In today’s SOFREP original Bob Lang cartoon, California Governor Gavin Newsom is portrayed channeling his inner Lieutenant Colonel Kilgore from Apocalypse Now, grinning like a possum at a peach parade and declaring his love for the smell of “burning cities in the morning.” It’s a warped love letter to chaos, with helicopters flying overhead, riots raging in the background, and the Governor proudly wearing a flak vest labeled NEWSOM like he’s auditioning for a remake of Mad Max: Beverly Hills Edition. Meanwhile, a National Guardsman off to the side gets clocked by a brick, grumbling in his thoughts, “Great… now I have to do riot duty because of that S.O.B.” You can almost hear Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” playing in the background, except it’s being drowned out by sirens, Molotov cocktails, bad rap music and Newsom’s delusions of control.
When Spin Meets Steel-Toed Boots
Governor Newsom keeps telling us he’s got everything under control—as if the whole metro LA area isn’t teetering on the brink of a third-world collapse with better coffee shops.
But let’s get real: the only reason Los Angeles doesn’t look like it belongs in a UN refugee catalog is because President Trump did Newsom’s job for him and stepped in and federalized the National Guard and a few hundred Marines into the chaos like divine intervention with M4s.
If Newsom is the bartender slinging Molotovs, Trump’s the bouncer dragging bodies out before the place burns down. It’s like watching the guy who started the grease fire in your kitchen suddenly try to take credit for the firefighters putting it out, while still tossing bacon in the pan. The whole situation reeks of political napalm and hubris, with that handsome huckster Newsom still trying to sell you incense.
In today’s SOFREP original Bob Lang cartoon, California Governor Gavin Newsom is portrayed channeling his inner Lieutenant Colonel Kilgore from Apocalypse Now, grinning like a possum at a peach parade and declaring his love for the smell of “burning cities in the morning.” It’s a warped love letter to chaos, with helicopters flying overhead, riots raging in the background, and the Governor proudly wearing a flak vest labeled NEWSOM like he’s auditioning for a remake of Mad Max: Beverly Hills Edition. Meanwhile, a National Guardsman off to the side gets clocked by a brick, grumbling in his thoughts, “Great… now I have to do riot duty because of that S.O.B.” You can almost hear Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” playing in the background, except it’s being drowned out by sirens, Molotov cocktails, bad rap music and Newsom’s delusions of control.
When Spin Meets Steel-Toed Boots
Governor Newsom keeps telling us he’s got everything under control—as if the whole metro LA area isn’t teetering on the brink of a third-world collapse with better coffee shops.
But let’s get real: the only reason Los Angeles doesn’t look like it belongs in a UN refugee catalog is because President Trump did Newsom’s job for him and stepped in and federalized the National Guard and a few hundred Marines into the chaos like divine intervention with M4s.
If Newsom is the bartender slinging Molotovs, Trump’s the bouncer dragging bodies out before the place burns down. It’s like watching the guy who started the grease fire in your kitchen suddenly try to take credit for the firefighters putting it out, while still tossing bacon in the pan. The whole situation reeks of political napalm and hubris, with that handsome huckster Newsom still trying to sell you incense.
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