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Open Call for Accountability on Clubhouse Following Harassment Allegations By Angelica L. McGinnis Serious concerns about moderation and user safety on Clubhouse are being raised following allegations of repeated harassment involving an anonymous account operating under the handle @life.zero. According to media executive and publicist Angelica L. McGinnis, the account allegedly engaged in ongoing verbal harassment and intentional misgendering during multiple live audio discussions on the platform. McGinnis reports that after addressing the behavior publicly during a discussion, she was removed from the room and unable to return for approximately twelve hours—raising concerns about how moderation decisions are being handled in real time. The incident highlights a larger issue facing live audio platforms: when harassment occurs during conversations, users rely on clear moderation policies and fair enforcement to maintain safe spaces for dialogue. As the platform continues to grow, many in the digital community are calling on Clubhouse to review its moderation practices and ensure that harassment reports are addressed transparently and consistently. Online communities can only thrive when open conversation is balanced with accountability and respect. The question now is whether Clubhouse will respond. #ClubhouseApp #OnlineHarassment #DigitalAccountability #SocialMedia #InternetSafety #paulDavidson #rohanSeth

At 13, she was doing cocaine in nightclub bathrooms. At 14, she legally divorced her own mother. This is the story of Drew Barrymore We all remember her as the wide-eved little girl from E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial. America's sweetheart at seven years old, But off-camera, her childhood was already over. Born into Hollywood rovalty, Drew inherited a legacy of addiction and dvsfunction. Her father vanished. Her mother, a struggling actress, saw Drew's fame as her own second chance She didn't protect her daughter She took her to Studio 54 at nine vears old By nine, Drew was drinking. By ten, smoking marijuana, By twelve, using cocaine. "I didn't have parents," Drew said. "I had enablers with checkbooks." By thirteen, she was a full-blown addict. That's when she was sent to a locked osychiatric institution for 18 months Most would see that as a punishment. Drew calls it what it was: "It saved my life." At fourteen, she made a stunning lega move: She emancipated herself from her mother. A fourteen-vear-old, living alone in L.A., legally responsible for herself Hollvwood wrote her off. A former child star with a public addiction historv? Studios wouldn't touch her. So she worked odd iobs. She auditioned endlessly. She refused to vanish. Her comeback started small. Then came 'The Wedding Singer' in 1998. America fell in love with her all over again--this time as a funny, warm, resilient adult. But Drew didn't ust want to act. She wanted control. At 20. she co-founded her own production company, Flower Films. By 2000, she was producing and starring in 'Charlie's Angels. She built an empire She transformed from a Hollywood cautionary tale into one of its most powerful women. "1 used to be the girl parents warned their kids about." she savs. "Now I'm the woman helpina them talk about it."She's been brutally honest about her past- the addiction, the institution, the fight to survive. She doesn't hide her story. She owns it. And that honesty is why pe

Lets pray Good morning, what a beautiful day Everything is going my way Theres so much to see and so much to do It takes a whole lifetime to become you. I'm thankful for my life, for my lessons and for my love Amen #PrayForBlessings ## #prayer #kindness #blessed #love #nrav

I’m a Christian. Not the polished kind with spotless testimonies and filtered faith. The kind who’s bled into the carpet at 3 a.m., throat raw from asking why, palms scarred from gripping grace like a lifeline that keeps slipping. I’ve cursed the silence until my voice cracked like dry earth. I’ve stood at the grave of every promise I thought was mine and felt the wind answer instead of God. Yet every time I’ve fallen — into the same pit, the same sin, the same doubt — the cross has never moved. It waits. Scarred hands open. No lecture. No ledger. Just “Come.” My Jesus is not gentle in the way people want. He is the storm that calms storms, the lion that lies down as lamb, the fire that burns away everything I thought defined me. He met me in the ash heap, not the sanctuary, and said my brokenness was not disqualification — it was the only invitation He ever needed. I still wrestle. Still sin. Still wake with shadows whispering I’m too far gone. But the tomb stays empty. The stone stays rolled. Mercy still runs faster than my shame. If your soul is scorched earth tonight — addicted, angry, numb, terrified — hear this: You are not beyond reach. The cross was planted in worse soil than yours and still became the tree of life. I’m a Christian. Wrecked. Wrestling. Held anyway. Because love with nails refuses to let go.

