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When Bryan Kohberger Finally Faced The Judge

Bryan Kohberger stood with his hand raised, fingers straight and pale like bones under the courtroom lights. His shirt was pressed, his tie neatly cinched, and yet something about him felt hollow. It was as if he had been dressed by someone else and dropped into the moment without instructions.

Bryan Kohberger did not blink as the oath was read to him, “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do,” he said. His voice was calm. Too calm.

Room 203 of the Latah County Courthouse had seen its share of tragedy. But it had never seen this.

His attorneys flanked him like gray shadows. One leaned in to whisper something, but he did not respond. His gaze was fixed. Not on the judge, not on the prosecutors, but somewhere just above the gallery. He was not quite looking at the families, but close enough to make them shift in their seats.

In the second row, a woman gripped a tissue so hard it tore in half. She did not cry. She just watched him like she had watched the door of her daughter’s bedroom every day since November thirteen.

The clerk cleared his throat, “State of Idaho versus Bryan Kohberger. Case number CR28221148.”

The number did not matter. The charges did. Four counts of first-degree murder. One count of felony burglary. And a plea that had been more than a year in the making.

“Mr. Bryan Kohberger,” the judge said, “you are now prepared to enter a plea?”

Bryan nodded. Once. “Guilty.”

Gasps. Then silence. A strange vacuum pulled at the air in the courtroom as if everyone had exhaled at once and forgotten how to breathe back in.

He did not elaborate. He did not explain. He did not apologize.

He lowered his hand and sat down.

But there was a time, not long ago, when Bryan Kohberger was just another doctoral student in criminology. When the streets of Moscow, Idaho, were still quiet. When Madison Mogen was still alive.

November 12 — early hours of the 13th

Madison Mogen had closed up her shift at the local restaurant around 10 p.m. She and Kaylee Goncalves laughed their way down Main Street, stopping at the food truck. The crisp night air carried their chatter as they shared fries and secrets at 1:41 a.m., proud of Kaylee’s new car and the future ahead.

They made it back to the four-bedroom house, sleepy from a long week. By 4:00 a.m., everything was still, too still.

Madison dreamed of spring blossoms. Kaylee nearly drifted off to a podcast until a thud snapped her awake. Somewhere down the hall, a whispered male voice said, “It’s okay, I’m going to help you.” Her heart thudded against her ribs. Confused.

Madison heard it too. She turned toward the door, mind half-awash in sleep. By the time she was fully awake, steps, soft and relentless, passed her doorway. A figure clad in black, masked, stopped at the threshold. She tried to scream, but her throat failed. The man turned, passed, and disappeared down the dark hallway.

Madison jolted upright, adrenaline rushing. She glanced beside her. Kaylee was awake, terror in her eyes. They moved to help Xana and Ethan, but something whispered in Madison’s mind, Get out of here. Her legs obeyed, heart pounding.

Sirens were far away. She reached the hallway where the masked man had lingered, not a flicker of humanity in his gait. Just cold purpose. The hallway lights cast distorted shapes across his face-concealed features. His black clothes, as silent as death.

After he left, minutes or hours slowly passed. Kaylee squeezed her hand. They stayed frozen until later, until the call, “Please send someone… someone… unconscious person.” But the damage was done.

Did Bryan Kohberger Deserve A Deal?

Ben Mogen didn’t flinch when the word came.

“Guilty.”

He had played that moment out in his head a thousand different ways. Sometimes he imagined Bryan Kohberger yelling it, spitting it, dragging it out in defiance. Other times, he pictured the courtroom exploding into noise. But none of that happened.

It was quiet. The kind of quiet that feels like standing at the edge of something you can’t go back from.

Ben stared straight ahead. His jaw was tight. There was nothing triumphant about it. No comfort. Just weight. But behind the weight was something else. Not peace, not yet. But maybe the path toward it.

Across the aisle, Jim Chapin sat with his hands folded. Stacy beside him reached up and dabbed her eyes, though no tears had fallen yet. Not today.

This was not closure. There was no such thing. But it was something.

They had agreed to the plea. The state had asked their blessing, and they had given it. Not because they were soft. Not because they wanted to forget. But because they knew what came with trials like this. The images, the arguments, the games. The endless cycle of appeals. The chance that something small and stupid could unravel the entire case and force them to start again.

Ben had helped write the statement himself, every word carefully, “The plea deal the prosecution has proposed is one that punishes the perpetrator of this horrific crime, protects the public from further harm, and allows all of us who knew and loved these four young people the time to grieve without the anxiety of the long and gruesome trial, years of appeals, and potential mistrials along the way.”

He meant every word. They all did.

Still, hearing it spoken aloud was different. It made the finality real.

Across the courtroom, Kohberger never turned his head. Never once looked at the families.

Which was fine. Ben didn’t need to be looked at. He needed to go home. He needed to sit with the ache in his chest and know that, for now at least, the spinning had slowed.

They would carry this for the rest of their lives. But the story didn’t belong to the killer anymore. It belonged to them.

No Time to Scream

The stairs creaked under his weight. Bryan moved through the house like a shadow, calm and unhurried. The black gloves on his hands made no sound against the railing. In one hand, the fixed-blade knife. In the other, nothing. He had no need for a second hand. He had done this in his mind a thousand times.

Down the hall, a door was cracked open. Inside, Xana Kernodle sat upright in bed, her phone in her hand. Something had woken her. Maybe a sound. Maybe a feeling. She glanced at the time. Four seventeen.

Next to her, Ethan shifted, groggy, “What’s wrong?”

“I think someone’s here,” Xana whispered.

He sat up, blinking hard. “What?”

