Category: Editorial Cartoon

Venezuelan smugglers boast of easy runs until a Trump-era Navy missile screams “Surprise,” turning open water into a cartoon punchline.

Trump dangles “peace” like bait while Putin crushes Ukraine, turning foreign policy into caveman logic written in blood.

When the nation’s capital needs Kevlar to feel safe, call it what it is—a war zone with better press passes.

Equal-opportunity killers, my butt—these guys don’t care what tribe you’re from as long as your body fits in the ditch.

The Grim Reaper leaned on his scythe, watching the so-called peace talks take shape, like a bartender who knows last call might finally be coming.

In a world where Russia bellows bravado and breaks treaties, the U.S. answers with silent, deep-sea patience—four to five Ohio-class submarines are lurking in the shadows, each armed with dozens of warheads, holding the still-fragile threads of deterrence tight as New START’s expiration looms next year.

We’re one late-night mushroom cloud away from realizing the only fallout shelter most Americans have is their comments section.

A sidearm that holsters like a housecat and bites like a rattlesnake—God help us if it starts asking for rank and pension.

They thought the shadows would shield them forever, but now they’re flailing in the sun, exposed, desperate, and one step from being flushed out for good.

While Trump took a bullet and a patriot died, a not so intrepid reporter mistook side-eye from the bleachers for incoming fire and called it PTSD.

The Justice Department talks a big game about accountability, but at this point, they’d need a GPS and divine intervention just to locate their own spine.

In Putin’s Russia, getting fired means exactly that—usually with a 9mm exit interview and a state-issued shovel for the cleanup crew.