Global Events & Politics Überthread
- Thread starter Hawk
- Start date
Jaw
It's OVER 5,000!
Diversity is their strength!
Tapate50
Well-known member
Simply failures of integration. Probably the white mans fault.
acesfull86
Well-known member
Glad to see a country taking crime seriously and getting dangerous thugs off the street. The West is so back!
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Tapate50
Well-known member
Check out this video, "shooting at wawa baseball game during prayer"
https://share.google/QbZZQDk13mZIVdx4y
More enrichment
acesfull86
Well-known member
sturg33
I
Can't believe Mahmed, Ahmed, and Mustafa would do such a thing
acesfull86
Well-known member
https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2025/11/17/trump-hegseth-venezuela-boat-strikes/
Channeling his inner Humpty Dumpty(“‘When I use a word,’ Humpty Dumpty said in a rather scornful tone, ‘it means just what I choose it to mean — nothing more nor less’”), Donald Trump has decided that this hypothetical fentanyl from Venezuela might be a “chemical weapon” (like mustard gas or sarin?). An odd one, that Americans pay for and ingest.
If the boats are, as U.S. intelligence sources supposedly know, carrying drugs (intelligence sources knew Iraq’s weapons of mass destruction existed), they are pulled to America by the demand for drugs by Americans who poison themselves. The national tragedy of 80,000 U.S. fatal overdoses last year is not ameliorated by, it is deepened by, terminological obfuscations that erase the agency of drug users.
The president says each boat strike prevents 25,000 overdose deaths. Reason’s Jacob Sullum says this means he already has saved 350,000 lives, six times the number of U.S. lives lost in Vietnam. But, then, Attorney General Pam Bondi has said that in his first 100 days in office, Donald Trump saved “258 million lives” (75 percent of the U.S. population) by intercepting fentanyl shipments.
Channeling his inner Humpty Dumpty(“‘When I use a word,’ Humpty Dumpty said in a rather scornful tone, ‘it means just what I choose it to mean — nothing more nor less’”), Donald Trump has decided that this hypothetical fentanyl from Venezuela might be a “chemical weapon” (like mustard gas or sarin?). An odd one, that Americans pay for and ingest.
If the boats are, as U.S. intelligence sources supposedly know, carrying drugs (intelligence sources knew Iraq’s weapons of mass destruction existed), they are pulled to America by the demand for drugs by Americans who poison themselves. The national tragedy of 80,000 U.S. fatal overdoses last year is not ameliorated by, it is deepened by, terminological obfuscations that erase the agency of drug users.
The president says each boat strike prevents 25,000 overdose deaths. Reason’s Jacob Sullum says this means he already has saved 350,000 lives, six times the number of U.S. lives lost in Vietnam. But, then, Attorney General Pam Bondi has said that in his first 100 days in office, Donald Trump saved “258 million lives” (75 percent of the U.S. population) by intercepting fentanyl shipments.
zbhargrove
Well-known member
This administration is so stupid
Jaw
It's OVER 5,000!
That’s not nice to say. According to those statistics, there’s a 75% chance that you’re alive now because of this administration.
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Tapate50
Well-known member
57Brave
Well-known member
In the sprawling multiverse of human stupidity, a cosmic scrapbook of how in the hell our species made it past the invention of fire, we have produced disasters so iconic they deserve their own cautionary museum wing or at the very least a commemorative stamp. We invented the Segway, that six thousand dollar contraption bravely asking what if we recreated walking but made it embarrassing. We endured the movie Cats, which looked like the rejected outtakes of a furry orgy the director begged humanity to forget. And we somehow survived the Cold Shoulder Blouse epidemic of 2016, when shoulders were sultry, sleeves were tyranny, and fashion was basically like why are you looking at me bitch you’re the one still wearing patterned leggings to brunch.
We sat through the mullet revival. We brought perms back. We funded Ishtar. We greenlit Howard the Duck. We bought vibrating workout belts and Shake Weights because nothing says peak American decision making like strapping on a machine that humps your abdomen while you pump some kind of Buck Rogers looking dildo at the same time.
Then somebody decided it was a good idea to make a New Coke even though Old Coke was a perfectly good Coke and no one needed a New Coke, no one asked for a New Coke, no one drank New Coke, and then one day like a miracle there was no longer a New Coke at all. Only the Old Coke sitting there like a loyal ex who never understood why you left in the first place.
We live in a world where Carrie the Musical and the Star Wars Holiday Special existed in real life in front of real people with eyes and ears who were not, in fact, actual masochists. And we are talking about a species that not only knowingly but eagerly and excitedly consumed food products we knew with absolute certainty would give us anal leakage. Oprah told us to buy it and we obeyed like gastrointestinal disciples marching into Costco with purpose.