Then the door opened. There was no pause, no question. The figure stepped into the room with the kind of confidence that meant he had planned this. Thought it through. Every second. Every step. Every exit.

Ethan stood up first, instinct taking over. He was taller. Broader. But unarmed. He tried to shield Xana, but the knife was fast. Flashing. Controlled.

The first stab hit his chest. Xana screamed. The second cut through his side. The third landed with force that bent him forward. He collapsed halfway over the bed, his arm outstretched toward her.

Bryan turned. Xana was already moving. She had made it to the far side of the room. She grabbed a glass and threw it. It shattered against the wall, far too wide to matter. She tried to scream again, but her voice caught. Her breath was broken by sobs that came too fast to be useful.

He crossed the room quickly. Not a run, but not slow. There was no panic in him, just follow-through.

Xana grabbed her phone. Her thumb hovered over 9. She never made it to 1. The blade found her neck first. Then her side. Then her hands, raised to stop him.

She fought. They would later say she fought more than anyone. Defensive wounds. Skin under her nails. She had not gone quietly. But still, she went.

The hallway was quiet again. Behind him, Ethan lay facedown. Xana beside him, on the carpet. He looked down at his work. His chest rose once, steady. And then he left.

Back down the stairs. Out the sliding door. Into the darkness. In a few hours, the world would know. But for now, King Road slept. Two floors. Four lives. And still, he was not done.

The Voices That Wanted More

Not everyone sat quietly when the word “guilty” was spoken. Steve Goncalves leaned forward in his seat, his hand gripping the bench in front of him. His face didn’t move, but his eyes burned. His daughter, Kaylee, was one of the four. And to him, this wasn’t justice. It was surrender.

He had posted about it days before the hearing, when word of the plea deal started to spread. In black letters on a white background, his words were sharp, plain, and raw, “This is our last shot. Judge Hippler, you are our only hope that our child murderer isn’t granted control over his destiny in our children’s names. You take control of this deal and make it right because now you OWN IT.”

All caps. Final words underlined in fury. He had asked for a trial. For cross-examinations. For the evidence to be laid out where the world could see it. He had wanted the mask off. Not just the one Bryan Kohberger wore that night, but the one he wore in court, too.

Next to him, family members sat in quiet support. But the grief felt heavier, sharper, like it had been reshaped into something pointed.

Across the courtroom, Jeff Kernodle sat with his arms crossed. His daughter Xana had been the last to die, they believed. She had fought. That word stuck with him more than the others. She fought.

He had stayed mostly quiet until now, but when the plea was announced, he didn’t hold back. He echoed Steve’s anger. The deal felt too easy. Too clean. It let Bryan skip the part where he had to answer for what he did in full daylight. It let him vanish into the system without ever really being seen.

The Chapins and the Mogen family had their reasons, and he respected them. He understood the exhaustion. The need to be done. But he wasn’t done. Not yet.

As the courtroom emptied, Steve stood in place a moment longer. He looked at the bench where Bryan had sat. Looked at the judge. Then back at the door through which he had entered. The man who had taken their children’s lives had just taken control of how his own would end. And Steve couldn’t let that sit.

The Ones Who Stayed Silent

Bryan stepped over the threshold and pulled the door shut behind him. Not loud. Not rushed. Just closed.

The hallway was quiet again. He listened for movement. Nothing. No doors creaking. No sudden voices. If the other two girls had heard anything, they were hiding. Or they were frozen. Or they were asleep.

He took the stairs slowly. His footsteps were deliberate, but measured. He knew the layout. He had studied it. Hours of scrolling. Watching. Waiting.

On the first floor, a bedroom door sat closed. Inside, one of the surviving roommates lay curled in bed, awake but still. Her phone sat untouched beside her. She had heard something. Not everything. Just a sound. Like a thump upstairs. Then maybe a sob. Then nothing.

She wasn’t sure if it had been a dream. A few minutes earlier, she thought she had heard crying. She opened her door just slightly, just long enough to peek into the dark hallway.

And that was when she saw him. A man, dressed in black. Tall. Wearing a mask that covered everything but his eyes and eyebrows. He did not run. He did not speak. He walked past her and headed for the sliding door.

She had frozen in place, one hand still on the knob. The man left the way he came. Out the back.

She shut her door. Locked it. Sat on the floor and waited. Hours passed before anyone made a call.

Upstairs, the bodies were still. The air was still. The night had stopped.

Bryan returned to his car. He didn’t look back at the house. He didn’t check the time. He already knew it. Four twenty-five. His hands were clean. He had planned for that too.

Back across state lines, he pulled into a parking lot near his WSU apartment, wiped the steering wheel again, then took a photo of himself. He smiled in it.

Later, investigators would say he came back to the house again. Just before nine in the morning. Drove by. Stayed for ten minutes. Watched. But that was later.

For now, the sun began to rise over Moscow. The lights were still off in the King Road house. Inside, the world had changed. And no one knew it yet.

The house on King Road no longer stands. It was torn down months later, not because anyone wanted to forget, but because no one could move forward while it still stood. It had become too quiet. Too known. A place once filled with laughter, with backpacks slung on kitchen chairs and music leaking under bedroom doors, had become something else entirely.

But the people who lived in it are remembered. Madison Mogen. Kaylee Goncalves. Xana Kernodle. Ethan Chapin. Bryan Kohberger will become a footnote and fade away as people move on, but the names of his victims will always be remembered.

Why The Story Of Bryan Kohberger Hit Home For Me

When the details of the Idaho murders began to unfold, I couldn’t help but feel an uneasy pull. Not because I had predicted them, and certainly not because I wanted to, but because the world I created years earlier in Joker Joker Deuce shared a chilling, accidental overlap.

