WWIII

Monday and this week are shaping up to be a scorched-earth situation. President Trump has bombed Iran’s nuclear program. Three sites which I’m sure the Administration spent the last few weeks perfecting the pronunciation of,  have reportedly been destroyed. The justification? Either he felt it was a good time, or he spoke to the janitor at his son’s university who heard something from a friend. The one thing we know is that it was his decision, his leadership, and he’s not going to waste time like they did with Iraq, having the CIA make up imaginary weapons of mass destruction.

Then you check social media, and apparently the sites weren’t destroyed. Or the uranium was moved days ago. Everyone knew. Everyone was informed. It was a waste of time.

He didn’t consult Congress. Now they want to impeach him again. Can’t these nitwits get anything right? Who even knows what the truth is anymore; the law, the procedure, or the unwritten rule? The Constitution and the Unconstitution-tution. Maybe they declare; it’s time to amend the War Powers Resolution and roll back executive power.

Members of the Armed Services Committee were notified via X. Nobody knows anything. The LA Sheriff’s Department felt compelled to tweet that they stand with Iran, only to delete it moments later.

What do our allies think? What did they know? What will they do about it? You flip through the news and it feels like every channel is reading from the same script. ChatGPT has practically written the entire conflict. We’re now on the brink of World War III, as a small Middle Eastern country declares the Western powers can’t use their waterways. It’s starting to feel like a more absurd, 1984. Today we’re at war with the East—the Middle East.

Russia is drawing red lines. Chinese memes declare they’ll never accept U.S. tariffs. Who’s writing the content? What’s the point? You end up with micro-tensions and microaggressions in your own mind. Subtle, constant undercurrents that unravel your moments of peace, triggering inflammation which has now become the root of modern illness. Turn it off. Shut it down.

We no longer trust traditional media. And if we do, we must be fools. We’ve built our own East and West propaganda machines, warring with each other. What hope is there when truth is dead? The anchor stares blankly into the camera, floats through a teleprompter in Prozac euphoria, and delivers the one follow-up question meant to lull you into thinking there’s any critical thought happening at all.

Then come the four-star generals, three-star generals, ex-CIA analysts, porn stars, New York Policy Institute fellows, brothers, geniuses, and baby-faced policy wonks like “Little Baby Billy Freeman” rambling on to soothe our nerves or stoke the fires in this, our season of discontent.

As the Earth turns and we wait for blowback, we brace for the response. Unfortunately we still have to get up on Monday and to work. We pay our taxes. We pay our bills. We keep our kids in AAU baseball while the people of the world, collectively allow these man-children to lead us to the edge. The Doomsday Clock ticks two seconds to midnight.

What can we do? What should we do?

As the fish in The Cat in the Hat asks the children at the end: What would you do?