Awesome World

07/18/2026

This is for you ladies!!! I recently ate at a restaurant where a table of girlfriends of a certain age were having a wonderful time, and came home and wrote this. You may recognize somebody, maybe yourself ...

Lunch With Girlfriends
By Kathy O’Malley

Elaine’s vertigo has never been worse
Kay can’t recall where she left her purse
Rhonda’s about to replace her knees
Linda’s breathing is tinged with a wheeze

Donna's left b**b has a troublesome lump
Diane’s on her third trip to take a dump
Lorraine’s husband can’t remember a thing
Nine years a widow, Marge still wears her ring

Marlene is dealing with another UTI
Sally’s giving a hearing aid another try
Marie has decided she can’t drive at night
Sharon still wears clothes two sizes too tight

They’ve been through divorces and babies and wakes
They do for each other whatever it takes
They’ve already buried Marcia and Kate
And truthfully, Lizzie’s not looking so great

So whenever they can, they get out to eat
Open bottles of wine and forget their sore feet
There’s laughing and crying and letting down guards
And when the bill comes, there’s ten credit cards

So here’s to the waiters who keep orders straight
And to the places that let lunches run three hours late
And here’s to the girlfriends, those near and those far
Here's to the girlfriends, you know who you are!!!”

07/14/2026

- We have a Tiny House that is unsellable due to some scratches and dents and is due to be scrapped. Since it is still in perfect working condition, we decided to give it to someone on July 13th !!
To participate, just hit LIKE and share, make sure you type "Home" below.
Good luck!

07/08/2026

- We have a Tiny House that is unsellable due to some scratches and dents and is due to be scrapped. Since it is still in perfect working condition, we decided to give it to someone on July 16th!!
To participate, just hit LIKE and share, make sure you type "House" below.
Good luck!

07/06/2026

There was no app for it. Just a feeling — that stretch of highway where Dad would slow down, flick on the blinker, and pull into the same gravel turnout he always did. No sign marked it. No GPS pin. He just knew.
Out came the folding chairs, creaking open the same way every time. Mom unwrapped the sandwiches from wax paper like she was unwrapping a gift. Dad poured coffee from the thermos, steam curling up into the cool morning air, and asked the same question he always asked: "Still two sugars?"
Nobody rushed. There was no clock ticking, no notification buzzing, no reason to be anywhere else. Just the sound of tires on distant asphalt, a breeze through the trees, and a family that had nowhere better to be than exactly where they were.
We used to think we were just stopping for coffee. Looking back, we were building the memories we'd spend the rest of our lives reaching for.

07/06/2026

Laura Failner is a SkyWest flight attendant. On July 7th, she witnessed this moment of kindness.

"I love looking for the good in the world! As I flew up to Washington today, I had this cute little 94-year-old lady get on my plane. She was frail and had a hard time getting back to her seat. There was a bit of confusion about where she was supposed to be seated. In first-class, this wonderful gentleman saw her plight and flagged me down. He said, "can you please get her and put her in my seat, and I will take hers." He walked back with me to get her and take her to first class. She was so touched. The woman gave him a big hug and said, "Never in my 94 years has someone done that for me. Thank you, young man." She had tears of gratitude. It was amazing how his thoughtful act changed the attitude of everyone on the flight. May we all look for the little things we can do to help others around us and show kindness. In this crazy world, let's all try to be the good." ❤️❤️❤️

Credits: Respective Owner~

06/25/2026

- Debbie Reynolds our previous winner was under 18 when she entered and therefore we will have to rerun the 2025 Sprite Major 4EB Caravan comp. Please make sure you are 18+. To enter simply Iike, share and comment “caravan”. Closes June 30th at 7pm. Good Luck!

06/24/2026

Unfortunately, Tammy White, the winner of this caravan, is still under 18 years old. She can't accept this £32,000 Buccaneer – Barracuda caravan. So, we've decided to give this beautiful caaravan to someone who comments and shares this post before June 30th at 8 PM. Good luck everyone!