My screenplay was written long before the 2022 killings in Moscow, Idaho. It was optioned in 2019, well before anyone had heard the name Bryan Kohberger. But even then, the story followed a college town. A loner. A campus community slowly unraveling under the weight of quiet violence. In fiction, it was Jeph. In real life, it was someone else.

Jeph was never one for spree killing. That wasn’t his style. His choices were more calculated, more intimate, more psychological. But the environment, the college town, the students, the disconnected man drifting on the fringe of a youthful world that no longer noticed him, felt eerily familiar when this case broke into headlines.

He walks past them every day. Hears their laughter. Watches the ways they move through life as if it owes them something. He doesn’t belong there, but he stays. That’s Jeph. And that could have been anyone.

The tragedy in Idaho proved what I only played with in fiction: that monsters don’t always look the part. That some of the most dangerous people aren’t hiding in the shadows. They’re sitting in classrooms. Holding degrees. Taking notes.

The story I told in Joker Joker Deuce wasn’t about a true crime. But it could have been. And that’s what haunts me now. Because fiction isn’t supposed to feel real until it suddenly does.

The post When Bryan Kohberger Finally Faced The Judge appeared first on Michael Allen.

Why the Quietly Powerful Togetherness Deserved More Than Two Seasons

If you’ve just finished watching HBO’s Togetherness, released in 2015, you might be feeling that oddly bittersweet ache familiar to fans of short-lived but brilliant television. The show, created by Jay and Mark Duplass alongside Steve Zissis, starred Mark Duplass, Melanie Lynskey, Amanda Peet, and Zissis himself. It followed the complicated lives of two couples living under one roof in Los Angeles, exploring friendship, marriage, identity, and the quiet desperation of adulthood, all with a thread of subtle humor and realism that made it feel like life itself. So, why was Togetherness cancelled?

That’s right, just as it really started to hit its stride, it ended. Two seasons. Sixteen episodes. That was it.

So why do shows like Togetherness, thoughtful, intimate, and emotionally intelligent, end so soon?

Why Was Togetherness Cancelled?

Let’s get the blunt truth out of the way. Why was Togetherness canceled? Because not enough people watched it. Despite glowing reviews and a loyal fanbase, HBO pulled the plug in 2016 due to low viewership. At the time, HBO was pivoting toward high-concept, big-budget series that generated social media buzz and kept audiences hooked in binge cycles. The slow-burn, character-driven vibe of Togetherness simply didn’t align with the network’s evolving strategy.

Mark Duplass himself responded with humble honesty. In interviews, he expressed both disappointment and gratitude, disappointment that the story had to stop, but gratitude that they were given the creative freedom to tell a heartfelt, unflashy story for two full seasons. There was no scandal, no behind-the-scenes drama. Just the cold calculus of the entertainment industry.

The Tragedy of Quiet Brilliance

Shows like Togetherness don’t often go viral. They don’t rely on cliffhangers, shock twists, or pop-culture cameos. Their beauty lies in nuance, a glance between characters that says more than a monologue, an awkward silence that feels too real, a moment of connection that might go unnoticed by a casual viewer but feels seismic to someone paying attention.

And because of that, because they ask you to feel instead of react, they don’t always find large audiences. They require patience. They’re not built for headline-grabbing moments. They’re built to reflect real life, which is messy, quiet, and hard to market.

That’s the paradox. The very thing that makes these stories beautiful also makes them vulnerable. I feel like I became friends with them. They have their ups and downs, and they go up against villains. But they struggled through, and I was right there with them. So, why the hell? Why was Togetherness cancelled? Why is everything I like cancelled?

The Duplass Legacy Lives On

Fortunately, Togetherness wasn’t the end of the Duplass Brothers’ storytelling journey. If you’re mourning the show’s early exit, there’s a wide library of similarly tender, human-centered work to explore. Here are just a few places to start:

Room 104 (HBO): An anthology series created by the Duplass Brothers, each episode taking place in a single motel room. The genres range from horror to comedy to quiet drama, but all keep the emotional depth and creative spirit you’d expect.Paddleton (Netflix): A profoundly moving film starring Mark Duplass and Ray Romano, exploring an unlikely friendship and terminal illness with the same mix of awkward humor and gut-punch emotion.Blue Jay (Netflix): A black-and-white indie film starring Mark Duplass and Sarah Paulson that feels like a slow dance between nostalgia and heartbreak.Somebody Somewhere (HBO): While not created by the Duplass Brothers, they executive produced this gentle dramedy about belonging, grief, and chosen family. If Togetherness hit you in the feelings, this one will, too.The Puffy Chair, Baghead, and other early mumblecore films: These lo-fi indie movies helped define the Duplass style, which is talky, personal, and emotionally raw.A Quiet Masterpiece

In the end, maybe Togetherness didn’t need five seasons to be meaningful. Maybe part of its legacy is that it wasn’t stretched out or diluted. It came, it hit hard, and it left behind a perfectly imperfect snapshot of adult life in flux.

Still, it’s hard not to wish for more. When characters feel this real, you don’t want to let them go.

But if Togetherness taught us anything, it’s that life is full of brief but beautiful connections, and even the ones that don’t last forever can change us for good.

If you’d like to keep reading, Vengeance: A Love Story Hits Harder Than You’d Expect is another great movie to watch.

The post Why the Quietly Powerful Togetherness Deserved More Than Two Seasons appeared first on Michael Allen.

The Funniest Autocorrect Mistakes Ever Sent by Accident

We’ve all fallen victim to autocorrect mistakes—those tiny digital betrayals that turn an innocent message into a cringeworthy disaster. One second you’re trying to say “love you,” and the next, your phone decides you meant “lobster you.” Whether it’s a text to your mom, your boss, or a brand-new crush, these autocorrect mistakes have a way of striking when it hurts the most.

