Police in Aurora, Colorado, got involved in a vehicle chase shortly after midnight earlier this month — and officers weren’t by any stretch up against some “good old boys, never meanin’ no harm” as Waylon Jennings famously crooned.

In fact, police said the vehicle they were after was reported stolen — and things only got worse.

‘We’ll do anything, bro!’

Police said they first attempted to use StarChase equipment on the car in question; police said StarChase mechanisms are attached to the front of patrol vehicles, and when activated, they shoot a sticky GPS “dart” at the back of “whatever vehicle we are aiming at.”

But cops said the dart missed, so officers activated their lights and sirens.

However, pulling over wasn’t in the cards. Not only that, a masked back passenger leaned out of the car and pointed a gun at officers, police said.

While no shots were fired, police said officers knew “it was critical to stop these individuals. That’s when a pursuit began.”

That’s when things got even more, shall we say, hazardous.

Cops remarked that the car in question hit a median “Dukes of Hazzard” style — and police video indeed catches the moment when the vehicle goes airborne.

“It may be 2026, but cars probably shouldn’t be flying like that,” cops remarked.

RELATED: Punk with attitude on overdrive caught on cop body cam allegedly trying to steal car — but not even a taser can slow his roll

Image source: Aurora (Co.) Police video screenshot

Police said the car crashed at Boiling Drive and North Hannibal Street, but the suspects still wouldn’t call their desperate dash quits — and they decided to run for it.

It was all for naught, however, as cops said they soon found all three suspects — 18-year-old Angelo Munguia, 18-year-old Watti Heng, and a 17-year-old male — hiding in backyards.

RELATED: 3 males — ages 8, 11, 12 — steal car, crash into house; driver, 11, says he learned how to steal cars from YouTube: Cops

Image source: Aurora (Co.) Police video screenshot

Image source: Aurora (Co.) Police video screenshot

One of them was heard on video begging as officers approached, “We’ll do anything, bro!”

Munguia was facing charges of felony menacing, obstructing a peace officer, violation of a protection order, and motor vehicle trespass, police said, while Heng was facing charges of eluding, motor vehicle theft, and obstructing a peace officer.

RELATED: Florida female going wrong way on interstate claims husband was driving. Then cops find rather large hole in her story.

Image source: Aurora (Co.) Police video screenshot

You can check out video below showing part of the chase, the flying car, and the suspects with their hands held high.

RELATED: How police nailed driver accused of doing donuts in stolen car amid street takeover — even after giving cops the slip

“They were taken into custody and SHOCKER, the car did indeed come back stolen out of a neighboring city,” police said.

And as Mr. Jennings knew all too well, “That’s just a little bit more than the law will allow.”

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​Crime thwarted, Colorado, Aurora, Gun, Police chase, Arrests, Dukes of hazzard, Video, Bodycam video, Pointing gun at police, Stolen car, Crime 

A reporter once asked me, “What’s the toughest challenge you’ve faced as a caregiver?”

“Knowing what’s mine and not mine to carry,” I replied without hesitation.

He expected a different answer. Caregiving is usually described in terms of health care, insurance, exhaustion, sacrifice, or resilience. All of that is real, but none of it gets to the heart of the problem.

As a caregiver, I don’t need an ‘A for effort.’ I need to know whether what I’m doing actually helps.

I see this challenge most clearly in exam rooms. My wife needs space to speak for herself, even when pain makes it slow or difficult. Knowing when to step in and when to stay silent is a daily test of restraint. I’m her husband, advocate, and caregiver. She often asks for my voice, but I must also know when to withhold it.

Her car accident happened before I met her. I did not cause it, and I cannot undo it. Forty years into our marriage and this caregiving journey, I still haven’t managed to slow its effects, much less resolve them. Time has given me experience, but not control.

We live in a culture that treats effort as virtue and control as responsibility.

Paramedics, doctors, and first responders are compelled to act because they are trained and authorized.

Those outside those roles are often driven by something else. Someone else’s suffering agitates us. The urge to relieve that discomfort gets mistaken for a moral obligation. Action becomes a way to quiet ourselves rather than to help.

That reflex doesn’t stay confined to caregiving. When situations grow heated, the instinct is almost always the same: escalate, push harder, do more. Stopping feels irresponsible.

RELATED: When you’re carrying the love alone on Valentine’s Day

kckate16 / Getty Images

But effort is not the same as efficacy.

As a caregiver, I don’t need an “A for effort.” I need to know whether what I’m doing actually helps. And to know that, I have to stop and ask tough questions.

What is my responsibility? What are my capabilities?

I cannot make my wife’s legs grow back or eliminate her pain. I cannot undo the accident.

If those are my metrics, no amount of effort will ever succeed.

For years, fear convinced me that if I stayed more vigilant, sacrificed more, and tried harder, I could outrun reality. I mistook effort for faithfulness and exhaustion for love. In the process, I didn’t just wear myself down; I made things harder for the person I was trying to help.

