President Trump signed an order imposing a new 10% tariff on all countries worldwide. This was in response to the Supreme Court’s decision to block most of his tariffs. They ruled he cannot use the International Emergency Economic Powers Act to impose tariffs. It is my Great Honor to have just signed, from the Oval […] The post Trump Responds to SCOTUS: Signs a 10% Tax on All Countries Worldwide appeared first on www.independentsentinel.com.

Students at Quakertown School District were reportedly arrested. Thirty-five students stormed out of school to protest ICE despite the walkout being canceled. The school was then placed in a lockdown. Law enforcement officials report that the students engaged in “unsafe and disruptive behavior in town.” It was originally school-sponsored but was cancelled. However, some students […] The post School-Sponsored Anti-ICE Protest Ends with 35 Students Arrested appeared first on www.independentsentinel.com.

The sacrilegious ‘pastor’ in the clip below thinks Jesus was queer. The preacher is really wittingly or unwittingly destroying Christian doctrine. He is indoctrinating people with lies unsubstantiated by any historical writings. He created his teachings out of whole cloth. There are many false preachers. Even cartels find them to justify sins. A mass murderer […] The post The False Preacher Who Claims Jesus Is Queer appeared first on www.independentsentinel.com.

This article is part of Upstream, The Daily Wire’s new home for culture and lifestyle. Real human insight and human stories — from our featured writers to you. *** Shortly after the birth of my third son, I was talking with my grandmother, whose homemaking without computers, air conditioning, and a host of other modern conveniences was beginning to seem miraculous. I admitted to her how often my husband and I resort to takeout for dinner and how I struggle to find time to make even three or four home-cooked meals a week. How she managed to get meals almost entirely from scratch on the table with far fewer resources at her fingertips, and with four children at that, was beyond me. I asked her how on earth she did it. What she said shocked me. She responded by asking me the same thing. My grandmother said she didn’t know how I balanced everything. She said life was slower back then, and she wasn’t as busy as I am. While she may have some rose-colored glasses when it comes to remembering her past, this interaction nonetheless made me view my reliance on technology in a new light. The more I have thought about it, the more convinced I am that the very technological advancements that make my life easier — the most recent being artificial intelligence — actually contribute to a busier, more overwhelming life. I’ll be the first to acknowledge that AI has proven and will continue to prove beneficial to society in many ways, particularly through its ability to expedite human ingenuity when employed wisely in the professional sphere. I saw this firsthand when I worked in the intelligence community. But in the personal sphere, I’m skeptical of AI’s overall benefit, and I worry that its promise to make everyday tasks easier may come with more strings than we care to imagine. Even simple tasks offloaded to AI lead to large amounts of wasted screen time. A few months ago, I asked ChatGPT to generate a meal plan for a week of healthy, easy meals. It spit out some good recipes, and while not overly complicated, one poke bowl-style recipe included pickled onions. I rarely ever use pickled onions, and I ended up making another inquiry to find other meals to make with the pickled onions that would inevitably be left over. I also asked where certain ingredients came from, researched their calories, and checked my grocery app to make sure my preferred grocery store carried pickled onions. ChatGPT often leads to tangents and extended phone time beyond the simple task at hand. Perhaps more sinisterly, AI platforms encourage this continued use. Anyone who engages with AI regularly knows how its answers are regenerative, encouraging users to extend their searches by further refining or even redirecting users toward new inquiries. AI programs such as ChatGPT or Grok often suggest targeted follow-up inquiries based on the original prompt. Would you like a lower-carb version? An exportable recipe list to share? Suddenly, I’m considering that one of my other busy mom friends would like one of the recipes ChatGPT has given me, and I begin texting the recipe link out to other moms who I think may appreciate them. So there I am, 25 minutes into meal prepping, and I haven’t begun at all. I’m still on my phone. Technology has an uncanny way of making life busier while making specific tasks easier. Although you may not have spent 30-plus minutes on ChatGPT meal plan tangents like I have, you probably know what I mean. Facebook Marketplace, Google Classrooms, community or city websites, even weather apps — they all make life easier and facilitate incredible information sharing, but they have an unparalleled way of consuming our time. We’re drowning in digital to-dos and an overwhelming amount of online information that we feel obligated to check on a daily basis. Enter ChatGPT, and we’re only further compounding our digital busyness in the name of expediency. A Pew Research study last fall found something interesting: While Americans express concern over the amount of control AI has in their lives, over half of them use AI daily, and an even higher percentage — 73% of Americans — say that they are willing to allow AI to assist them, at least to some small degree, with day-to-day activities. In other words, while Americans are concerned about AI, it is becoming increasingly woven into our already digitally maxed-out lives.  