Most of these autocorrect mistakes start out innocent enough—a quick reply, a rushed message, a casual “on my way.” But your phone, armed with misplaced confidence and a questionable vocabulary, decides to take over. The result? Texts that ruin family dinners, confuse coworkers, and spark accidental breakups. Whether you’ve sent one or just laughed at someone else’s pain, these ten real-life examples are a reminder that your phone has a sense of humor… and it’s not on your side.

Autocorrect Mistakes 1. “Can’t wait to hold him!”

I was talking to my niece about her newborn baby…

What I meant:
So happy for you! Can’t wait to hold him!

What I actually sent:
So happy for you! Can’t wait to mold him!

Nothing says “congratulations on your newborn” like threatening to reshape him like Play-Doh. I tried to fix it, but autocorrect stepped in again:
“I don’t want to bold your baby.”
At this point, I sounded like I was formatting him in Microsoft Word.

2. “I’m bringing dessert.”

What I meant:
I’ll bring the cake!

What I actually sent:
I’ll bring the coke!

Thanksgiving got real awkward real fast. I’m still on the family group chat, but now my texts get the thumbs-up emoji and nothing else.

3. “I’m stuck in traffic.”

What I meant:
Running late, stuck in traffic.

What I actually sent:
Running late, sucking traffic.

Suddenly I’m not just late—I’m deeply misunderstood. My boss read it twice and just replied, “Take your time.”

4. “Want to grab lunch?”

What I meant:
Want to grab lunch tomorrow?

What I actually sent:
Want to grab launch tomorrow?

She thought I was inviting her to a missile test. Technically, I was trying to flirt, not start a war.

5. “Happy birthday!”

What I meant:
Happy birthday! Hope it’s amazing!

What I actually sent:
Happy birthday! Hope it’s amusing.

Autocorrect just downgraded your entire existence to mild entertainment. You’re welcome.

6. “I’ll be there soon.”

What I meant:
On my way. Be there soon!

What I actually sent:
On my way. Be theirs soon!

I accidentally pledged myself to someone else’s family. It felt more like a prophecy than a delay update.

7. “Love you, Mom.”

What I meant:
Love you, Mom.

What I actually sent:
Love you, man.

Which is fine if you’re talking to your buddy at a bar. Not so much when it’s the woman who gave birth to you. She responded with a single “K.”

8. “Be safe.”

What I meant:
Drive safe, okay?

What I actually sent:
Drive sassy, okay?

Now my friend was expected to roll up to a job interview like RuPaul. Mission not accomplished.

9. “Do you want to hang out?”

What I meant:
Hey, do you want to hang out later?

What I actually sent:
Hey, do you want to hang later?

She never texted back. I assume she filed a police report instead.

10. “Let’s grab sushi.”

What I meant:
Wanna grab sushi tonight?

What I actually sent:
Wanna grab slushy tonight?

I was trying to sound cool and spontaneous. Instead, I sounded like a 12-year-old asking someone to meet at 7-Eleven. She replied, “Sure… but what’s the occasion?” I said “raw fish,” and she blocked me.

I didn’t even add the snake emoji. Autocorrect just assumed that if raw fish was involved, a reptile might be, too. I’ve never seen someone say “no” so fast.

Autocorrect is like that friend who shows up uninvited, wears Crocs, and still insists they’re doing you a favor. Sure, it fixes typos. But at what cost?

Autocorrect mistakes may be unintentional, but the chaos they leave behind is very, very real. From awkward invitations to downright incriminating messages, these little digital slip-ups remind us that even the smartest tech can have the dumbest ideas. So next time you text, double-check — or don’t, and give the rest of us something to laugh about.

***

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The post The Funniest Autocorrect Mistakes Ever Sent by Accident appeared first on Michael Allen.

Sophie Cunningham Is Bringing MMA to the WNBA

When the Indiana Fever took on the Connecticut Sun the other night, most fans came for Caitlin Clark. What they got instead was a glimpse of something else, something the WNBA hasn’t fully reckoned with yet. That something was Sophie Cunningham, and she brought more than just defense. She brought backup. She brought grit. She brought an edge that said, “We’re done taking your cheap shots.”

It started with a hard foul. But it ended with a statement.

The play-by-play won’t tell the full story, but here’s the rundown. Early in the game, Caitlin Clark got a little shove from Jacy Sheldon, but it wasn’t long before her teammates Tina Charles and Marina Mabrey were there to gang up on the three-point shooting star. After hitting the deck, Clark made all three technical free throws like a seasoned vet. But the message was clear: Connecticut wanted to send a warning.

They didn’t realize Indiana had an answer waiting.

Later in the game, tensions flared again. Another hard foul. This time, it wasn’t Clark. Sophie Cunningham entered the fray and delivered her own version of justice. Anyone watching closely could tell that Sophie was not playing around.

See, there’s something about Sophie that casual fans might not know: she’s got martial arts training. That’s not metaphor. That’s muscle memory. So while most players might push and shove, Sophie knows how to handle the situation.

And that’s the line Connecticut didn’t know they had crossed. When you gang up on a rookie just because she’s drawing national headlines, you’ve already shown your cards. But when the rookie keeps her cool and sinks three in a row, and then her teammates start clapping back? That’s when the game changes.

Let’s be honest: the WNBA has had a rough time handling the Caitlin Clark era. Some players are annoyed by the attention she gets. Others try to “welcome” her with elbows and hard fouls. And still others cry foul, literally, when the refs blow the whistle on those tactics.

