Category: Editorial Cartoon

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.

When devils start pricing snow tires and pitchforks double as ski poles, you know the ceasefire paperwork is real enough to fog a mirror, even if the lava in the background stays at a slow simmer.

Command squeezes inches from the ranks and calls it readiness while the real heavyweight, Waste, gulps taxpayer smoothies through a golden straw and rolls past running troops in a golf cart.

America isn’t losing its edge to Moscow or Beijing—it’s bleeding it out on the battlefield of bathroom debates and Twitter tantrums.

Like Axl howling into the mic back in ’91, you can feel the riff of this cartoon vibrating through the pavement—raw, unhinged, and begging the question of whether we really need another civil war and if we’ve already staged one.

Gold wings used to mean you could land on a postage stamp in the middle of the ocean—now they’re handing them out like participation trophies at flight school.

You can smell the insincerity from a mile away—their grief isn’t real, it’s a performance polished over decades of double standards.

Slap a new label on the Pentagon and call it what you want—war by any other name still smells like cordite and tears.