Rob - Male - United States » WIMKIN - Free Speech Social Media

Rob shared

Yesterday, 11:09 pm

Yesterday, 10:33 pm

Below is a letter that I wrote to a couple of my local representatives here in PA.... The reason that I'm writing now is because I read a couple articles that had me a bit frustrated as a voter and a... View MoreBelow is a letter that I wrote to a couple of my local representatives here in PA.... The reason that I'm writing now is because I read a couple articles that had me a bit frustrated as a voter and a tax payer here in PA. The 1st issue is what I'll address in this message, the next issue probably in another. The 1st issue is that I read about is where Pittsburgh's committee decided to vote to raise property taxes by 20% because they could NOT balance their budget. I will say that I don't live in the city of Pittsburgh so it shouldn't directly effect me right away but I'm sure that if Allegheny County decides to sue Beaver County again over not reassessing property values again because everyone is fleeing Allegheny, then it will effect me. Also I'm sure that state funding will be needed to subsidize the funds that the city may need in the future in order to pay their bills. My question is what is the responsibility of the board if they don't have to worry about balancing any budget for their city? The board refuse to cut back any of their unnecessary programs in order to balance their budget. Another question, "why don't they get audited and see where all their funding is going?" If a private citizen fails to balance their budget and they live beyond their means, they can't just decide to go out and steal from someone else in order to make up more money so they can go ahead and pay for programs that most people don't even know about. I took a brief look at some of their boards that they have on their site and it's crazy. It's understandable that they have an equal rights board...but they also have a board for LGBT+++ ( I'm sorry but I feel once you get passed the LGB then they rest tend to dabble into pedophilia because they tend to push agendas onto children). I'm sure that someone who truly has Christian beliefs may not want their tax dollars going to such a group that advocates for something that's considered a total blasphemy towards the faith. I feel that an audit should be done because what's going on with other major cities with fraud in these Democratic ran cities, it may not be a bad idea to run an audit in a city that can't balance their budget so they take it out on the tax payer. The 2nd issue, which will be in another email, is about another bill that just passed within PA by 102-101. That's the bill that allows for an abortion to take place all the way up to birth...and be done by someone who may not be licensed to perform such a task. I'm sorry, if you have an abortion then you should be made to have your tubes tied, unless it's a medical emergency or you have been raped. Most places won't tie a woman's tubes unless she has a couple kids but yet they will allow her to have a couple of abortions out of convenience? And on the tax payer's dime at that? Honestly, I can see attorney's, in the future, defending a murderer who murdered a pregnant woman, stating that "it wasn't considered a double murder because the woman has had abortions before and a fetus isn't a life".... I know that this is a Democratic bill but it's very demonic in the way it's laid out. I'm going to write this same email to a couple more representatives as well. I realize that it probably won't do much good and it's not you all's fault on what's going on but it is one that reflects mine and other's frustration with our system and how we feel helpless to stop what all is going on within our beautiful country. Thank you, Paul Minger

View Less

Be the first person to like this.

Rob shared

December 29, 2025 12:46 pm

John Swearingen shared a photo

December 29, 2025 12:31 pm

Be the first person to like this.