But what’s becoming more clear by the day is that Clark isn’t alone anymore.

At the start of the season, the narrative was that she had to carry Indiana. That she was the star on a struggling team. That if you shut her down, the Fever would collapse. That was true, until it wasn’t.

Now, players like Aliyah Boston, Kelsey Mitchell, and yes, Sophie Cunningham, are stepping up. Not just to support Clark, but to redefine what this team is. They’re not just the “Caitlin Clark Show” anymore. They’re a squad. A unit. A team that’s finding its voice and its bite.

And let’s not overlook the irony here. DeWanna Bonner and Alyssa Thomas have made a name off being physical. They play tough. They don’t back down. But when Sophie clapped back, suddenly there were complaints. Suddenly, there were accusations of being “too aggressive.”

Sheldon complained! She complained to the refs. When they didn’t hear her, she complained to her own team. But wait! Earlier, she was puffing up when she was in a 3-on-1 against Clark. Now, she’s crying? Does that make sense? Oh, the hypocrisy…

It’s almost like some people only want physical play when they’re the ones dishing it out.

Here’s the real message Connecticut and the rest of the league should take home: if you foul Caitlin Clark, she’ll make you pay at the line. But if you target her, if you bully her, if you think she’s an easy mark because she’s a rookie with endorsements?

You’ve got another think coming.

Because now she has teammates who will take up for her. And some of them, like Sophie Cunningham, didn’t come to play games. They came to win. And if winning means standing up, squaring up, and letting the league know that the Fever are not the punching bag anymore?

Then that’s exactly what they’ll do.

This isn’t just about one player. It’s about a cultural shift. And if the WNBA isn’t careful, they’re going to get left behind by a new wave of players who aren’t afraid to push back.

***

Out of Her League: Angel Reese Is Playing the Game, But Caitlin Clark Is Running It

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The Scripted Storm: Why News Chooses Ratings Over Truth

If you judged the state of the world based solely on the evening news, you’d think we’re three bad days away from an apocalypse. Earthquakes, riots, crime waves, collapsing economies…etc. It’s doom in high definition, every hour, on the hour.

But then you walk outside. The sun’s out. A dog is licking itself. A barista jokes with a regular. Life, strangely enough, looks…fine. Pretty normal, actually. So why does it feel like the world’s falling apart?

It’s not just your anxiety talking. It’s the 24/7 media cycle pumping catastrophe into your brain like an IV drip. And the truth is, the world isn’t in nearly as bad a shape as the news wants you to believe.

Panic is profitable. Peace is boring. And the truth? That’s somewhere in between. It rarely makes the cut.

Disaster Porn is the News Business Model

“The news said we were out of toilet paper. Turns out, they were just full of it.”

The media doesn’t just report the news. It curates it, selecting the most dramatic, fear-inducing stories because fear keeps you watching. Ratings rise when emotions spike. Calm minds don’t click. But show a burning building, a screaming protester, or a weatherman clinging to a street sign? That’s engagement. And it’s not subtle.

Take the now-infamous clip of a reporter “battling strong hurricane winds”—wobbling dramatically on camera, looking like he might fly away—while, in the background, two guys stroll casually by in shorts and windbreakers. No urgency. No drama. Just a regular day in North Carolina.

Or the reporter in the boat. She’s paddling slowly through floodwaters, solemnly delivering a message about climate catastrophe. Then two people casually walk through the water in front of her. It barely reaches their ankles.

These aren’t honest mistakes. These are produced moments, crafted for drama but not truth. It’s not that the media is lying. It’s that they’re staging reality to match the narrative. And that’s even more dangerous.

[image error]Good News Doesn’t Sell, So It Gets Buried

“The truth didn’t die. It just stopped making ratings.”

Here’s what you don’t hear on the nightly broadcast:

Global poverty has dropped dramatically over the last few decades.More people today have access to clean water, electricity, and healthcare than ever before in human history.Life expectancy is up. Infant mortality is down. Literacy rates are soaring.Violent crime? In many areas, it’s been steadily decreasing for years.

But don’t expect a breaking news banner for “Crime Down Again: Families Safely Eat Dinner.”

It’s not just that the news is bad, it’s that bad news is the only news you’re shown. The rest gets left on the cutting room floor because calm doesn’t go viral.

This Is Your Brain on Fear

“These days, the only thing breaking on the news is trust.”

All of this has a cost, and it’s not just frustration. It’s mental health. According to psychologists, consuming a steady stream of negative news can lead to increased levels of stress, anxiety, depression, and hopelessness.

There’s even a name for it, and it’s called headline stress disorder. We’re biologically wired to respond to threats, so when the news serves us a buffet of fear every day, we internalize it. We assume the world is burning, even if our personal lives are fine. The news used to tell us what happened. Now it tells us what to fear.

The Real Danger: A Distorted Worldview

“I want a weather report that doesn’t scream like it’s auditioning for Broadway.”

Much like how the media turned a rare sinkhole event into a frightening spectacle, the industry consistently peddles panic at the expense of truth. When you’re told the world is chaos, you start to believe there’s nothing you can do about it. That’s called learned helplessness, the idea that everything is broken and no amount of action will help. That mindset is poison.

It leads to:

Polarization: If everything’s terrible, we start looking for someone to blame.Outrage fatigue: Constant anger burns out the very people most capable of making change.Isolation: People tune out completely, feeling like nothing matters.

The irony? Most of the actual good in the world is happening on the small scale, like local communities solving problems, neighbors helping neighbors, and grassroots efforts making a difference. But you won’t see it unless you go looking for it.

So What Can We Do?

