Musa GSJ

Musa GSJ Contact information, map and directions, contact form, opening hours, services, ratings, photos, videos and announcements from Musa GSJ, Media/News Company, 824 Gateway Avenue, Littlerock, CA.

10/14/2025

MY NEIGHBOR KEPT DRIVING OVER MY LAWN TO SHORTCUT TO HER YARD – I CAME UP WITH A CRAFTY LESSON. After my divorce, I moved into a quiet North Carolina cul-de-sac and poured my heart into my new lawn. Flowers, solar lights, the whole peaceful-vibe package. Enter Sabrina. Loud, high heels, Lexus SUV, and apparently zero respect. Instead of driving the loop like a normal person, she took a daily shortcut — right through my lawn. At first, it was just the edge. Then full diagonal tire tracks, roses crushed. I politely asked her to stop. Her response? "Oh honey, your flowers will grow back. I'm just in a rush sometimes." I warned her I'd put something up. She smirked and drove off. So I added decorative rocks. She just moved them with her car. Three times. Sabrina thought that if I don't have a husband to stand up for me, then she's allowed to offend me. NO! That's when I stopped playing nice. I didn't contact a lawyer, I didn't call the police. Instead, I had a plan. A CREATIVE, legal, and very satisfying plan.⬇️ Read more in Comment or Most relevant -> All comments 👇

10/13/2025

America's most beloved family have been involved in a fatal plane crash on route to a concert. Read more in Comment or Most relevant -> All comments 👇

10/13/2025

OMG.. Breaking news, 5 minutes ago, many people were killed and a fire broke out in … Read more in Comment or Most relevant -> All comments 👇

10/13/2025

“Don’t Get On That Plane! It’s Going To Expl 90de!” – A Homeless Boy Yelled At A Billionaire, And The Truth Sh0cked Everyone...
Alexander Grant was a billionaire who had built his empire from the ground up. Known for his sharp suits, private jets, and unshakable confidence, he was headed to New York that morning for a major investor meeting.
His Gulfstream G650 gleamed on the runway, polished to perfection, while his staff hurried to make sure every detail was flawless.
As Alexander neared the jet, a ragged voice pierced the air.
“Don’t get on the plane! It’s about to explode!”
Everyone fr0ze. By the fence stood a boy, no older than twelve, in a torn hoodie, ripped jeans, and worn-out sneakers. His hair was messy, his face smudged with dirt—but his eyes blazed with urgency.
Security moved quickly to push him back. “Ignore him, Mr. Grant. Just a homeless kid looking for attention.”
But the boy shouted louder, desperate: “I saw them tampering with the fuel valve! The plane isn’t safe. Please, don’t go!”
Alexander stopped in his tracks. The kid wasn’t begging for money—he looked genuinely terrified. Reporters waiting nearby caught the commotion, their cameras snapping furiously.
His head of security grabbed the boy. “That’s enough. You’re trespassing—”
“Wait,” Alexander ordered. He studied him carefully. “What’s your name?”
“Liam,” the boy stammered. “I live near the hangar. Last night, I saw two men under your jet. They weren’t mechanics. They put something by the fuel tank.”
A hush fell. Crew members exchanged uneasy glances, and the pilot’s face hardened with concern.
All eyes turned to Alexander. If he dismissed the boy, he’d look reckless. If he listened, he risked humiliation. But the fear in Liam’s voice gnawed at him.
Finally, Alexander spoke: “Ground the jet. Run a full inspection.”
Gasps swept through the crowd as security pulled Liam aside. Alexander’s gaze lingered on the aircraft, a cold dr/ead tightening in his chest...Read more in Comment or Most relevant -> All comments 👇