And yet somehow this twenty eight point, sure let’s pretend it’s a “peace plan” between Russia and Ukraine has managed to make all that shit look reasonable by comparison.
Because then Piggy von Blackhands lurched out earlier in the week like a butter-slicked Thanksgiving turkey that suddenly developed opinions on geopolitics and blurted that Ukraine had until Thanksgiving to accept this so called “plan.” He unleashed it with the cracked bravado of a man who mistakes the echo of his own voice for international consensus.
Except it was not final. Not even for a moment. It was not firm. Not even in a Viagra ad. And this thing was about as American as Putin’s underballs dunked in imported caviar.
Multiple senators at the Halifax International Security Forum said Marco Rubio told them on a call that the twenty eight point document was not ours at all. It was Russia’s. Straight from Moscow’s fantasy draft. Putin’s wet dream printed on White House letterhead. A dictator’s Christmas list translated for Western media by someone in Trump’s orbit who thinks diplomacy is a reality show elimination round.
Then Rubio realized he had told the truth. And he panicked. He jumped online insisting the plan was ours after all like a toddler caught fist deep in cake frosting insisting he never touched the dessert.
The whole thing had the energy of that Spider Man meme where the two Spider Men are pointing at each other, except these idiots are doing it with nuclear warheads attached.
So naturally Grampa Trump resurfaced yesterday wrapped in that Mamdani adjacent scarf bib hybrid that made him look like a colonial ghost who had been styled by the clearance aisle at HomeGoods and suddenly claimed the plan was not in fact final. The deadline was not at all firm. The thing he had declared definitive was now a floating suggestion swirling in the emptiness behind his eyes. He backpedaled so fast he could have powered a water wheel.
Apparently Witkoff and Dmitriev were the ones behind this thing, which is like discovering your emergency room was staffed by two men who learned medicine from a YouTube ad. They sketched it out in Miami with Jared Kushner drifting in like a man who still believes he can workshop Middle East Peace the Musical at Goop if he finds the right tactical fashion vest.
The result was the Dimwit Plan, a Kremlin soaked fever scribble that somehow reached Rubio and then landed on Trump’s desk, where he approved it the moment someone sounded out the hard parts. And as unhinged as its origin story was, the contents were even worse.
Ukraine was expected to surrender occupied territories, freeze the war on Russia’s terms, accept a demilitarized zone that might as well have been a neon arrow pointing to future invasions, promise never to join NATO, let Moscow supervise its military future like a violent landlord inspecting a tenant’s bedroom, and unfreeze more than one hundred billion dollars in Russian assets that Trump clearly saw as a slush fund for himself and his spawn.
Meanwhile Europe, a continent not huffing bath salts in a clown car like Trump’s foreign policy brigade, released a plan that actually made sense. A plan with logic. A plan with math. A plan with adult supervision. A plan that did not read like it had been drafted during a Miami bender with Witkoff and Dmitriev and whatever Jared Kushner thinks diplomacy is supposed to be.
Ukraine was left blinking into this diplomatic hellscape like someone had just handed them a ransom note written in the tone of a sext between the brain worm married guy and the blonde engaged reporter supposedly covering him without bias. And the rest of the world stared at the United States like we had rolled ourselves in corn syrup, wandered into a crowded dog park at feeding time, and then asked the owners to applaud our composure while fifty dogs sniffed our butt like it was a goddamn crime scene.
This was the global negotiating equivalent of a gang of armed marauders breaking into your home, shooting your dog, selling your toddler, assaulting your partner, seizing your kitchen and the nicest bathroom, and drone bombing your living room while you are still standing there barefoot holding a Target bag watching your entire life collapse like a Jenga tower built by interns on their third Adderall and last shred of dignity. Then your neighbor strolls in with a clipboard chirping good news I brokered peace they get to keep everything they stole as long as you promise never to rebuild, never fight back, and never join forces with the rest of us when they attack our homes next.
And all of this was unfolding while JD Couch Fucking Vance posted the plan like it was a senior thesis written in eyeliner on the back of a Waffle House receipt. Not because he believed it. But because parroting Putin flavored marching orders is the only marketable skill he has left. He is so compromised he probably checks Putin’s taint before he checks the weather, and of course he whispers thank you after with the needy little pout of a man begging his captor for a gold star.
And through all of this half the Republican Party was melting down over a pink men’s sweater at J Crew while the other half was actually calling for accountability because even they recognized this Kremlin flavored clusterfuck for what it was. My dudes, focus, for the love of all things holy, just focus.
This shit didn’t unfold in a single afternoon. It sprawled across days. Trump declared the plan final. Rubio said it wasn’t ours. Then Rubio said it was. Then Trump said it wasn’t final. Then he basically said he just didn’t care.
