This is an attack, an aggressive act of cultural vandalism dressed up as warmth and support:
Female Lindsay Clancy supporter says it could be her who murders her own children.
"It could be me."
Hundreds of women showed up at the courthouse today and gleefully cheered for the child murderer as she drove by.
Bring back the asylums. pic.twitter.com/7vhjqw3bqe
— Collin Rugg (@CollinRugg) August 20, 2026
My father didn’t particularly like his mother, who was not particularly a nurturer. She lived for 89 years (at 89 pounds) on black coffee, cigarettes, and grim stubbornness, hating more or less everything and announcing her irritation with considerable regularity. She didn’t do anything well, and the famous Thanksgiving turkey with the plastic bag of giblets cooked inside it can stand in for a lifetime of stories. Dying, surrounded by her Catholic family, she didn’t want the comfort of last rites, because priests are all a bunch of crooks. She said it a little more colorfully than that. She was not where you went for comfort and support.
But when he was dying, my dad closed his eyes, stopped talking to us, and started talking to his own long-dead mother. “Mom, I’m in trouble,” he said, and the rest of the family snapped back like we’d been stung by bees. “His mother?”
Yes, his mother. The body you were born from. Hurt, scared, dying, you run for home.