Entertainment

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

In the shadowy waltz of Cold War espionage, the CIA’s heart attack gun wasn’t just a weapon—it was the grim poetry of paranoia rendered in steel and poison.

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.

Char Fontan Westfall’s journey through unimaginable loss to finding hope and purpose serves as a powerful testament to the resilience of the human spirit, reminding us all of the strength that lies within when faced with life’s most challenging battles.

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

In the murky, shark-infested waters of the Calda Channel, Chuck Studley and I learned the hard way that destiny often finds you paralyzed with fear, clutching your dive tanks, and fervently swearing off any future encounters with the ocean’s toothy residents.

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.

The global board’s flipped, and while the diplomats fumble for pieces, the strongmen are already playing a new game with live ammo.

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.

Helicopters, those damnable, awe-inspiring beasts, taught me the hard limits of man and machine through a litany of mishaps, from hard landings in brown-out dust to emergency ocean bailouts and explosive chaos, revealing their true worth only when pushed to the edge.