06/21/2026

06/19/2026

At my father’s graveside, the gravedigger gripped my arm and whispered, “Sir, your father paid me to bury an empty coffin.” Before I could even speak, he pushed a brass key into my hand. “Don’t go home,” he warned.“No matter who calls, no matter what they say. Go to Unit 17 on Route 9. Right now.” Then my phone buzzed. A text from my mother appeared on the screen. Come home alone. My father had been buried less than five minutes earlier. Or so I believed."
The final hymn still seemed to hang in the freezing New Jersey air. Relatives and neighbors moved slowly across the cemetery grass, speaking in soft voices, promising food, touching my shoulder, offering the kind of words people use when they know nothing can be fixed.
My mother stood near the black funeral car with one hand over her mouth.
My wife, Chloe, kept our two children close.
And I stood there trying to be the son everyone expected me to be.
Strong.
Helpful.
Still standing.
My father, Gideon Vance, was sixty-six. They said he had suffered a heart attack in his study and was gone before the ambulance arrived.
For three days, I had chosen flowers, signed documents, comforted my mother, and convinced myself grief was the only thing happening.
Then the gravedigger stopped me.
“Your father paid me,” he said.
I stared at him.
“Paid you for what?”
He looked over his shoulder before leaning closer.
“To bury an empty coffin.”
For a moment, my mind refused to accept the words.
“My father is dead,” I said. “I saw him.”
The man’s expression did not change.
“You saw what he wanted you to see.”
I almost stepped back.
Some sentences are so impossible that your mind rejects them before fear can even begin.
Then he pressed something cold into my palm.
A small brass key.
The number 17 was stamped on it.
“Don’t go home,” he repeated. “No matter who calls. No matter what they tell you. Go to Unit 17. Route 9 Storage. Your father left instructions.”
“My father died three days ago.”
That was when my phone buzzed.
I pulled it out automatically.
The message was from my mother.
Come home alone.
Three words.
No period.
No “honey.”
No explanation.
My mother never texted like that. She wrote long messages full of commas and called me sweetheart even when she only needed me to pick up milk.
But she was standing thirty yards away at her husband’s funeral, supposedly texting me like a stranger.
The gravedigger saw the screen.
His face lost color.
“Don’t,” he said. “Whatever you do, don’t go home yet.”
I looked at the grave.
Then at my mother.
Then at the key in my hand.
“What is happening?”
He reached into his coat and pulled out an old envelope.
My name was written across the front in my father’s handwriting.
Nathan.
“He gave me this twenty years ago,” the gravedigger said. “Told me I would know when to give it to you.”
Twenty years.
My father had planned something before I was even old enough to understand why anyone would need a plan like this.
Then the gravedigger turned and walked away between the headstones like a man who had finally completed a promise he never wanted to keep.
I did not go home.
I sat in my car at the edge of the cemetery parking lot and opened the envelope with shaking hands.
Inside was a short letter from my father.
No comfort.
No explanation.
Only one instruction.
Go to Unit 17. Trust the woman waiting there. Do not go home until you understand why.
By the time I reached Route 9 Storage, dusk had settled over the highway. The facility sat behind a chain-link fence, past a gas station, a closed diner, and a row of low warehouses with faded signs.
A small American flag snapped sharply beside the office.
Security cameras watched the gate.
And beneath the awning stood a woman in a dark coat, waiting as if she already recognized my car.
Before I could ask who she was, she raised a badge.
Federal Bureau of Investigation.
My stomach dropped.
“Mr. Vance,” she said, “your father told us you would come alone.”
I looked at the key.
Then at Unit 17.
The storage door was only twenty feet away, but suddenly that distance felt impossible.
“What’s inside?” I asked.
The agent’s face tightened.
“Enough to explain why your father needed an empty coffin.”
Then my phone began to ring.
My mother again.
The agent looked at the screen, then back at me.
“Do not answer that,” she said.
And behind her, inside Unit 17, something started to beep...
(Part 2 gets even more sh0cking… Comment “YES” if you want the next chapter

06/03/2026

A retired K9 officer in Tucson stepped out his back door every morning at exactly 7:15, carrying an 85-pound German Shepherd in his arms like a sleeping child.

For ten months, his next-door neighbor watched it happen through her kitchen window — until one day, she recorded 38 seconds of it. Within three days, that short clip hit 15 million views.

His name is Marcus. He’s forty.

He spent sixteen years as a K9 handler with the Tucson Police Department. His partner was Rex — a sable-and-black German Shepherd who weighed 85 pounds in his prime and served eight years on the force.

Rex jumped fences, cleared buildings, and helped recover over 400 pounds of drugs during his career. In 2020, he even took a bullet meant for Marcus and still managed to stop the suspect. Marcus once mentioned it briefly — then quickly changed the subject.

When Marcus retired three years ago at thirty-seven because of injuries — a torn rotator cuff and lasting back pain — he didn’t hesitate. He signed Rex’s adoption papers right there in the station parking lot, before even cleaning out his locker.

For two years, Rex stayed strong.

Then, in the third year, everything changed.

Severe arthritis hit all at once. His hips gave out completely. He could no longer stand on his own. He would try, pushing up with his front legs, slipping on the floor, failing again and again — before lying still and looking up at Marcus with calm, trusting eyes.

That day, Marcus sat in his truck outside the vet clinic for ten minutes and made a decision.

He wasn’t going to carry Rex just twice in his life — once as a puppy, and once at the end.

He was going to carry him every single day, for as long as Rex still wanted to feel the sun.

So every morning at 7:15, Marcus lifted his old partner in his arms, carried him through the sliding door, down the patio steps, across the yard, and gently laid him on a patch of grass under a mesquite tree where sunlight came through in soft patterns.

He would scratch behind Rex’s left ear — the same side that had once been injured on duty — and quietly say, “I’ve got you, partner.”

Then he’d go back inside and start his day.

In the afternoon, he carried Rex back in.

He did this every single day for ten months, never realizing anyone had been watching.

His neighbor, Brenda, sixty-seven, had seen it all from her kitchen window. One October morning, she recorded a short clip.

Three days later, a local reporter stood at Marcus’s door, asking why he did it.

Marcus gave a simple answer.

“He carried me through my worst days,” he said. “Now it’s my turn.”

The video spread everywhere.

But for Marcus, nothing changed.

Three months later, on a quiet February morning under that same mesquite tree, Rex lay in the sunlight, peaceful and still — and this time, he didn’t wake up.

Marcus didn’t rush inside.

He stayed there.

Sat beside him.

Hand resting gently on his fur.

Just like every morning before.

And when it was finally time, he carried Rex one last time — not with grief alone, but with something steadier.

Gratitude.

Because Rex didn’t leave this world on a cold floor or in a silent room.

He left it exactly where he was loved most — in the sun, beside the person who never stopped showing up.

And long after Rex was gone, at 7:15 every morning, Marcus still steps outside.

He stands under that same tree for a moment.

Quiet.

Remembering.

Keeping a promise that never really ended.