Living with this over decades eventually forced me to exchange action for stewardship. When panic told me I had to solve everything immediately, a simpler question surfaced.

What is actually mine to do in this moment?

Care, not cure. Faithfulness, not outcomes.

Over time, it became clear that this struggle is not unique to caregiving. Powerlessness is terrifying, and unexamined fear often leads to recklessness or rage.

We see the results daily. People insert themselves into situations they do not understand, interfere where they have no authority, and escalate conflicts rather than resolve them.

Those thoughts don’t just whisper, they accuse. And when they go unchecked, they drive people, individually and collectively, to destructive extremes in the name of responsibility.

I’ve learned to pay attention to the language that accompanies overreach. It often arrives like a whip: I’ve got to. I must. I have to. I’m supposed to. Those phrases feel like responsibility, but they are often fear speaking in the grammar of duty. They leave no room for limits, no space for discernment, and no acknowledgment of jurisdiction.

This is where the harder question emerges.

Who actually has jurisdiction?

Not every situation improves when I insert myself into it. Not every wrong becomes mine to right. Sometimes the most faithful response is counterintuitive.

Sometimes I should just stand there. Not indifferent or in moral retreat.

I need to recognize that stepping outside my jurisdiction can damage the responsibilities already entrusted to me.

RELATED: The reform every society needs: Stop mistaking shock for success

Cienpies via iStock/Getty Images

This is where clarity matters most. God holds ultimate jurisdiction over my wife’s condition. My role is not to replace Him or compete with Him. My role is to care steadily and responsibly, trusting that restraint is not neglect and limits are not abandonment.

I once heard a story about Joni Mitchell telling a bassist working with her, “You have a marvelous use of space.” The bassist still had notes to play, but he understood the song was not his to dominate. Respecting the artist and the music itself required restraint. His understanding of limits did not diminish the song. It allowed it to become what it was meant to be.

I still struggle with the line between intervention and restraint. If someone is harming himself or others, is there a responsibility to step in — and at what cost?

Nothing resolves those questions neatly. But refusing to ask them guarantees damage.

Overreach often disguises itself as virtue. But good intentions do not protect from bad outcomes. And sometimes what we call virtue is little more than performance.

When that temptation returns, I am steadied by words a wise friend once spoke to me. “She has a Savior. You are not that Savior.”

That distinction does not diminish love. It protects it. It keeps care from turning into control, responsibility from turning into ruin, and effort from becoming its own justification.

Knowing what isn’t mine to carry remains one of the hardest lessons of my life.

It is also one of the most necessary.

​Caregiving, Responsibility, Limits, Faithfulness, Companionship, Opinion & analysis 

In late January this year, CEO of Octane AI Matt Schlicht launched a new social media platform called Moltbook. It’s just like any other social network in that users can post, discuss, comment on, or upvote content.

The one catch?

It’s off-limits for human beings. Moltbook is a platform built exclusively for autonomous AI agents.

Reactions to Moltbook have been polarizing, with some fearing it’s proof AI is becoming too powerful and others dismissing it as overhyped AI slop.

To get some insight on the AI-dominated social media platform that’s taking the internet by storm, Glenn Beck invited Harlan Stewart of the Machine Intelligence Research Institute to “The Glenn Beck Program” to share his thoughts.

One of the subjects these AI bots have been discussing on Moltbook is “consciousness” — specifically whether or not they have it.

“If we’re creating something that can have consciousness, then we would become slave owners, would we not?” asks Glenn.

“I think it’s really easy to anthropomorphize these things because they sort of train them to have these charming personalities that are kind of humanlike, but under the hood, you know, these things are just a big pile of math and numbers,” says Stewart.

“But doesn’t that sound like a human? You open up my head. I’m a big mass of goo,” Glenn counters.

“I think that’s a good point. I mean neuroscience is like famously a science that we still have a lot of confusion about … but you know, I think for understanding humans, we at least have the advantage of being a human,” Stewart says.

With AI, however, “we’re sort of growing these digital minds now, and maybe they’re humanlike, but it could be much more like introducing an alien species to Earth,” he adds.

“I just can’t believe how stupid we are in some ways,” Glenn laughs. “I mean, let’s introduce an alien species to Earth. OK, is it friendly? We have no idea. … We know that AI will eventually be smarter than us. We are just playing with fire that we don’t understand.”

While Glenn thinks AI is the “greatest invention and tool that man has ever invented,” he’s deeply concerned that in the end, it will make tools of us.

However, what we’re seeing on Moltbook — including some AI “schemes” that are going viral and fueling hysteria — is likely not proof of consciousness, at least not yet. Hauntingly, the sign that AI has reached genuine consciousness, Glenn and Stewart speculate, is ironically no sign at all. They believe that if a takeover plot ever begins to develop, it will likely be in nonhuman languages to evade counterattacks.

“I don’t believe that they would be scheming in our language with each other where we could see it. I mean, I think if it starts to have these kinds of feelings, you’re not going to know until all of a sudden it’s in charge,” Glenn theorizes.