This got me thinking, if I hadn’t turned to AI for recipe help, what would I have done instead? Brainstormed harder to come up with some on my own? Asked a friend for her go-to meals? Experimented with recipe creation in an entrepreneurial trial-and-error process? Whatever I would have done, I am convinced it would have been better than the time I spent on ChatGPT searching for meals and embarking down other AI rabbit holes. In a post-pandemic world, we know all too well the profound shallowness of digital dependence. Using AI to assist with daily tasks and decisions will make life easier in the same way that social media allows us to connect with other people: It will be far less rewarding than ways that we could pursue the same ends offline. Screens flatten genuine human connection and chip away at self-discipline and contentment. AI further liberates us from everyday dependence on friends and family, minimizing the need to ask another human for small matters of advice in decisions for which we now use AI. It also liberates us from the rewarding process and intrinsic fulfillment that comes from brainstorming things ourselves. And in thus liberating us, it robs us of the everyday joys that come from these mundane human interactions and from the power of organic ideas. As a society, we desperately need to ingest the truth that engaging in activities — whether those be simple matters of housekeeping or artistic and intellectual endeavors — in a way that cultivates wisdom, virtue, self-discipline, and genuine human relationships is the true measure of time well spent. The next time I’m tempted to turn to ChatGPT for recipe ideas, I’m going to call my grandmother and ask her instead.  *** Rebekah Bills is a freelance writer and mother of three. She previously served as a civilian intelligence officer in the Defense Intelligence Agency. The views expressed in this piece are those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of The Daily Wire.

An Excerpt from Haven Hill Here’s where the story left off last time. The deputy’s brows knit at her tone. “Ma’am?” “Behind you!” Kate shouted again, louder now, sharp with panic. To his credit, Deputy Collins reacted fast. His hand snapped to the grip of his holstered weapon as he half-turned, instinct dragging his gaze toward the driveway. But instinct wasn’t enough. Logan was already moving. He came up the porch steps with a speed that felt wrong—too fast, too quiet. A blur of motion, something wolfish in the way he closed the distance. The deputy’s eyes widened as understanding finally landed. “Hey—HE—” The word strangled off as Logan slammed into him. They hit the top step hard. The deputy’s gun never cleared the holster. Logan’s knife did. Kate saw the flash of metal—just a glint in the fog—before Logan drove the blade up under the deputy’s ribcage. A wet, sucking sound followed. The deputy’s breath hitched as if the air had been punched from him. His knees buckled, but Logan caught him, holding him upright. Using him. A shield. Ariel screamed and ducked back behind the refrigerator. Kate froze for half a heartbeat—shock, terror—then remembered the weight in her hands. She raised the pistol with both arms locked and aimed straight at Logan’s head. “Let him GO!” she screamed. Logan looked at her, eyes bright blue with something manic, and winked. He withdrew the knife slowly. Then slashed it across the deputy’s torso again. A horrible, hollow sound tore out of the man—half breath, half disbelief—before his body sagged forward. Logan eased him down one step, almost gently. Then he lifted his eyes to Kate. The smile he gave her was slow. Wrong. Tender in the way a predator is tender with something it already considers dead. “Morning, family,” he said, grinning widely, voice soft as smoke. Kate raised the Glock, rage humming through her hard enough to blur her vision— —but Logan shifted, pulling the deputy’s collapsing body between them. The man groaned weakly, blood bubbling at his lips. “Go ahead, Katie,” Logan said lightly. “Shoot me.” Kate’s breath caught. He was right. She couldn’t risk it—not while the deputy was still alive, not while there was even a chance she could save him. “Do it!” Logan bellowed. “Shoot me!” He backed down a step, dragging the wounded man with him, grinning as Kate tried—and failed—to find a clean angle. “See?” he