Saturday, April 04, 2026

Holy! Saturday! Batman!

Seriously hard to imagine that generals are telling Hegseth that bellicosity is not a strategy, from the outside looking in:
The U.S. Department of Defense has given President Trump a plan to seize nearly 1,000lbs of highly-enriched uranium from at least one nuclear site in Iran, that would involve flying in excavation equipment and building a runway for cargo planes to take the radioactive material out, according to two people familiar with the matter who spoke to the Washington Post.
A French general just looked at Trump’s plan to build a runway inside Iran to fly out uranium under active bombing.

His response: “American officials should stop snorting cocaine between meetings.”

This is the same man who called joining Trump’s war “buying cheap tickets for the Titanic after it hit the iceberg.”

The French are not holding back.
It just bears repeating: In the same vein: Is this about how low the minimum wage is, or…?

And because you always think it can’t get any worse:
 
When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory–must follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!

“O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle — be Thou near them! With them — in spirit — we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it — for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.

(After a pause.) “Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits!”

It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.
—Mark Twain 
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