Steven Halleron

Truth 💣

December 29, 2025

Rob shared

December 20, 2025 1:50 pm

Grab some tissues

Norma Meeker

December 20, 2025 12:04 pm

My father has been dead for exactly three hundred and sixty-five days, but ten minutes ago, my phone buzzed with a notification from his contact: “Check the toolbox. Combination is your birthday.” I ... View MoreMy father has been dead for exactly three hundred and sixty-five days, but ten minutes ago, my phone buzzed with a notification from his contact: “Check the toolbox. Combination is your birthday.” I froze. The phone slipped from my hand, landing on the cheap laminate flooring of my studio apartment. For a moment, the only sound was the drone of the refrigerator and the muffled sirens from the city streets three stories down. My dad, Frank, was not a man of technology. He was a man of cedar sawdust, engine grease, and silence. He typed with one finger. He thought “The Cloud” was a weather pattern. The idea that he had scheduled a text message a year into the future felt as impossible as him walking through my front door. I picked up the phone. The timestamp was 8:00 PM. The exact time the hospital had called it. I walked to the closet. It was shoved in the back, buried under a pile of laundry and unpaid bills—his old, battered red steel toolbox. It weighed a ton, a relic from a time when things were built to outlast their owners. I hadn't touched it since the funeral. I hadn't wanted to. It was a reminder of everything I wasn't. He was a union carpenter who bought a house at twenty-five and retired at sixty. I am thirty years old, drowning in student loans for a degree I don’t use, driving for a ride-share app that takes a forty percent cut, and living in a rental where the rent goes up every time the wind blows. I dragged the box into the center of the room. The metal was cool to the touch. The combination lock on the latch was rusted shut, or so I thought. I spun the dials. Month. Day. Year. Click. The latch sprang open with a snap that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room. I expected tools. Hammers, wrenches, the chaotic jumble of a working man’s life. And they were there. But lying right on top of the tray, sitting on a bed of old screwdrivers, was a thick cream-colored envelope. On the front, in his jagged, all-caps handwriting: “READ THIS WHEN THE WORLD FEELS TOO LOUD.” My chest tightened. How did he know? He knew because he watched me those last few years. He saw me doom-scrolling on the couch when I visited. He saw the way my leg bounced when the news came on TV, talking about inflation, political polarization, and the latest global crisis. He saw me working three "gigs" and still checking my banking app with a knot in my stomach. I sat on the floor, my back against the radiator, and tore open the envelope. Inside wasn't a check. It wasn't a will. It was a single sheet of yellow legal pad paper, smelling faintly of tobacco and Old Spice. “Leo,” it began. “If you’re reading this, I’ve been gone a year. I bet you’re tired. I bet you’re sitting in that apartment, looking at your phone, worrying about a war you can’t stop or a bill you can’t pay. I bet you feel like the whole country is shouting at you, and you’re the only one whispering.” I wiped my eyes. He was right. That was exactly how it felt. Like I was running on a treadmill that was moving just a little too fast. “You guys have it harder than we did in a lot of ways,” the letter continued. “We had hard work, yeah. But when we came home, the world stayed outside. We didn't carry the voices of a million angry strangers in our pockets. You do.” “I can’t fix the economy for you, kid. I can’t pay off those loans. But I can tell you what I did when the noise got too loud. Look in the bottom drawer.” I lifted the top tray of the toolbox. Underneath, nestled between a heavy pipe wrench and a box of galvanized nails, was his favorite tool. A simple, wooden carpenter’s square, worn smooth by decades of his grip. “Pick up the square,” the letter commanded. “And pick up the pencil.” I found the flat, red carpenter’s pencil. The lead was dull. “Here is the secret, Leo. When the world is spinning and nothing makes sense, you have to find something that is True. Not a headline. Not a tweet. Something you can touch. Wood is true. Steel is true. A level line is true.” “Your generation is stuck in your heads. You’re trapped in the ‘Maybe.’ Maybe I’ll lose my job. Maybe the market will crash. Maybe the other side will ruin the country. It’s all smoke.” “Put down the phone. Find something broken in your house. A loose hinge. A wobbly table leg. Use the tools. Fix it. When you engage your hands, you quiet your mind. You reclaim your control. That is how you survive the noise. You build your own quiet.” “I’m not gone, Leo. I’m in the work. Love, Dad.” I sat there for a long time, the silence of the room feeling different now. It wasn't empty; it was waiting. I looked at my phone. It was buzzing again. A news alert: “Markets tumble as uncertainty grows regarding…” I swiped it off. Then, I turned the phone off completely. The screen went black. I looked around my apartment. I saw the kitchen cabinet that had been hanging crooked for six months—the one I complained about but never touched because I was "too busy" worrying about the future to manage the present. I grabbed the screwdriver from the tray. I grabbed the carpenter’s square. I walked to the cabinet. I checked the alignment. It was off by a quarter inch. I could fix that. I loosened the screw. I adjusted the hinge. I tightened it back up. The torque of the screw against the wood sent a vibration up my arm, grounding me. Real. This was real. I spent the next two hours fixing things. I tightened the legs of my cheap desk. I oiled the squeaky bathroom door. I hung a picture frame that had been leaning against the wall for a year. With every turn of a wrench, the knot in my stomach loosened. The anxiety about the "state of the world" didn't disappear, but it retreated. It was outside. I was inside. And inside, things were working because I made them work. When I finally put the tools back, I noticed something else. Under the carpenter’s square, there was a false bottom in the toolbox. I pryed it up. There were more envelopes. Dozens of them. “OPEN WHEN YOU GET YOUR HEART BROKEN.” “OPEN WHEN YOU LOSE A JOB.” “OPEN WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE A FAILURE.” “OPEN WHEN YOU’RE READY TO BE A FATHER.” And one small, heavy envelope at the very bottom: “OPEN WHEN YOU’VE FORGOTTEN WHO YOU ARE.” I realized then that my father hadn’t just left me a box of old metal. He had left me a survival guide. He knew he wouldn't be there to pat me on the back or tell me to toughen up, so he bottled his wisdom, organized by the crises he knew I would face. He understood that in a world that sells us convenience and anxiety in equal measure, the most radical act of self-care isn't a vacation or a purchase. It is the act of capability. The act of doing. I closed the toolbox. I didn't lock it. I walked to the window and looked out at the city. The sirens were still there. The lights were still blinking. The world was still messy, divided, and loud. But for the first time in a year, I didn't feel small. My father was right. We can’t control the noise. But we can always tune the station. I am Leo, I am 30 years old, and tonight I learned that the strongest inheritance isn't money. It’s the tools to fix what’s broken—starting with yourself. True love doesn't just say "I miss you." True love says, "I've prepared you."