“I trust horoscopes more than headlines. At least astrology admits it’s guessing.”

You can’t change the media, but you can change how you view it.

Take a news fast. Give yourself permission to go a day or a week without headlines.Balance your input. Follow outlets that practice solutions journalism; they report the problems and the efforts to fix them.Limit your time. Don’t doomscroll. Set a timer. Get the info you need, then log off.Go local. Most real change happens in your neighborhood, not in Washington, not on cable news.Ask this question every day: “Did the news tell me what’s really happening or what they knew would keep me watching?”

If the only thing you consume is poison, don’t be surprised when you feel sick.

It’s Not That Bad, They Just Want Us To Think It Is

The world has problems. No one’s denying that. But there’s a difference between honest reporting and fear-based storytelling. Between informing and manipulating. Between showing what matters and staging what sells. It’s time to see the game for what it is.

So next time you see a journalist yelling into the wind while the dog-walker in the background barely notices the breeze, just smile. You’re not crazy. You’re just learning how to see past the spin.

The post The Scripted Storm: Why News Chooses Ratings Over Truth appeared first on Michael Allen.

The Great Rear Awakening: A Nation Obsessed with Booty Beauty

Once upon a time, in a land not so far away (probably your local Target), women were content with a little lotion and a loofah. But oh, how the times have changed. We are now living in the age of Booty Beauty—a glorious, cheek-sculpting era where your backside gets more spa days than your face ever dreamed.

If your behind isn’t exfoliated, toned, plumped, polished, misted, or massaged on a daily basis… girl, what are you even doing with your life?

Let’s take a moment to acknowledge the booty renaissance. It’s no longer just about having a nice butt—no, no, no—it’s about maintaining it like it’s a vintage car you only drive on Sundays.

We’re talking peach scrubs, butt masks, anti-chafing balms, and firming creams with names like “Cheeky Miracle” and “Glute Glow.” There are entire product lines now dedicated to your caboose. Megababe leads the way with products like Butt Stuff and Le Tush. Some women have more creams for their butt than they do for their face. And we’re just supposed to nod like that’s not wildly hilarious and slightly alarming.

The Booty Beauty Routine

Step 1: Dry Brush the Bum
Dry brushing. Yes. That stiff-bristled torture device that your ancestors used to scrape paint is now the first step to sexy cheeks. Apparently, brushing your butt helps circulation and makes it “look more alive.” I didn’t know butts could look dead, but now I’m terrified mine does.

Step 2: Exfoliate Like You’re Sanding a Door
Next up, scrubbing. Not your everyday Dove body wash. No. You need volcanic ash whipped with Himalayan salt in a jar that smells like pink grapefruit and ambition. The instructions are always like: “Massage firmly for 3–5 minutes while thinking loving thoughts toward your rear.” OK, sure.

Step 3: Butt Mask Time
This is real. People are out here applying clay masks to their butts. You haven’t lived until you’ve sat in your bathroom, cheeks out, trying not to sit down while a cold sheet mask shaped like two peaches clings to your dignity. Bonus points if it tingles—it means it’s working (or you’re having an allergic reaction).

Step 4: Moisturize and Firm
Now comes the cream stage. This is where you slather on something that promises to “lift and smooth” your butt like it’s going on a Tinder date. Some even have caffeine in them, because apparently your butt is tired and needs a coffee. The sacrifices you make for booty beauty. Who knew?

Step 5: Mist Your Assets
And finally, booty mist. Yes, a fine spray for your posterior. For hydration. For shimmer. For the glory of the gods. I sprayed one once and nearly slipped on my own ambition. But my butt? Glorious.

The Price of Beauty (Is in the Butt)

Booty Beauty is not for the financially faint of heart. These products don’t come cheap. Some women are out here spending $45 on a single cream that basically smells like an orange ate a jalapeño. And don’t even get me started on the new trend: LED butt masks. We’re plugging in our posteriors, y’all. If aliens are watching, they’re definitely skipping Earth.

But the best part? Nobody really sees it. This is not makeup or lashes or even a haircut. This is beauty for you and you alone. You walk around knowing that if your pants fell off, your butt would be glowing like a sunset in Bali. And there’s something oddly empowering about that.

The Booty Beauty Roundup

Listen, if polishing your posterior brings you joy, live your truth. Slap on that butt serum. Schedule that Brazilian booty facial. Steam those cheeks like a fresh bao bun. It’s your life.

Just know that you are perfect exactly as you are—even if your rear hasn’t been moisturized since 2017. But if you ever feel the need to pamper your peaches, now you know—you’re not alone. There’s a whole army of women out here exfoliating their way to glory, one cheek at a time.

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Vengeance: A Love Story Hits Harder Than You’d Expect

When you hear the title Vengeance: A Love Story, you might expect a gritty romance, a revenge thriller built around heartbreak or lost love. And with Nicolas Cage in the lead role, maybe something emotionally charged but ultimately cathartic. What you get instead is a harrowing story of sexual violence, a broken justice system, and the raw aftermath of trauma that may be too real for many viewers to sit through. This is not a love story. This is a punch to the gut.

Based on Joyce Carol Oates’ 2003 novella Rape: A Love Story, the film opens with a crime so brutal it’s hard to watch—because it’s meant to be. Teena Maguire (played by Anna Hutchison), a single mother, is gang-raped by four men in a park after a Fourth of July party. Her 12-year-old daughter, Bethie, witnesses the entire thing, hiding just out of sight. That experience alone would be enough to break most children, but Bethie finds herself on her own, walking through the streets at night, traumatized and confused.