10/13/2025

"Call Your Dad! Monkey" — Hoa Karen's Son Tied A Black Girl To A Tree And Insulted Her, Then Her Fbi Dad Came...
The September sun hung low over the quiet suburban street in Arlington, Virginia, when everything spiraled out of control. Twelve-year-old Aaliyah Johnson, a Black girl who had just moved into the neighborhood with her mother, was walking home from school with her backpack slung over one shoulder. She was humming softly to herself, trying to ignore the stares she often felt in the predominantly white community. That’s when the shouting began.
“Hey, monkey!” a boy’s voice cracked through the air.
It was Ethan Myers, the thirteen-year-old son of Karen Myers—infamously dubbed “HOA Karen” by the residents for her endless complaints about lawns, garbage bins, and “community standards.” Ethan was standing with two other boys near the large oak tree on the corner. They were laughing, tossing rocks at the sidewalk, and pointing at Aaliyah.
Aaliyah tried to walk past, clutching the straps of her bag. But Ethan wasn’t done. He ran forward, cutting her off. The other boys egged him on. What started as insults escalated quickly—Ethan grabbed a piece of rope lying near the tree, leftover from some yardwork. Before Aaliyah could react, he looped it around her wrist and yanked hard, pulling her toward the trunk. The boys hooted, shouting phrases she had only heard in the ugliest corners of the internet.
“Call your dad, monkey!” Ethan jeered, tightening the knot with clumsy hands.
Aaliyah screamed, kicking and struggling. A neighbor across the street gasped and rushed inside to grab a phone. The sound of her cries carried down the street, drawing more eyes to the horrifying scene.
Within minutes, the laughter of the boys was drowned out by the screech of tires. A black SUV pulled up, the door flung open, and out stepped a tall man in a dark suit. It was Special Agent Marcus Johnson—Aaliyah’s father, a veteran investigator with the FBI’s Civil Rights Division. He had been scheduled to meet them later that evening for dinner, but fate had brought him early.
The boys froze, Ethan paling at the sight of the imposing man sprinting toward them. Marcus tore the rope off his daughter, gathering her into his arms as she sobbed against his chest. He turned his gaze on Ethan—cold, furious, controlled only by years of training.
Neighbors began spilling onto their porches. Whispers spread like wildfire: HOA Karen’s boy just tied that new girl to a tree. The humiliation, the horror, the undeniable ugliness of what had just happened hung in the air. Marcus pulled out his phone, his voice low but sharp as he began making calls that would turn the neighborhood upside down.
The incident was no longer a childish prank. It was a hate crime in full view of an entire community. And everyone knew it.... Read more in Comment or Most relevant -> All comments 👇

10/12/2025

BREAKING NEWS!! Sad news just confirmed the passing of…Read more in Comment or Most relevant -> All comments 👇

10/12/2025

Every day at 7:30 AM, a black Porsche occupied my parking space. Its owner, the arrogant son of the president of a major company, seemed to consider my home his personal domain. I politely asked him not to park in my space, pleaded with him, but he ignored me.
My name is Daniel, and I live in Plano, on a quiet cul-de-sac. When my wife and I moved here three years ago, we were hoping for suburban peace. But the homeowners' association was run by Karen Mitchell, an authoritarian woman. Karen imposed ridiculous rules, but her son, Ethan, seemed untouchable. A young law graduate, he drove a black Porsche, a symbol of his sense of impunity.
The first time he parked his car in my driveway, I thought it was an accident. But when he ignored my polite request to move his vehicle, it became a routine. Every morning, he deliberately parked to block me, and his condescending smiles humiliated me.
I spoke to Karen, but she brushed me off with a wave of her hand. "Ethan is just passing through. Don’t oppose him, you don’t want fines, right?" My wife advised me to ignore it, but every day, the humiliation persisted.
Tired, I decided to take action. And what I did taught him a lesson. 😱 He could never have imagined something like this from me. 😱 Read more in Comment or Most relevant -> All comments 👇

10/12/2025

My grandson made me sleep on a yoga mat while he and his girlfriend took the big bed — but in less than 24 hours, karma gave him a lesson he’ll never forget. 😳
I’m 87 years old. I’ve lived through wars, loss, and even two strokes. But nothing — nothing — has hurt as deeply as being betrayed by the boy I once rocked to sleep.
My grandson, Tyler, came into my world on the same day his mother — my sweet Marianne — left it. His father drowned himself in whiskey, so I became everything to that child. I fed him, dressed him, took him to school, bought his first shoes. I loved him more than life itself.
But the man he became? A stranger.
He’s 32 now, still living under my roof — not because he cares for me, but because it’s convenient. “Why waste money on rent, Grandma?” he says. To outsiders, it looks like devotion. But I know the truth — he doesn’t pay a dime.
He calls himself “spiritual.” Mornings of meditation, yoga, and talk of “vibrations” and “energy.” Yet behind all that peace and positivity hides a lazy man with no job, shady friends, and endless excuses.
So when he asked, “Grandma, come with me and Willow on a trip,” I thought maybe he wanted to reconnect — that maybe my boy was coming back.
But I was wrong.
We drove to Charleston. No hotel, no vacation — just a cluttered little apartment he’d rented for cheap. Two bedrooms. His had a wide bed and a small single next to it. My heart lifted for a second. But then Tyler frowned.
“Uh, Grandma… Willow and I need our energy protected. The smell, the snoring — you understand.”
He rolled out a thin yoga mat in the hallway and smiled. “You’ll be fine, Grandma. You’re strong. Think of it as grounding your energy with the Earth.”
That night, I lay on the cold hardwood floor. My bones ached. Every sound from behind that bedroom door — their laughter, their footsteps — cut through me.
By morning, I could barely stand.
Tyler barely looked up. “Come on, Grandma. Brunch. My treat.”
But fate had other plans.
Less than an hour later, karma came knocking — hard. And by sunset, the same grandson who had made me sleep on the floor was kneeling in front of me… begging for forgiveness. 👇👇 Read more in Comment or Most relevant -> All comments 👇