So, if ever there were a day to stand up to Donald Trump, this is the day. He has shown the world he’s weak. He is a lame duck. He is a wilted monument to his own incompetence. He’s lost the support of his own. If Republicans were ever going to locate their long lost spine, maybe in the junk drawer next to the expired batteries and that random key that opens nothing, now would be the moment.
You know you don’t actually have to punch yourselves in the dick every day anymore, right. It is not a Constitutional requirement.
Which becomes painfully obvious the moment you look around and realize that when it comes to the Trump so called administration, there are no adults left in the room.
No one adult adjacent. No one adult infused. No one adult sprinkled. No one formerly known as an adult. This is the inmates running the asylum. This is the clowns running the circus. This is world order held hostage by men who could not manage a mall kiosk without burning it down.
If this were simply embarrassing, fine. We survived New Coke. We survived the mullet renaissance. We survived Oprah endorsed anal leakage.
But the national security implications here, the nuclear consequences hanging over us because a bunch of lobotomized freedom fried fuckwits treated foreign diplomacy like a shiny toy in a Happy Meal, will be a hell of a lot more painful in the end than those supposedly fat free chips ever were.
Olestra gave people cramps.
These idiots could give us World War III.
And with that, today’s song:
I love you guys!
Stay strong, stay sane-adjacent, and stay away from whatever the fuck these idiot Trump clowns are up to.
Jo
We sat through the mullet revival. We brought perms back. We funded Ishtar. We greenlit Howard the Duck. We bought vibrating workout belts and Shake Weights because nothing says peak American decision making like strapping on a machine that humps your abdomen while you pump some kind of Buck Rogers looking dildo at the same time.
Then somebody decided it was a good idea to make a New Coke even though Old Coke was a perfectly good Coke and no one needed a New Coke, no one asked for a New Coke, no one drank New Coke, and then one day like a miracle there was no longer a New Coke at all. Only the Old Coke sitting there like a loyal ex who never understood why you left in the first place.
We live in a world where Carrie the Musical and the Star Wars Holiday Special existed in real life in front of real people with eyes and ears who were not, in fact, actual masochists. And we are talking about a species that not only knowingly but eagerly and excitedly consumed food products we knew with absolute certainty would give us anal leakage. Oprah told us to buy it and we obeyed like gastrointestinal disciples marching into Costco with purpose.
And yet somehow this twenty eight point, sure let’s pretend it’s a “peace plan” between Russia and Ukraine has managed to make all that shit look reasonable by comparison.
Because then Piggy von Blackhands lurched out earlier in the week like a butter-slicked Thanksgiving turkey that suddenly developed opinions on geopolitics and blurted that Ukraine had until Thanksgiving to accept this so called “plan.” He unleashed it with the cracked bravado of a man who mistakes the echo of his own voice for international consensus.
Except it was not final. Not even for a moment. It was not firm. Not even in a Viagra ad. And this thing was about as American as Putin’s underballs dunked in imported caviar.
Multiple senators at the Halifax International Security Forum said Marco Rubio told them on a call that the twenty eight point document was not ours at all. It was Russia’s. Straight from Moscow’s fantasy draft. Putin’s wet dream printed on White House letterhead. A dictator’s Christmas list translated for Western media by someone in Trump’s orbit who thinks diplomacy is a reality show elimination round.
Then Rubio realized he had told the truth. And he panicked. He jumped online insisting the plan was ours after all like a toddler caught fist deep in cake frosting insisting he never touched the dessert.
The whole thing had the energy of that Spider Man meme where the two Spider Men are pointing at each other, except these idiots are doing it with nuclear warheads attached.
So naturally Grampa Trump resurfaced yesterday wrapped in that Mamdani adjacent scarf bib hybrid that made him look like a colonial ghost who had been styled by the clearance aisle at HomeGoods and suddenly claimed the plan was not in fact final. The deadline was not at all firm. The thing he had declared definitive was now a floating suggestion swirling in the emptiness behind his eyes. He backpedaled so fast he could have powered a water wheel.
Apparently Witkoff and Dmitriev were the ones behind this thing, which is like discovering your emergency room was staffed by two men who learned medicine from a YouTube ad. They sketched it out in Miami with Jared Kushner drifting in like a man who still believes he can workshop Middle East Peace the Musical at Goop if he finds the right tactical fashion vest.
The result was the Dimwit Plan, a Kremlin soaked fever scribble that somehow reached Rubio and then landed on Trump’s desk, where he approved it the moment someone sounded out the hard parts. And as unhinged as its origin story was, the contents were even worse.
Ukraine was expected to surrender occupied territories, freeze the war on Russia’s terms, accept a demilitarized zone that might as well have been a neon arrow pointing to future invasions, promise never to join NATO, let Moscow supervise its military future like a violent landlord inspecting a tenant’s bedroom, and unfreeze more than one hundred billion dollars in Russian assets that Trump clearly saw as a slush fund for himself and his spawn.
