Trump family insists their brand hasn't been damaged

With Donald Trump’s controversial presidential campaign dominating the headlines for at least two more weeks, both the candidate and his children said Wednesday that they are largely unconcerned by the notion that the GOP nominee might have damaged the family’s valuable name brand.

“I think the brand is hotter than it’s ever been but it doesn’t matter to me. I don’t care,” Trump said in an interview taped Wednesday that aired Thursday on ABC’s “Good Morning America.” “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care about the brand. I care about the country.”

“I think we have the hottest brand in the world right now and I think buildings like this are a testament to what we do every day,” Eric Trump said, with his father and adult siblings surrounding him.

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Mr. Miranda's Neighborhood: PBS
Lin Manuel-Miranda has been the creative and cast for Sesame Street and The Electric Company, interned at public television station THIRTEEN, and now has a second documentary appearing on Great Performances.

Did you know that @lin-manuel was once an intern with THIRTEEN’s Education Department? Hamilton’s America is airing (again!) tonight at 9PM.


Happy Birthday Teddy Roosevelt.
This is one of my favorite quotes from the movie. It’s also the last words ever to be uttered by Robin Williams on film.
So to day as we celebrate the birth of one of America’s most brilliant presidents, let’s also remember the death of one of the greatest comedians we’ve ever seen, Robin Williams, whose gave us the best portrayal of Teddy Roosevelt we will ever see.
So thank you Robin Williams.
And thank you Teddy Roosevelt, for all you did for this country.

anonymous asked:

What kind of road trip would Seb and Lance plan?

Okay there’s something they both have in common on a road trip - cheesy music! 

Lance brings healthy snacks and books the best hotels because he needs a proper night’s rest. 

Seb is all about the coffee - constant coffee runs and fun trivia and pulling over to look at things like “america’s biggest ball of string” 

Fluffy Friday™

hmm. I wonder why Hima draws America’s and England’s relationship as if America obsesses over and is constantly around England.

Because i’m pretty sure on average most Americans will think about England like once a month. We kind of…..don’t give a fuck.

But the song that I want to mention, it’s not as well known, it’s called “Trina’s Song.” Literally the first line says, “I’m tired of all the happy men who rule the world.” When I read that line I was like, “Oh my God.” However you want to put that, whether it’s in corporate America, whether it’s in the political climate that we’re living in now. It was so timely. She envisions herself in that world and what that must be like. Now we can take it in one way in 2016, but go even further back to 1979 and how women really had our place. Trina is a housewife, and she’s raising her son and trying to keep her little family together with as little damage as possible, and she wants so much more. She just wants to be her own self, and she’s not able to do that because of all the rules she feels are out there in order to raise a healthy young man, and to maintain a relationship with a narcissistic husband who wants to still keep her and her son close, but run off with another man that he’s fallen in love with. It’s all such an interesting dynamic and it all lands on the woman. x

i’ll miss vine for it’s way of making the the mundane and everyday something surrealistic and absurdly hilarious accessible? 5 years ago vine would be populated by an entirely different demographic of people making weird, funny art but today it was america’s youth making it. that’s important!

anonymous asked:

Holy fuck you're perfect

Thank you!!!! But the only perfect person on this planet is Kelly Ripa, America’s sweetheart (QUICK WHATS THAT REFERENCE)

So, here’s a TF2 Backstory Concept that’s messed up:

Alright, everyone just assumes Scout was from a poor neighbourhood and is great at Baseball and not much else, drops out of school and goes Merc.

But like, consider this horrific alternative: You don’t randomly decide to go killing people unless there’s a reason.
Anger. Money. Fear. Vengeance… even if it’s only in your mind.

And he’s from America, a big city. You know what the rest of the world perpetually hears about from America, especially in regards to schools?

Consider this… he was a good student, not the best, not the worst. His Ma worked hard to push all her boys through the educational system because she wanted the best for them; and sure, college was out of reach without a scholarship, but if that’s what they wanted then the family would do it.

