GOOD MORNING BABS NATION

Have you noticed that Trump fires the incompetent women but keeps the incompetent men? I have.

I am this old.

Thought my new girlfriend might be The One… But after looking through her drawers & finding a nurse's outfit, a french maid's outfit & a policewoman's uniform, I've finally decided... If she can’t hold down a job, she’s not for me.

Question from my job interview for White House Press secretary: "Where do you see yourself in five days?" 🤔🤭

everyone called her the next sydney sweeney over a song called “housewife” just for it to be about being her OWN housewife and keeping a man around for sex 😭😭 she keeps getting the last laugh

Jane Birkin on the cover of LUI Magazine, 1969.

Alexandra Daddario .

Mila Kunis by Cliff Watts

Happy Heavenly Birthday to the marvelous Rita Hayworth.

( RUMOR ) A atriz Jenna Ortega está em negociações com a #DCStudios para entrar no elenco do filme dos 'Jovens Titãs'. Fonte: (@BoinkBuzz)

George Harrison stands at the gates of Friar Park,staring at what most people would call a disaster. The Victorian mansion is decaying. Grass grows through the floors. The once-famous gardens are wild and overrun. Greenhouses have collapsed. Grottoes are buried. Paths have vanished under decades of neglect. He’s 27. The Beatles have just broken up. He could go anywhere. Do anything. The world is waiting for his next move. Instead, he buys the ruin and starts digging. Not as a hobby. As a way of life. He hires ten gardeners and works beside them from dawn until midnight, hands in the soil. His sister-in-law sees the place and asks what he’s thinking. George doesn’t explain. He just keeps working. His son Dhani grows up watching his father gardening by moonlight, squinting in the dark because the shadows hide the imperfections that bothered him during the day. The music industry keeps calling — albums, tours, interviews. More George Harrison, the Beatle. George wants to plant trees. Friar Park isn’t just a garden. It’s a strange Victorian dream: caves, tunnels, a four-acre Alpine rock garden topped with a miniature Matterhorn, and gnomes everywhere. He even photographs himself among them for All Things Must Pass — then goes back to pruning. When a nursery owner mentions slow sales, George buys one of everything. When someone offers 800 types of maple trees, he takes them all. His wife Olivia remembers him saying, “It’s not my garden, Liv.” He saw himself as a caretaker. The garden didn’t belong to him — he belonged to it. By 1980, he publishes his autobiography and dedicates it “to gardeners everywhere.” He writes that he’s simple. He doesn’t want the business full-time. He’s a gardener. He plants flowers and watches them grow. Journalists visit and call it un-rock-star-like. George doesn’t mind. He’s lived Beatlemania, stadium screams, cultural revolutions. Compared to restoring hedges, it felt empty. After John Lennon’s murder, the gates close for good. George and Olivia keep working — not for visitors, but for the work itself. He dies in 2001. Today, the gardens are considered masterpieces of Victorian landscaping. Olivia still tends them. The estate remains private. George Harrison chose dirt under his fingernails over applause. And in that choice, he found something stadiums never gave him. Freedom.