Enter John Dromoor, played by Nicolas Cage, a Gulf War veteran and local detective. When he discovers Bethie alone and soon finds her mother’s battered, barely-alive body in a boathouse, the path forward is supposed to be clear: the men responsible should be locked away. But justice, as this movie brutally reminds us, is often a performance for the privileged.

Don Johnson plays Jay Kirkpatrick, the high-priced, smirking defense attorney who knows how to weaponize bias, discredit witnesses, and turn truth into suspicion. His courtroom scenes are nauseating in their realism—calling into question Teena’s character, implying she “asked for it,” and doing everything in his power to twist the narrative until the perpetrators walk free.

via Patriot Pictures

This is where Vengeance: A Love Story becomes something else entirely.

Cage’s Dromoor is no superhero. He’s not delivering long-winded speeches or breaking bones in a choreographed ballet of justice. He’s silent, simmering. And when he decides to take matters into his own hands, the film doesn’t glorify it. It just lets it happen, with the same cold finality that Teena faced in that boathouse.

The Question That Lingers: Why So Graphic?

The rape scene in this movie is not implied—it is shown, and it’s shown in detail. For some viewers, especially survivors of sexual assault, it will be too much. And that opens the door to a necessary question: why do filmmakers feel the need to push boundaries to this extreme?

Some will argue it’s about realism. That sugarcoating violence, especially sexual violence, minimizes the horror and disrespects victims. Others will say that when something is so graphic it triggers panic, nausea, or trauma in viewers, especially those with lived experience, it ceases to be storytelling and becomes exploitation.

There’s no easy answer. But Vengeance: A Love Story doesn’t seem to use the violence for shock value. It feels angry. It feels personal. It feels like the filmmakers are challenging the audience to stop looking away from what happens every day in real life—and from what happens next when the justice system fails.

Still, that doesn’t make it easier to watch.

A Misleading Title with a Brutal Message

The title might be the most misleading part of the entire film. There is no romance between John and Teena. No candlelit scenes. No affection blooming in the aftermath of pain. If there is “love” in this story, it’s in the form of protection—a detective who decides one child’s trauma, one mother’s life, is worth more than the red tape and courtroom games. But even that feels more like duty than romance.

What Cage delivers is a restrained performance of a man haunted by war, justice, and the weight of witnessing too much. He barely speaks, but his face says what the script doesn’t. He’s not a romantic lead—he’s a man with a trigger and a line he finally chooses to cross.

Should You Watch Vengeance: A Love Story?

Only if you’re ready. Vengeance: A Love Story is not entertainment in the traditional sense. It’s not fun, it’s not escapist, and it’s definitely not romantic. But it is honest in its rage. It asks difficult questions about victim-blaming, privilege, and the thin line between justice and revenge.

For fans of Nicolas Cage who appreciate his quieter, more haunted performances, this is worth seeing. For those curious about how fiction intersects with painful reality, it may hold value. But for survivors of sexual violence, proceed with caution. The film may hit harder than any warning label can prepare you for.

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Rare Photos Of Hot Celebrities Leaked

In the mid-90s, Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee’s sex tape was leaked and they didn’t really need it, but it gave them a lot of attention. Whether or not Kim Kardashian meant to do it, her leaked video actually put her on a whole new level of stardom. If it’s hot, it’s going to get the internet’s attention and sometimes it seems, that’s all the web wants.

But the trend is old now. We can move on. If people are trying to get famous, maybe they could try another way because hot photo leaks and sexy viral videos that weren’t “supposed” to go public, it’s all been done to death now. And it’s been done again. A new batch of photos have been leaked by hackers and they’re being spread across the internet so fast, celebrities didn’t get a chance to stop it.

Before enjoying the erotic photos with some videos in there as well, take a look at the history and how it got here…

The Hot Couple

The trendsetters who started it had to manage the scandal and actually, there wasn’t anything to manage. Tommy Lee had a reputation already and even as a fan of Pamela Anderson, it wasn’t as if no one had ever seen her nude before. She had done nude photoshoots for Playboy and other magazines throughout her career. Of course, a sex tape does take that to a whole new level. But remember, this video was supposed to be filmed by them and only for them.

The film somehow got leaked and that was before the internet got huge. It was in the timeframe where it could have been a digital file on a computer but it wasn’t. It was a physical tape that was stolen from the house and the fact that they were hot celebrities meant that video was worth some big money. So, it wasn’t a publicity stunt. No evidence points toward that. But it did get some publicity and eyes were watching.

Kim Kardashian Takes A Shot

After Kim Kardashian graduated high school, being a stylist and her famous last name gave her access to celebrities. Of course, she had known Paris Hilton since they were kids and she worked as a stylist for her as well at one point. But everyone knows how driven Kim is. She wasn’t going to stay a stylist to the stars forever. She wanted so much more for herself.

The story goes that she tried to keep the video from getting leaked. Her lawyer tried to stop it and who knows if that’s true. Who knows if any of it’s true because she says she has never alerted the paparazzi about who she was dating and where they would be to make sure convenient pictures were taken of her? The family is the master of getting attention and it’s hard to tell. But the video did make her famous and that was all she wanted. Everything after that is, as they say, history.

Paris Hilton Had One Too

But if you know the dates, Paris Hilton’s video was leaked first in 2003. Kim’s didn’t come out until another four years. Of course, Paris didn’t need a leaked video to make her famous. She was already known as a socialite and the heiress of the Hilton empire.

With just this history of the trend, it would appear Kim’s was possibly the only one back then that was intentional. Pam and Tommy didn’t have anything to gain from it. Paris Hilton didn’t either. But Kim watched her life go in places she wasn’t able to take it before and that has meant all the difference. Look it up anywhere and what you’ll find is that it was at that moment her life was changed.