coaxed. “You still care what happens to people. That’s your problem. Always has been.” Kate lunged for the door— —but Logan flung the deputy’s body sideways, letting it crash into the porch railing with a sickening thud. Then he charged. Kate barely slammed the door in time, throwing her weight against it as the first impact rattled the hinges. “Ariel!” she shouted. “Help me! NOW!” Ariel was already moving, shoving the armoire with her shoulder, tears streaking her face. The furniture scraped across the floor, inch by inch, while Kate held the door with everything she had. Another slam. Harder. “You’re mine, Kate!” Logan sang. “Don’t make this harder!” Kate braced her boots, shoved back, the door shuddering under the assault. The smell of blood—sharp and metallic—leaked through the cracks. “He killed him—he killed the cop—” Ariel sobbed. “I know!” Kate shouted. “We can’t think about that. PUSH!” Logan hit the door again. And again. Each blow tighter, more focused. Testing. Learning. Kate felt her shoulder start to give. Her feet slipped. And in that razor-thin moment, she knew— This wasn’t about hiding. Or waiting. Or hoping. This was the endgame. She leaned her hip into the door and shoved the armoire fully into place. The barricade wasn’t perfect—but it would hold. For now. He is not walking in through my front door. Outside, Logan returned to the deputy. Kate watched through the window as he kicked the wounded man onto his back, tore the radio from his belt, and crushed it under his heel—making sure she saw. Then he sauntered over to the cruiser,  puncturing two of its tires. He came back to the deputy and stripped him of all his weapons. The gun. The taser. The nightstick. Mockery, one piece at a time. Then Logan bent down to rifle through the deputy’s pockets. And missed the twitch. Just once. Pain cut through the haze enough to wake Collins fully. As Logan leaned closer, the deputy acted. With a broken, desperate cry, he drove his folding knife upward, burying it deep into Logan’s upper thigh—high and brutal. For a split second, Logan didn’t register it. Then he did. A raw, animal sound ripped from his throat. His leg buckled. Blood spilled fast and hot. He staggered back, clutching his thigh, the knife still jutting obscenely from the wound. Kate gasped. Ariel whimpered. Logan yanked the blade free and stumbled toward the treeline, fury twisting his face. Not an artery, unfortunately, Kate thought grimly. But bad. Bad enough. Logan vanished into the fog-choked woods, limping and cursing, a wounded thing retreating to cover, his smeared footprints dripping dark and steady into the trees. Kate didn’t watch him go. Her instincts screamed “NOW!” She turned to Ariel and ordered briskly,  “Cover me. Don’t fire unless you see him. But if you do—don’t hesitate.” Ariel nodded, jaw trembling but eyes locked in. Kate shoved the armoire aside and bolted down the steps, boots skidding in blood. Deputy Collins lay crumpled at the bottom, breathing in wet, broken pulls. Pink foam bubbled at his mouth. “Stay with me,” Kate said, sliding an arm behind his shoulders. “No… go back inside…” he rasped. “No way,” she said. “You’re not dying on my porch.” She hauled him up, bracing her body under his weight, muscles burning, breath tearing out of her chest. “I’ll try,” he gasped. “Good man.” Step by step. Drag. Lift. Haul. “Get your feet under you, Deputy!” He tried manfully and got up another step with her pulling. He began to sag in her arms. She hollered, “MOVE YOUR ASS, DEPUTY!” It worked. It sparked the last bit of impetus he needed to get up the final step. With Ariel rushing to help, they dragged him across the threshold and into the cabin. Alive. Don’t want to wait two weeks to find out what happens? Buy the complete book HERE. There are 39 chapters and an epilogue! About Daisy Daisy Luther is a coffee-swigging author and blogger who’s traded her air miles for a screen porch, having embraced a more homebody lifestyle after a serious injury. She’s the heart and mind behind The Organic Prepper, a top-tier website where she shares what she’s learned about preparedness, self-reliance, and the pursuit of liberty. With 17 books under her belt, Daisy’s insights on living frugally, surviving tough times, finding some happiness in the most difficult situations, and embracing independence have touched many lives. Her work doesn’t just stay on her site; it’s shared far and wide across alternative media, making her a familiar voice in the community. Known for her adventurous spirit, she’s lived in five different countries and raised two wonderful daughters as a single mom. Now living in the beautiful state of North Carolina, Daisy has been sharing her knowledge through blogging for 15 years.  She is the best-selling author of 5 traditionally published books, 12 self-published books, and runs a small digital publishing company with PDF guides, printables, and courses at SelfRelianceand Survival.com You can find her on Facebook, Pinterest, and X. The post Haven Hill: Chapter 32 appeared first on The Organic Prepper.

