided why not both?

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paddockgossip brb got to add this to my list!

[samvedschool]

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[nirmauniversity-blog]

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[wilwheaton]

Clooney wrote of the "profound moment" the country is currently in, noting how just last month he hosted the "single largest fundraiser supporting any Democratic candidate ever, for President Biden's re-election." "I love Joe Biden," Clooney wrote. "As a senator. As a vice president and as president. I consider him a friend, and I believe in him. Believe in his character. Believe in his morals. In the last four years, he’s won many of the battles he’s faced." "But the one battle he cannot win is the fight against time," he continued. "None of us can. It’s devastating to say it, but the Joe Biden I was with three weeks ago at the fund-raiser was not the Joe “big F—ing deal” Biden of 2010. He wasn’t even the Joe Biden of 2020. He was the same man we all witnessed at the debate." Regarding the debate, in which the 81-year-old President stumbled continually, Clooney wrote that "our party leaders need to stop telling us that 51 million people didn’t see what we just saw." "We’re all so terrified by the prospect of a second Trump term that we’ve opted to ignore every warning sign. The George Stephanopoulos interview only reinforced what we saw the week before. As Democrats, we collectively hold our breath or turn down the volume whenever we see the president, who we respect, walk off Air Force One or walk back to a mic to answer an unscripted question," he wrote.

George Clooney calls on Biden to drop out to "save democracy" — just weeks after hosting fundraiser

George Clooney has nothing to gain and everything to lose, by telling the truth right now. Politicians and their supporters hold grudges for eternity. He’s speaking up and saying this now, knowing exactly what the stakes are for him, and for our country.

This is what I’ve been wanting to know. This is what the campaign has been hiding from us: WE all saw that President Biden had a bad night. The question the demands an answer is: was it a bad night? Or has time and age caught up with the president? Are we going to believe our lying eyes, or clap louder?

We don’t vote for just a president; we vote for an administration. For the most part, this administration has been fantastic, more progressive than I ever dreamed, to say nothing of rebuilding a nation out of the wreckage of four years of Trump.

And all of that is going to be burned to ash if President Biden can’t mount an effective campaign to defeat fascism and its leader. Since the debate, the campaign has kept him behind teleprompters and away from unscripted interactions. That’s alarming, and a tacit admission that he can’t fight like he once did, that the person we saw at the debate is the person he is most of the time.

If we lose this election, America will be plunged into decades of authoritarian, theocratic, christian nationalist fascism. The stakes will never be higher, and President Biden and his team need to do what is best for the country.

We will not win this election by clapping louder and gaslighting ourselves. We need — this crisis demands — a candidate who can clearly and easily refute Trump’s lies, and simply and clearly explain to voters what the stakes of this election are. The 2020 Joe Biden could do that; the 2024 Joe Biden doesn't seem to be capable of that, anymore, and that puts our entire nation and way of life at risk. George Clooney is telling us that he literally just saw, privately, what we all saw in public, and it was not a one-off. He also reveals that every single elected Democrat he talks to agrees with him, but they are too afraid to speak up. That’s horrifying, and I desperately hope it isn’t true.

But if George Clooney is telling us a hard truth, risking the wrath of countless powerful political players, and we should listen to him; not because he is rich and famous, but because he was literally in a room with President Biden and his supporters, and is now on the record that the President Biden we saw at the debate is not a guy with a cold or whatever, and now journalists can follow up with other people who were there to confirm or deny George Clooney’s observations.

These are tough questions that demand answers, now, because we are four months out and this shouldn’t be close, at all. America hates Trump, and he has lost every election since 2018 as a result.

President Biden and the Democrats need to run up huge margins in Michigan, Georgia, Nevada, Arizona, and Ohio, to overcome the inevitable MAGA fuckery. We need a candidate who is fifteen points ahead of Trump, not someone who has been in the margin of error for his entire presidency -- which is fucking insane when you look at all of Trump’s felonies, judgments, impending trials, and all of his corrupt criminality that the SCOTUS MAGA Majority twisted itself into knots to protect.

This should be a landslide against Trump and MAGA. It’s close because the candidate running against him isn’t -- likely can’t -- be out there, every day, banging the podium and forcing a change in the narrative. 

Did you see my governor after the debate disaster? He was on fire. That guy would destroy Trump in a debate. Vice President Harris would be laser focused on prosecuting the case against him. President Biden is the only candidate who Trump could drag into a fucking dick waving contest about golf scores when the fucking future of American Democracy is at stake. There is not a single other credible candidate who would take that bait. My god.

President Biden has done so much more than I ever thought possible. He doesn’t get credit for all his progressive achievements, for pulling America out of a economic calamity (caused by Trump and his allies), forgiving student debt, his appointments to the FCC, FTC, and other regulatory agencies that had been captured by industry during the Trump regime.

All of that will be wiped out in a matter of days, if Trump seizes power again.

George Clooney is warning us that President Biden doesn’t have the stamina and focus to win reelection and secure not just his legacy but the future of our country. He is saying out loud and as publicly as possible that we are not crazy, that we really did see what we saw.

This is DEFCON 1 for Democracy. This isn’t politics as usual. This is a moment of tremendous existential danger that only gets worse with each passing day. IF President Biden remains the candidate, I will vote for him, obviously. But I hope that he will fire everyone involved in preparing him for the debate, because they failed him, they failed America, and if Biden is going to take the fight to Trump and MAGA the way he needs to, it he needs a team who understand who they are fighting against, how to punch Trump in the nose, and what the stakes are.

[toppers1214]

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[rakiloveslewis]

Have time for a much-needed uncomfortable discussion?

I know it's good that the sport now promotes Diversity and Inclusion that's been agreed by all F1 teams, F1, and the FIA. Honestly, good on everyone, but don't you think it's disappointing that it took them years to promote this when racism has been a longstanding issue in this sport? Now, I want you to remember that this charter has been formally addressed because of a direct result of the Hamilton Commission.

But remember back in 2020, Lewis Hamilton personally talked and asked these drivers to support the BLM Movement and show solidarity against racism by taking a knee, but some of them refused to do so and decided to downplay it as politics—those same drivers who were able to participate and show up in solidarity for the war happening in Ukraine—which I'm not policing them from doing, but it feels hypocritical, doesn't it?

This is going to be real hard to take in. If the shoe fits, and I know it will, I'm talking about those drivers you're repping, and 🫵🏽YOU if you keep on pushing that agenda that "we can't expect anything from them, they're privileged white men," not only is it harmful to justify these GROWN MEN's actions by saying they are privileged and white, it's just an admission of ignorance. I don't really get how some of you think that defending them using this narrative as if your whole life depended on it is better than actually acknowledging and admitting their moral shortcomings.

It's also disappointing that some fans are treating this situation as their "gotcha" moment for their little fan wars—it just goes to show where their moral compass lies. It wouldn't make you less of a fan if you held them accountable—and maybe yourselves too, and it wouldn't reduce their achievements as a sportsman if they were rightfully criticized for their actions. It all depends on what you choose to stand for—not wanting to be less of a fan or not wanting to be less of a person.

Let's not pretend that ignorance is still the sole reason why racism is still prevalent (not only in this sport but in the world), it's taught and often a calculated choice. It's not enough to not be racist, you've got to be anti-racist. Free yourself from hatred.