How do we sleep while our beds are burning?
For whatever it is worth to history, I wish to register that I do not like finding out that we are suddenly at war with Iran. I do not need any more specters of annihilation, nuclear or otherwise. I get enough stress from my regular life.
(These Crusader fantasists. My entire lifetime. Their Armageddon wet dreams. Why will the sand not eat them alone.)
(These Crusader fantasists. My entire lifetime. Their Armageddon wet dreams. Why will the sand not eat them alone.)

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My grandfather fought in the War to End All Wars.
Humans are such fools.
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"I must have killed a million men and now they want me back again . . ."
[edit] Excuse me, we seek no wider war.
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And, as Jeff Tiedrich calls him, you should pardon the vulgarity, Piss Drunk Pete Hegseth climbs up from the sewers to assure us that peace is at hand. And he even lacks some of the (ultimately useless) gravitas that Neville Chamberlain showed.
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I am so sick and tired of living in a bad photocopy of the twentieth century. I was alive in the twentieth century. Parts of it were dumb enough already!
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(Fluffy Bunny time is a term my Best Beloved and I long ago borrowed from a friend who uses it to describe the necessity of backing away from horror by thinking of fluffy baby animals for as long as needed for continued mental and emotional health.)