SOFREP Sunday Cartoon: From the Bund to the Boroughs
When the ghost of Hitler starts sounding like the only guy in the room with historical perspective, you know the circus has pitched its tent in City Hall.
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Latest Editorial Cartoon stories, analysis, and updates from SOFREP.
When the ghost of Hitler starts sounding like the only guy in the room with historical perspective, you know the circus has pitched its tent in City Hall.
Happy Independence Day from Team SOFREP—where liberty comes with a side of rotor wash and enough unauthorized munitions to make the Founding Fathers proud.
When the shell crates are empty and NATO’s still circling the bureaucracy drain, you improvise with whatever’s sticky, stinks, and might make a Russian grunt rethink his life choices.
Today’s cartoon slices through the fog of modern warfare like a B-2 through Tehran’s airspace—exposing a Pentagon flex and a press corps too bored, buzzed, or clueless to notice the smoke.
When Uncle Sam sends billion-dollar batwings halfway around the world to knock on your uranium door with thirty thousand pounds of ‘nope,’ the message isn’t subtle—it’s seismic.
Iran’s generals are dropping faster than bar tabs at a Navy port call, and even the Devil’s starting to lose track.
Bob Lang’s cartoon is a bayonet-sharp jab at a culture where shouting over ceremony has become the new form of patriotism.
If Gavin Newsom’s idea of leadership is grinning through the smoke while LA burns, then I guess all it takes to run California these days is a flak vest, a hair gel sponsorship, and a complete disregard for reality.
Europe’s idea of defense is hiding under a welfare umbrella while whistling past the graves of wars it swore it would never repeat.
Putin’s war in Ukraine is starting to look less like a display of strength and more like a slow-motion replay of history’s costliest delusions.
Memorial Day isn’t about mourning the dead so much as it’s about honoring them by living the kind of lives they died to protect—loud, grateful, and unapologetically free.
In the Comey-verse, truth wears purple trunks and a smirk, strolling beaches not for justice, but for one last shot at bestseller relevance.