Editorial Cartoon

A warm room, a cold blade, and a pair of elites too wrapped in their own comfort to notice the danger already polishing their silver.

Happy Thanksgiving from SOFREP!

America didn’t order a platter of bleached-clean bones, but that’s exactly what Congress keeps serving every time it pretends the Epstein files are finally on the table.

A crooked carnival where narco boats explode for pocket change and everyone smiles through the smoke is the kind of sick joke the war on drugs tells without ever bothering to set up a proper punchline.

A cartel kingpin is dancing through a blizzard of cash and skulls, blissfully ignoring the Trump-branded sword overhead that says his winning streak has already expired.

Today we give credit where it’s earned — to every veteran who stood the line, bore the burden, and kept our nation free; thank you for your service. Job well done.

While Nigerian churches collapse into ash, the powerful grope through the smoke with canes of denial, pretending to ignore the growing stench of genocide.

When nuclear policy sounds like a bathroom joke, FAFO stops being a meme and starts reading like the instruction label on a world-ending button.

Putin’s idea of holiday cheer is a million body bags strung up like ornaments—proof that in the Kremlin, even failure gets a parade.

New York doesn’t need a free stuff messiah with a bullhorn; it needs a budget hawk who can show the receipt and keep the lights on.

When Washington stops cutting checks, it’s the folks keeping the lights on and the flag flying who get burned—while the Beltway’s elite keep clinking glasses at the D.C. Buffet that never closes.

Two and a half centuries on, the few and the proud still storm the breach with grit, gallows humor, and zero hesitation to kick in the next door, whatever waits on the other side.