My daughter was sixteen. She went to a party at a friend’s house. We had an agreement: if she ever felt unsafe or uncomfortable, she’d text me the word “headache.” At 10:30 PM, my phone buzzed: “headache” I called immediately. Loud, angry voice: “You didn’t finish your chores before you left! You need to come home RIGHT NOW. I don’t care if your friends are upset. This is unacceptable.” She played along perfectly. “Dad, that’s not fair! I did—” “NOW. I’m on my way.” I picked her up. She got in the car, and her whole body relaxed. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “What happened?” “Older guys showed up. Someone brought alcohol. It just felt wrong. I wanted to leave but didn’t want everyone to think I was lame.” “You’re not lame. You’re smart.” She nodded. “Can you be the bad guy more often?” “Any time you need me.” ~Anonymous

I’m a Christian. Not because the darkness left. Not because the cravings stopped or the shame stopped tasting like battery acid. Not because I woke up one morning “fixed” and never looked back. I’m a Christian because I’ve been to the floor so many times the tiles remember my shape — where the bottle, the screen, the needle, the hand that wasn’t mine became the only god that answered fast. Where I whispered “just one more time” like a prayer to something that only ever took. Where I told Jesus “You can keep Your grace — I’m not worth it and I don’t want to be.” And He didn’t argue. He just let the weight fall harder — until every escape route collapsed and the only thing left was the splintered wood He carried first. My Jesus doesn’t wait for sobriety streaks or clean sheets. He steps into the detox shakes, the 3 a.m. sweats, the mirror I can’t look at, and says “I already carried that. All of it. The nights you don’t remember. The mornings you wish you didn’t. The parts you hate most — I paid for them in full.” I still slip. I still wake with the beast pacing inside my ribs. I still hear the old voice say “you’ll never be free.” But the resurrection doesn’t ask for permission to override relapse. The tomb stayed empty. The grave lost its grip. Grace isn’t polite — it’s ruthless. It invades the cell you built, kicks down the door, drags your half-dead body into daylight, and commands it to stand even when every cell screams to stay down. If you’re reading this chained to the same cycle — high, hungover, hating yourself, convinced the hole is too deep — hear this: The cross was driven into worse addiction than yours and still broke every chain hell ever forged. I’m a Christian. Addicted. Ashamed. Adopted anyway. Because love didn’t negotiate with my demons. It crushed their skulls and took the keys.

The best things in life- Come in all sizes Ways, shapes and forms- What lovely surprises The imagination is a Wonderous Creation- Designed for intentions Magical, wholesome and BOLD- Be cautious of your choices? For there lies the rub- Be mindful, not forgetful Of those you truly love by, ig

The only reason I would want

Just had a call from "Amazon " saying a fraudulent purchase has been made but I can stop it if they send me a code. It was a phone for over £600. I said ok, she sent the code. It's from Amazon and clearly states they will never call and ask for the code. I said ok the number is 95 then hung up the phone. She rang back, "why did you hang up on me?" I said I didn't. Ok , give me the number. Yeah it's, I hang up again. She rings back, I answer in posh voice, lol. Why did you hang up? I said this is the first time you're calling me. She's like, can you put miss Linda on the phone. Who? Miss Linda. You've got the wrong number. Can I speak to miss Linda, I sent the text message. I haven't received it, send it again. She hung up 🤣🤣🤣🤣 . There were 4 different numbers on my phone trying to get me and I hope they don't get anyone to confirm those details poor Linda. Credit - elnana81