View Less

5

Nick Popescu

Beautiful lesson of Life! Where the true power and confidence come!

December 20, 2025

Rob shared

December 14, 2025 6:32 pm

LarryTaylor

December 14, 2025 5:41 pm

When I turned 65 , I sat in my favorite chair, looked back at my life, and whispered to myself, “So… this is the beginning of the final stretch.” And slowly, the truths I had avoided all my life began... View MoreWhen I turned 65 , I sat in my favorite chair, looked back at my life, and whispered to myself, “So… this is the beginning of the final stretch.” And slowly, the truths I had avoided all my life began to surface. Kids? They’re busy writing their own story. Health? Slips away faster than sand through open fingers. The government? Just headlines, promises, and numbers that never change your daily reality. Aging doesn’t hurt your body first — it hurts your illusions. So I sat down with myself and carved out a handful of bitter but necessary truths. ⸻ Kids don’t save you from loneliness Children grow, life pulls them in every direction, and you become a memory they visit when time allows. You smile… and yet something inside you remains strangely hollow. Kids bring joy — but they are not a shield against loneliness. ⸻ Health is not forever One day, the outings you once jumped into with enthusiasm feel like a marathon. You realize health was never a background character — it was the main pillar holding your life steady. ⸻ Retirement and money Retirement is not a reward — it’s a reality check. Depending on the system is like standing on thin ice. Bills grow, needs grow, prices grow… but support doesn't. ⸻ So I rebuilt my life on new rules — honest, sharp, practical rules for living with dignity. ⸻ Rule 1: Money is more reliable than anything else. Love your kids, cherish them — But don’t make them your retirement plan. Save for yourself. Even small savings create big freedom. Financial independence is dignity. ⸻ Rule 2: Your health is your real job Nothing else matters if your body refuses to cooperate. Move. Walk. Stretch. Guard your sleep like treasure. Eat cleaner. Reduce the poison disguised as sugar and salt. Illness doesn’t discriminate, but it respects those who take responsibility for themselves. ⸻ Rule 3: Create your own joy Waiting for others to make you happy is the fastest way to heartbreak. So you learn to enjoy the small things — A peaceful breakfast, a good book, music that warms the soul. When you know how to make yourself happy, loneliness loses its power. ⸻ Rule 4: Aging is not an excuse to become helpless Some people turn aging into a performance of complaints. And slowly, even those who love them start stepping away. Strength is attractive. Resilience is magnetic. People respect the ones who stay capable, not the ones who surrender. ⸻ Rule 5: Let go of the past The good old days were beautiful — yes. But they’re gone, and there is no return ticket. Clinging to the past steals the present. Life today may look different, but it still holds moments worth living. ⸻ Rule 6: Protect your peace like it’s your property Not every argument needs your voice. Not every insult needs your response. Not every relative deserves access to your emotions. Peace is expensive. Protect it from drama, negativity, and draining people — even if they're your close ones. ⸻ Rule 7: Keep learning something — anything The day you stop learning is the day you start aging. A new recipe, a new word, a new app, a new hobby — Your brain needs movement just like your body does. Learning keeps you young. Stagnation makes you old. ⸻ Strength and freedom still belong to you Aging is an exam no one can take for you. You can adapt, rebuild, and rise stronger… or sit back, complain, and wait for someone to rescue you. And if .... No one comes to rescue you .... Stand up for yourself ... Because you still can.. And that single truth is enough to transform the rest of your life. Unknown author