His brothers were rag-tag and knew how to rumble; but they could also be kind, courteous, protective, and hard-working. Their Ma instilled that.

She regretted that, sometimes; in the dark of evening, hands wrapped around a worn photoframe and tears running down her face. Spy would comfort her as best he could then, but the words were never quite right. There were none that ever would be.

Eight boys, different fathers with various reasons to leave or stay. Most tried, at least, to know their sons even in only a distant way. Some never found out, until it was too late.
Her boys had years between them, ‘cept the twins (sons three and four). Anywhere from one to five.
The Scout had been the last, born a year and a half following his next oldest brother. And the one above that was only a year older. And so on.

In fact, four of her boys had all been attending their final years of schooling then. It had been so close to end-of-year, Michael practically had the diploma in his hands and a scholarship to the local college in his grasp…
With the next oldest brother (Johnathan) taking a shot at school president in the upcoming year; and Scout’s next-oldest sibling (Danny), excelling in Mathematics in a way that made his Ma so proud.

Scout, well, he was always an active little thing; difficulty focusing in on book-learning and all, but he wasn’t the only child with that issue. Teachers tried to compensate by making lessons interactive and engaging, where they could.
Maybe her youngest wouldn’t be a rocket scientist (too many boring equations to deal with for his liking), but she always knew he was going to be something.
All his other grades were great, fine, in fact. But when it came to Physical Education and Sports… that’s where he shone.

Recruiters rarely came calling to their school districts, too poor and shabby for anyone to assume the next top athlete was going to spring from somewhere around here. And when they did, they often focused on football, of all things.

He’d often said that with disgust. Like the fact the sport even existed was an insult to his beloved baseball.
She’d laugh at the expression on his face and chide gently, ‘Things happen when they’re supposed to, just wait and see.’

She never suspected… but who could?

The house was quieter recently.
Her oldest four were spread thin between work and studies, two of them still in the area, one away for work, and the other already attending some fancy college in another state.
She worked too. Didn’t have to, but keeping busy was important to the Bostonian.

Raise eight kids and quiet time can go from blessing to curse in an instant; silence was suspicious, ominous, meant something was probably broken or on fire. She used to get twitchy home alone; her youngest had gotten his speed and drive from his mother, and it wasn’t always socially acceptable or possible to go for a long jog in heels.
Spy always let out a soft chuckle when he caught her doing it anyway, uncaring for the admonishing tutts and annoyed stares it garnered.

She liked to run.
Often she took (Scout) for a run in the afternoon; best way to wear him out, after all. And with the others being older, and therefore able to be left alone without setting anything too important on fire, it was a good time to relax.

The youngest four, one teetering on manhood and educational freedom; and the other three approaching at their own pace, all attended high school.
She was always up to fuss over them in the mornings. Didn’t have to, loved to though.

Tried to make sure there wasn’t a day they didn’t hear her remind the swirling brood of boys that she loved them… and that no matter what happens, they had her on their side. Which was a good incentive, to be honest, as the woman could fight like the devil himself if necessary.
(Nearly beaten one of the other pretentious PTA mothers to death with a handbag for daring to say something callous about her boys, to their faces. The withered hag hadn’t pressed charges because she was reluctant to admit her role in the situation.)

So that day it wasn’t unusual for her to peck every one of the happy-yet-protesting-for-manlyish-resaons boys on the cheeks (oldest to youngest/ tallest to shortest), and whisper her love-laden goodbyes to each of them. Making sure they had books and bats, shoes and balls, lunches and other items they needed for the day.

They trundled off to school, a Friday, which accounted for their jovial attitudes. Nearly the weekend; a mess of upcoming homework done at the last minute, time with their older siblings and various sports team practices and games.

She’d gotten ready to go to work, as normal. Checked her purse for house keys before locking the door, and put one foot on the outside staircase leading out to the ground-floor of the apartment complex… when something had felt very, very wrong.

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