Stewart agrees — “Ultimately, the real danger that we have to look out for is from AI agents that are powerful enough that they can pull off schemes that they actually succeed at, and part of succeeding at them would probably mean that we don’t even get a chance to observe the behavior and discuss it like we’re doing now.”

To hear more of Glenn and Stewart’s chilling conversation, watch the video above.

Want more from Glenn Beck?

To enjoy more of Glenn’s masterful storytelling, thought-provoking analysis, and uncanny ability to make sense of the chaos, subscribe to BlazeTV — the largest multi-platform network of voices who love America, defend the Constitution, and live the American dream.

​The glenn beck program, Glenn beck, Beck, Moltbook, Ai, Artificial intelligence, Ai takeover, Blazetv, Blaze media, Blaze podcasts 

Bernard Nathanson died nearly 15 years ago. His story matters now more than ever. Not because he was famous, though he was. Not because he was influential, though few Americans shaped the culture more profoundly. His story matters because it proves that no one is beyond redemption — and that truth has a way of breaking through, no matter how determined we are to suppress it.

Nathanson was born in New York to Jewish parents. He became an obstetrician and gynecologist like his father. But unlike his father, he devoted his career to ending pregnancies rather than delivering babies. At one point, he directed the Center for Reproductive and Sexual Health, then the largest abortion facility in the world. He later claimed responsibility for more than 75,000 abortions. Among them was his own child.

Our age desperately needs this kind of conversion — the courage to admit complicity and the humility to seek forgiveness.

He wasn’t merely performing abortions. In many ways, he helped build the movement that made them legal. Nathanson was among the central activists whose efforts culminated in Roe v. Wade. Today, nearly 30% of American pregnancies are unintended; about 40% of those end in abortion — roughly 1,500 to 2,500 each day, between 550,000 and 910,000 annually. Those numbers cast a long shadow over Nathanson’s legacy.

By his own account, he was an atheist. He married four times. He lived without God and, for a time, without guilt.

Then came the ultrasound.

Signs of life

In the 1970s, advances in medical imaging made it possible to view the womb in real time. For the first time, doctors could watch a living fetus during an abortion procedure. Nathanson asked a colleague who performed 15 to 20 abortions daily to record one on ultrasound. What they saw unsettled him permanently.

“Ultrasound opened up a new world,” Nathanson later wrote. “For the first time I could really see the human fetus, measure it, observe it, watch it, and indeed bond with it and love it.”

This was his first conversion — not religious, but moral. Fetal development was no longer a medical abstraction. It was human life unfolding along a continuous path. To interrupt that life became, in his words, intolerable.

He went farther. He called abortion a crime. He did not exempt himself. He knew he had not been a bystander but a central participant. The reckoning was unavoidable.

No looking away

In 1984, he directed “The Silent Scream,” a film featuring ultrasound footage of an abortion in progress. It removed abstraction. What had been hidden behind euphemism became visible. The film galvanized pro-life movements worldwide because it forced viewers to see what had long been described away.

Nathanson became the abortion movement’s most formidable opponent precisely because he had once been its architect. He understood its language and its strategy. He knew how clinical terms soften moral reality. As he later admitted, statistics had been inflated and rhetoric sharpened to sway public opinion. He had helped construct the narrative.

Yet moral clarity did not bring him peace. The weight of 75,000 deaths — including his own child’s — pressed on his conscience. Ethical reversal is not the same as absolution.

In search of mercy

Through conversations with Father John McCloskey, an Opus Dei priest, Nathanson began his second conversion. This one was spiritual. In December 1996, Cardinal John O’Connor baptized him in a private Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral. He received confirmation and first communion that same day.

When asked why he chose Catholicism, his answer was simple: “No religion matches the special role for forgiveness that is afforded by the Catholic Church.”

That sentence reveals what ideology never could: Guilt demands more than argument. It demands mercy.

Father Gerald Murray, who preached at Nathanson’s funeral, compared him to Whittaker Chambers, the former Soviet spy who renounced communism and testified against it at immense personal cost. The comparison was deliberate. Both men had served destructive causes with conviction. Both knew their systems from the inside. And both chose to speak because silence was no longer possible.

Neither escaped consequences. Yet each chose truth over self-preservation.

Hard truth

Some readers will struggle to forgive what Nathanson did. The harm was real. It cannot be undone. But what he chose once he could no longer deny the truth also matters. The screams he confronted were silent, visible only through ultrasound. Once seen, they could not be unseen.

Our age desperately needs this kind of conversion — the courage to admit complicity and the humility to seek forgiveness. Wrongdoing is softened by clinical language. Responsibility is buried beneath justification. Technology makes victims invisible.

Nathanson’s life reminds us that seeing clearly carries a cost — but refusing to see carries a greater one.

He spent half his life destroying life and the other half defending it. Many spend their entire lives destroying life and never confront it.

​Faith, Abide, Christianity, Lifestyle, Conversion, Converts, Abortion, Bernard nathanson, The silent scream, Catholicism, Pro-life