10/11/2025

The Boy Kept Kicking His Seat — Until He Ended It Like THIS!
The Boeing 737 hummed steadily as it soared above the Midwest sky. Andrew Collins, a 42-year-old investment consultant from Chicago, settled into his seat with a quiet sigh. He had just finished a week of grueling client meetings in Dallas and was finally on his way home. His briefcase rested beneath the seat, and his tablet displayed tomorrow’s presentation slides. For Andrew, flights had always been a time to gather his thoughts, perhaps even steal an hour of rest. But today would test his patience in a way he had never anticipated.
The trouble began within ten minutes of takeoff. A sharp thud jolted Andrew’s lower back. At first, he thought it was turbulence. But then it came again, and again—an unmistakable pattern of small feet pounding against the back of his seat. He turned slightly and saw a boy, perhaps seven years old, rhythmically kicking as though the seat were a soccer ball. The child’s mother, seated next to him, scrolled through her phone with complete detachment.
Andrew forced a polite smile and leaned over his shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice measured. “Would you mind asking your son not to kick the seat?”
The woman glanced up briefly, nodded without words, and then returned to her phone. The boy, however, continued, unbothered. The thudding resumed, now with more force, rattling Andrew’s posture. He clenched his jaw but decided to let it pass. After all, it was only the beginning of a two-hour flight. Surely, it couldn’t last.
But it did. Minute after minute, the kicks became relentless. Andrew’s attempts at concentration evaporated. His carefully prepared slides blurred on the tablet. His back ached from the constant jarring. He tried once more, turning to the mother. This time his tone was firmer. “Ma’am, your son is really disturbing me. Could you please stop him?”
The woman sighed, clearly irritated. “He’s just a kid. Relax.” Then she looked away.
Andrew pressed the call button, and a flight attendant soon arrived. The attendant crouched down to address the boy and asked politely for him to stop. The child giggled, nodded, and within thirty seconds was kicking again. The mother shrugged when confronted, claiming she couldn’t control him. The attendant offered Andrew an apologetic look, but with a full flight, reseating was not an option.
Two hours stretched ahead like a prison sentence. Andrew knew that enduring the torment passively would leave him resentful and exhausted. He wasn’t one for outbursts—his career thrived on strategy, persuasion, and subtle control. And so, even as the relentless pounding continued, a plan began to form in his mind...Read more in Comment or Most relevant -> All comments 👇

10/11/2025

⚠️⚠️If you encounter this insect at home... Attention!
Its presence is not unnoticeable. Discover its true meaning in the first comment 👇👇👇👇 (and especially how to effectively get rid of it) Read more in Comment or Most relevant -> All comments 👇

10/10/2025

ALERT EVERYONE🚨 One Hour Ago Mhoni Vidente WARNED...Read more in Comment or Most relevant -> All comments 👇

10/10/2025

For three days my boar had been stubbornly digging in the same spot, as if he sensed something important there. A chill ran down my spine when I found out why…
For three days I’d been watching my boar’s strange behavior. He kept digging at one single place, as if something hidden was calling to him.
At first, I just laughed — who knows what goes on in a pig’s head. But the longer he worked, the more uneasy I became.
The morning was quiet, golden sunlight sliding across the yard, and in the corner of the pen there was already a knee-deep hole. I filled it over and over, but he kept coming back to dig again.
By noon, my nerves snapped. I grabbed a shovel and started digging where he’d been so determined. The animal stood behind me, snorting, almost urging me on.
After a few minutes the shovel struck something solid. My heart lurched. I pushed the soil aside and saw faded fabric, soaked with mud. Thick, blue material — like an old piece of clothing.
😱 A shiver raced through me. It wasn’t a stone or a root. Something had been buried here long ago… and clearly wasn’t meant to be found. Read more in Comment or Most relevant -> All comments 👇

Address

824 Gateway Avenue
Littlerock, CA
93543

Telephone

+16619445479

Website

Alerts

Be the first to know and let us send you an email when Musa GSJ posts news and promotions. Your email address will not be used for any other purpose, and you can unsubscribe at any time.

Shortcuts

Share

Category