[Scene opens on a wide, desolate savanna at dusk. The camera slowly pans over a leopard lying under a tree, its large body barely able to move. The sun is setting, casting a cold, dim light over the scene. Soft wind rustles through the dry grass. The leopard’s eyes are dull, its breathing labored.]

Narrator (soft, somber voice): In the wild, leopards are meant to stalk, to hunt, to climb. But for some, this is no longer possible. These are the leopards of the forgotten savanna… the ones who can no longer live the life they were born to lead.

[Cut to a close-up of another leopard, this one lying next to a watering hole, panting heavily. The camera lingers on its enormous, bloated body, its paws barely able to reach the ground. The leopard’s eyes seem vacant, devoid of the wild spark they once had.]

Narrator: Overfed and unable to move, these leopards have been left to a slow, painful existence. They can no longer hunt their prey, no longer climb the trees to escape danger, no longer feel the thrill of the chase. They are trapped in their own bodies.

[Cue the soft, mournful opening chords of “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan. The camera slowly pans over a third leopard, sluggishly trying to rise, but its massive weight prevents it from standing. It lets out a heavy sigh, its once-strong legs buckling beneath it.]

Narrator: They are the forgotten victims of a world that has abandoned them. Too fat to run, too weak to fight… These leopards are slowly fading, one breath at a time. They need your help.

[Cut to a shot of a leopard staring out over the savanna. The camera lingers on its face, eyes half-closed, its expression one of quiet resignation.]

Narrator: For just $3 a day, you can provide the care and support these leopards so desperately need. A donation will help give them the chance to live a life of dignity. Help them find their way back to the wild they were meant to roam.

[The music swells as the camera fades to black, and the words “Your donation can make a difference” appear in white text on the screen.]

Narrator (whispering): Please, don’t let them suffer in silence. The time to act is now.

[The music fades out, and the SPCA logo appears in the corner, along with a toll-free number and website for donations.]

What an absolute dystopian hellhole

loooooooota people next year gonna have the FAFO blues…

“This isn’t a joke,” she said. “Why am I the only one doing all the work?”

Don’t underestimate the amount of psychic damage this shit can do to someone. I’m trans, living next to a university in a solid blue county in Texas. I’m probably gonna be fine over the next four years. Probably.

Yet, I have the urge to live as though these are my last days because the world is overwhelmingly against me.

I know there’s a very real chance that if I don’t move, then I’ll be fucked.

I know that, with my education, it really probably wouldn’t be that hard to find a job that’ll allow me to work remotely or that is based in a blue state. Yet I’m dead inside from all the hate and anger. I’ve managed to keep my head down and avoid most of the hate that’d be directed at me personally, but it still hurts.

I hope the grandfather has his kids and grandkids deported and never gets to see them ever again. He fucking deserves it.

Really sucks to be Jaime and his kids though. The wife should have looked into what she was signing up for, i’ve known for decades that if you want to be here legally you need to leave before coming back and there’s no guarantee.

This country is so fucked up, they don’t even have the critical thinking skills or knowledge to understand why our economy is so bad right now: Slashed corporate tax rates and media, healthcare and employment controlled by the ultra wealthy. We’re just neo-slaves given less and less to make our owners more and more. Our health isn’t the ownership’s problem, and we’re only useful as long as we are producing them more wealth.