I never thought in a million years I would be telling my own abortion story. I’m an ER nurse. I’ve built my career on saving lives—running codes, stopping hemorrhages, stabilizing patients when seconds matter. Abortion was never something I imagined intersecting with my life. It was something that happened somewhere else, to someone else. Until it was me. As Congress demands answers from the Trump administration and the Federal Drug Administration about mail-order abortion drug safety data and oversight—with lawmakers like Sens. Josh Hawley, R-Mo., and Bill Cassidy, R-La., calling for investigations—I read those headlines differently. For me, this isn’t theoretical. It’s about what happened when abortion drugs were just a few clicks away, no in-person exam required, and I was under pressure at home. I was separated from my husband and preparing for a divorce when I became pregnant. When I told him, he didn’t rage. He gave me an ultimatum: abort the baby, or he would fight to take our other children from me. He made it clear he would use custody as leverage unless I “fixed” the situation. That threat—losing my children—is what broke me. He insisted I would be “saving multiple lives vs only one fetus.” His pressure was constant: “The clock is ticking.” “Order the pills.” “Get it done.” I was already emotionally exhausted from a failing marriage. Now I was terrified of a custody battle that could upend my children’s lives. I had my first panic attack. I spent days in my room, barely functioning. Eventually, under the pressures, mental distress and threat of losing my other children, I lost sight of the risks & caved to the demands of my ex-husband. I ordered the abortion drugs online. There was no in-person appointment. No ultrasound. No physical exam. No private screening for coercion. Not even a video call with a provider. My entire communication was via a chat app. The drugs were mailed to a hotel across state lines and I drove there to retrieve them. I took the first round of drugs under my ex-husband’s surveillance. He was there to confirm I actually did it. It broke my heart because, as a nurse, I understood what I was holding. I knew the risks: heavy bleeding, retained tissue, infection, and possible need for emergency intervention.  I was borderline anemic at the time. That increases the risk of significant blood loss. In a hospital setting, that history would prompt careful counseling and evaluation. Instead, I received a brief chat message noting I might have heavier bleeding and should reach out if it was excessive. No one assessed me in person. No one reviewed labs. No one ensured I wasn’t being threatened at home. After I took the first round of drugs, my nursing background kicked in. I couldn’t stop picturing what they would do to me—intentionally triggering contractions, potentially delivering my baby alone in a bathroom, watching a tiny body outside the womb because of a decision I made under duress. I had enough. I couldn’t take the second round of drugs. I refused despite all of the pressure, insistence, and fear. I would not be pressured anymore. Out of the shadow of my ex-husband, I scheduled an ultrasound at a local pregnancy center. I will never forget that moment while there—seeing a heartbeat still there. Strong and steady. My baby was still alive! I started a progesterone regimen in an attempt to counteract the effects of the first drug. When my ex-husband found out, he told me to “finish the job.” The custody threats resurfaced. He drove me to an abortion center. But I couldn’t walk through those doors. I had already come face-to-face with the reality of what I was about to lose. Months later, I delivered a healthy baby girl: Kaylie Grace. The first time I saw her face, I fell completely in love. I named her Grace as a reminder—to give myself grace for the choice I almost made when I felt cornered and afraid. Today she is joyful, spunky, and healthy. Her older siblings adore her. The very children I was told I might lose are still with me and cherish the sister who nearly wasn’t here. As lawmakers scrutinize the oversight of mail-order abortion drugs, I hope they understand this: when these powerful drugs are prescribed and shipped without in-person evaluation, there is no safeguard against coercion. In emergency medicine, we are trained to screen for intimate partner violence. We separate patients from controlling partners. We ask direct questions: Are you safe? Is anyone pressuring you? That cannot be done through a checkbox or chatbot. Mail-order abortion was presented to me as convenient, simple, empowering. In reality, it made it easier for someone to pressure me quickly and privately. It removed the human interaction that might have uncovered the threats hanging over my head. I used to think abortion would never touch my life.  This isn’t an abstract policy fight. It’s about whether we treat abortion drugs like a casual consumer product—or like what they are: powerful drugs that are designed to end one life and have real risks for the other life.  I am still healing. I still sometimes cry and whisper apologies when Kaylie Grace is asleep. I’m overwhelmed with the gratitude that she is here. I am an ER nurse. I understand risk. I understand informed consent. And I know this: No one should be able to obtain these high-risk drugs through the mail. We publish a variety of perspectives. Nothing written here is to be construed as representing the views of The Daily Signal. The post The Trump Admin’s Refusal to Act on Mail-Order Abortion Drugs Is Personal for Me appeared first on The Daily Signal.