If you’ve come to see the new batch leaked of hot celebrity photos and videos, the intimate and steamy stuff they tried to keep private, you can enjoy them here:

Hot Celebrity Gallery

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Report On The Report About How People Don’t Read Reports

It was a beautiful free-for-all. The government was just handing out money left and right. All you had to do was come up with something that sounded important and write up a report. They couldn’t give you the money fast enough.

And the best part about it was that it was all phenomenal money. We’re not talking nickel-and-dime nonsense. They were cutting checks for millions. A person would have to be an idiot if they asked for anything less.

All the complaining about welfare but these guys were making big bank off the government teat. When I heard about the proposal one researcher threw together, that’s when I got a bright idea for how I could apply for my debit card to the government ATM. He convinced the government to give him $3 million to write a report about how no one reads reports. You can’t make this stuff up!

So, I put together a proposal to write a report on the report about how no one reads reports. But because I was going to have to go through mounds of old research and then collect data of my own, I figured my work was at least worth $5 million. When it was approved in record time, I smacked myself in the head. I could have asked for more.

No big deal though. With $5 million coming my way, I started making plans where I could conduct my research. Do you know there’s a Ritz-Carlton in Colorado that costs over $6,000 a night? I knew that I was going to have to stay at least a week there to get the data that I needed. But most of my research was going to have to be done in Coastal locations like Malibu, Sarasota, Myrtle Beach, and Bar Harbor. It had a nice ring to it so I put it in the plans.

I took one look around and looked really hard. Upon first observation, not one person was reading a report. When I was eating lunch at the hotel restaurant, no one was reading anything other than the menu. When I laid out by the pool, I didn’t see much evidence of it there either. It’s true. People aren’t into reports. But I was going to need some more convincing.

I ordered room service for dinner that night and made plans for my next destination. I had a thought while I was getting a massage at a spa that I was taking advantage of a good situation. But all that went away when a nice fruity cocktail was handed to me while fingers were walking up and down my spine. In fact, I completely forgot what I was thinking about.

After two years, I really wasn’t any closer to uncovering the truth. So, I filed for an extension and was granted it. They even asked me if I needed more money. Who’s going to turn down more money?

The next year was a huge blur. But one day, I woke up on the floor of my hotel room holding a napkin with notes scribbled on it. There was also a phone number written in lipstick but the notes caught my attention. It appears that somewhere in a total blackout, I had actually started to write down some thoughts. I was really onto something. Nothing to do with reports though.

Who reads those anyway? I’ll probably just hand the government a stack of papers with gibberish on them. Actually, that would prove that no one reads them and I’ll probably get an award or something for it.

The post Report On The Report About How People Don’t Read Reports appeared first on Michael Allen.

All Michael Allen Books Available For Free Now At Amazon

Joker Joker Deuce is the latest to be added to the list of Michael Allen Books, a psychological thriller that takes a very dark look at the internet and how easily a stalker can find anyone anywhere at any time. It was released before October but readers who like horror don’t need Halloween to enjoy a good scare, which it definitely goes there.

In a recent 5-star Review from a reader on Amazon, technology is the scariest part of the story. To bring the story to real life, Facebook will suggest friends to you, a suggestion given by an algorithm that is aware that you had an interaction with that person, no matter how briefly. You may have also noticed that Facebook will suggest merchants to you based on what you have browsed. If you’ve ever ordered a pizza and then seen an ad from that pizza place, that’s the same technology it uses to suggest friends that you happen to bump into walking down the street or standing in line at the same store.

It might not seem so scary on the surface but a few years ago, members were ready to leave the site because they found it to be a big violation of their privacy. Add to that a tech-savvy guy who knows the dark web and uses apps that are available to everyone to track down his victims. As his mind spirals further into insanity, the cruelty he shows toward his innocent targets becomes increasingly savage.

The Paperback copy is $14.97 while the Kindle version is $2.99. But through Kindle Unlimited, you can read Joker Joker Deuce for free and that goes for all the Michael Allen Books.

If you want to go back to the beginning, it starts with the first installment of the daughter’s series. It’s a series of books that are not yet finished because there are a few more yet to write but A River in the Ocean is where it all begins.

Chris is raising his daughter by himself because her mother passed away. He used to live in Fredericksburg, Virginia before one opportunity after another took him places throughout the country. But finding himself alone to raise his daughter by himself, he decides to return home where the beautiful Rappahannock River roars through town.

One night, Chris is in a terrible accident that almost takes his life. While he’s in a coma, his daughter is being raised by a quirky couple who have good attentions but they hardly know what they’re doing. When Chris comes out of his coma, he has amnesia and has to put the pieces of his life back together. The memory of his daughter haunts him like a ghost while she’s starting to realize that she’s a little out of place. He didn’t know he was looking and she didn’t know she needed found.

The daughter’s series continues with The Deeper Dark where a hero comes home from the war to find out that his whole world has moved on without him. The only person he has left in his life is his daughter. They have some catching up to do but she’s happy he’s alive and he’s happy to be back.

That is until he finds out what actually happened to him over there. It wasn’t random that his plane had a malfunction or that he ended up in a POW camp for years. What was random was when the POW camp was simply abandoned one day but he was left there to die.

The truth is a highly layered web of lies that he begins to expose one by one. That’s when the corrupt network behind it all threatens the life of his daughter. No one knows how far he’s willing to go to save her life in this action-packed book that keeps you reading with 5-star reviews to prove it.

I have added each of these Michael Allen Books to the Kindle Unlimited catalog. So, you can enjoy them one after another if you’d like. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them and look for more to come out in the very near future.

Bonus: Trailer for Joker Joker Deuce

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