View Less

3

Rob shared

December 10, 2025 10:24 pm

Gregg Babbitt

December 10, 2025 9:59 pm

AMERICA JUST CROSSED A LINE — AND MOST PEOPLE DON’T EVEN REALIZE IT YET. For one of the first times in our history, the U.S. military didn’t chase a drug-running boat… didn’t warn it… didn’t try to bo... View MoreAMERICA JUST CROSSED A LINE — AND MOST PEOPLE DON’T EVEN REALIZE IT YET. For one of the first times in our history, the U.S. military didn’t chase a drug-running boat… didn’t warn it… didn’t try to board it… It erased it from the water as it tore toward our coastline. And somehow people are pretending that’s normal. It’s not. Almost nothing like this ever happened during the cocaine wars or even the worst years of the opioid crisis. So why now? Because fentanyl doesn’t behave like “drugs.” It behaves like a lab-made poison that kills in grains — and no terrorist network has ever taken American lives at this scale. Around 100,000 Americans a year have died from overdoses in the early 2020s. Most involve synthetic opioids like fentanyl. Even after a recent dip, tens of thousands still die from fentanyl every year. Those numbers aren’t “drug” statistics. They’re mass-fatality figures we somehow learned to tune out. And the supply chain is brutally simple: China sends the chemicals. Mexico cooks the product. Then it enters this country any way possible — cars, trucks, shipping containers… and when those routes get tight, cartels switch to fast boats built to outrun almost anything on the water. These boats aren’t hauling a weekend stash. They’re moving loads strong enough — on paper — to kill entire zip codes if they were ever consumed. So when a vessel like this refuses commands and keeps running straight toward our coastline, that’s not a political argument. It’s a choice: stop it now… or bury another generation of Americans later. That’s what this footage shows. Not training. Not Hollywood. The moment the United States finally said, Enough. I’ve talked to parents who lost children to fentanyl. They don’t care which party failed. They care that their kid — their only child — stepped into one wrong moment, took one pill, and never came home. Nothing fills that empty bedroom. Nothing replaces the voice that used to echo through their house. Which is why some of the reactions online feel detached from reality. People shouting “They were fishermen!” Please. Real fishermen don’t kill their lights and run 50 knots toward a coastline. Real fishermen don’t ditch flags, dump cargo, or carve hidden compartments into their hulls. Real fishermen don’t behave like they’re trying to outrun a missile. Anyone who has ever watched an interdiction knows the difference. These ghost boats are not harmless — and every government on earth knows it. Here’s the part the public rarely hears: A vessel in international waters that hides its flag — or sails without one — has far fewer protections under maritime law. Stateless boats are treated as fair game for law enforcement. Lawyers will argue over how far lethal force can go, but nobody is pretending these craft are innocent fishing trips. Critics toss around terms like “war crime.” Others point out that this falls under aggressive maritime enforcement powers nations have long used against unflagged drug-running vessels. The legal debate will go on. But the body count fentanyl has created inside the United States is not up for debate. And let me say this plainly: Credit where it’s due. This was a bold step by the current administration — one even major outlets are calling unusually aggressive. If this is the start of a real pattern, good. Just don’t take your foot off the gas. Because you can’t negotiate with a substance that kills in grains. You can’t “educate” your way out of this. You can’t hold another hearing and pretend it fixes anything. A country protects its people or it doesn’t. There is no middle setting. And when a nation refuses to defend its own, collapse doesn’t arrive slowly. It arrives in funerals. This strike — this moment — is either when America finally woke up… or just another thing we scroll past because we’ve gone numb. If you think Americans deserve the truth, share this. If you want explanations without political sugarcoating, follow this page. A country that won’t defend its own people doesn’t get a second chance. God Bless America. 🇺🇸

View Less

3

Rob shared

July 9, 2025 10:02 pm

Heinz Carl shared a video

July 9, 2025 9:33 pm

why we not see this on TV

290 views

2