I usually travel with a posse. I roll deep. I travel like a

The comedian Gabriel Iglesias, beloved across the world as “Fluffy,” once said with his signature warmth and humor: “I usually travel with a posse. I roll deep. I travel like a rapper, but without the artillery. We don't carry guns, we carry cookies.” Though wrapped in jest, these words hold a deeper wisdom for all generations. They speak not only of laughter but of how one chooses to live—with companionship, with joy, and with peace rather than violence. In this simple statement, Iglesias offers a philosophy: surround yourself with people, not weapons; with humor, not anger; with kindness, not cruelty.

To say “I travel with a posse” is to acknowledge the importance of community. No one truly walks alone. Even the strongest warrior, even the greatest leader, is uplifted by companions who share the journey. Iglesias admits he does not stand by himself—he values the company of friends, family, and fellow travelers who bring strength to his spirit. The posse, in this sense, is not merely protection but a circle of support, laughter, and loyalty. In a world that often glorifies the lone hero, his words remind us that joy multiplies when it is shared.

When he says, “I travel like a rapper, but without the artillery,” Iglesias calls to mind the image of power and fame often surrounded by symbols of toughness and threat. Yet he turns this image upside down, stripping away the shadows of violence and replacing them with lightheartedness. His message is clear: one can live with strength, presence, and even grandeur, without resorting to fear or aggression. True strength, he suggests, lies not in carrying weapons, but in carrying laughter.

And then comes his most memorable line: “We don't carry guns, we carry cookies.” Here humor transforms into parable. The gun is a symbol of force, of destruction, of mistrust. The cookie, simple and sweet, becomes a symbol of sharing, of nourishment, of joy. Where others spread fear, Iglesias spreads delight. Where others intimidate, he comforts. This is no small teaching: he shows us that influence can be carried not through power that wounds, but through gifts that heal.

History, too, provides its reflections. Consider Desmond Tutu, who in South Africa faced violence not with weapons but with forgiveness and laughter, disarming his enemies through joy. Or Mahatma Gandhi, who gathered followers around him not to wield swords but to carry the quiet power of nonviolence. Both, like Iglesias in his way, chose cookies over guns—symbols of peace over symbols of war. Their strength did not diminish for it; indeed, it multiplied, because they chose love and community over fear and destruction.

The deeper meaning of Iglesias’ words is that joy itself can be a weapon against despair. By traveling with cookies, he travels with generosity. By rolling deep with laughter, he reminds the world that happiness shared in abundance can disarm anger and soften hardened hearts. His comedy may seem light, but it carries the profound truth that kindness is a stronger companion than cruelty, and laughter more enduring than fear.

The lesson for us, children of tomorrow, is simple yet eternal: choose cookies, not guns. Surround yourself with a posse of people who uplift you, not drag you down. Bring joy wherever you travel, and let generosity be your shield. Do not be deceived by the world’s false images of strength that rely on force. True strength is measured in how much light you bring into the lives of others.

Practical wisdom must follow. Carry laughter in your conversations, carry kindness in your actions, carry generosity in your hands. Build communities that protect with love rather than weapons. And when the world expects you to roll deep with anger or pride, roll deep instead with friends, with family, and yes—even with cookies. For as Gabriel Iglesias has shown, a posse of joy can shake the world far more powerfully than an army of fear.