Meanwhile Europe, a continent not huffing bath salts in a clown car like Trump’s foreign policy brigade, released a plan that actually made sense. A plan with logic. A plan with math. A plan with adult supervision. A plan that did not read like it had been drafted during a Miami bender with Witkoff and Dmitriev and whatever Jared Kushner thinks diplomacy is supposed to be.
Ukraine was left blinking into this diplomatic hellscape like someone had just handed them a ransom note written in the tone of a sext between the brain worm married guy and the blonde engaged reporter supposedly covering him without bias. And the rest of the world stared at the United States like we had rolled ourselves in corn syrup, wandered into a crowded dog park at feeding time, and then asked the owners to applaud our composure while fifty dogs sniffed our butt like it was a goddamn crime scene.
This was the global negotiating equivalent of a gang of armed marauders breaking into your home, shooting your dog, selling your toddler, assaulting your partner, seizing your kitchen and the nicest bathroom, and drone bombing your living room while you are still standing there barefoot holding a Target bag watching your entire life collapse like a Jenga tower built by interns on their third Adderall and last shred of dignity. Then your neighbor strolls in with a clipboard chirping good news I brokered peace they get to keep everything they stole as long as you promise never to rebuild, never fight back, and never join forces with the rest of us when they attack our homes next.
And all of this was unfolding while JD Couch Fucking Vance posted the plan like it was a senior thesis written in eyeliner on the back of a Waffle House receipt. Not because he believed it. But because parroting Putin flavored marching orders is the only marketable skill he has left. He is so compromised he probably checks Putin’s taint before he checks the weather, and of course he whispers thank you after with the needy little pout of a man begging his captor for a gold star.
And through all of this half the Republican Party was melting down over a pink men’s sweater at J Crew while the other half was actually calling for accountability because even they recognized this Kremlin flavored clusterfuck for what it was. My dudes, focus, for the love of all things holy, just focus.
This shit didn’t unfold in a single afternoon. It sprawled across days. Trump declared the plan final. Rubio said it wasn’t ours. Then Rubio said it was. Then Trump said it wasn’t final. Then he basically said he just didn’t care.
So, if ever there were a day to stand up to Donald Trump, this is the day. He has shown the world he’s weak. He is a lame duck. He is a wilted monument to his own incompetence. He’s lost the support of his own. If Republicans were ever going to locate their long lost spine, maybe in the junk drawer next to the expired batteries and that random key that opens nothing, now would be the moment.
You know you don’t actually have to punch yourselves in the dick every day anymore, right. It is not a Constitutional requirement.
Which becomes painfully obvious the moment you look around and realize that when it comes to the Trump so called administration, there are no adults left in the room.
No one adult adjacent. No one adult infused. No one adult sprinkled. No one formerly known as an adult. This is the inmates running the asylum. This is the clowns running the circus. This is world order held hostage by men who could not manage a mall kiosk without burning it down.
If this were simply embarrassing, fine. We survived New Coke. We survived the mullet renaissance. We survived Oprah endorsed anal leakage.
But the national security implications here, the nuclear consequences hanging over us because a bunch of lobotomized freedom fried fuckwits treated foreign diplomacy like a shiny toy in a Happy Meal, will be a hell of a lot more painful in the end than those supposedly fat free chips ever were.
Olestra gave people cramps.
These idiots could give us World War III.
And with that, today’s song:
I love you guys!
Stay strong, stay sane-adjacent, and stay away from whatever the fuck these idiot Trump clowns are up to.
Jo
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zbhargrove
Well-known member
You’re not wrong
57Brave
Well-known member
"So, if ever there were a day to stand up to Donald Trump, this is the day. He has shown the world he’s weak. He is a lame duck. He is a wilted monument to his own incompetence. He’s lost the support of his own. If Republicans were ever going to locate their long lost spine, maybe in the junk drawer next to the expired batteries and that random key that opens nothing, now would be the moment."
" You’re not wrong "
and that is how we got into this mess.
People avoiding words that fly in the face of their long held bias'.
Until, of course it becomes fashionable to the bandwagon.
The " you're not wrong " guy a month or so back was singing a
different tune while they were threatening his personal well being
Wondering what changed ?
I see no idiocy in that paragraph.
Just good old fashioned common sense --- obvious perhaps.
Been obvious in some circles since the 1990s
But hey, where were you people Nov 5 last when there was an out to this " lame duck"
Oh yeah, calling her a communist or some other poorly informed drivel
" You’re not wrong "
and that is how we got into this mess.
People avoiding words that fly in the face of their long held bias'.
Until, of course it becomes fashionable to the bandwagon.
The " you're not wrong " guy a month or so back was singing a
different tune while they were threatening his personal well being
Wondering what changed ?
I see no idiocy in that paragraph.
Just good old fashioned common sense --- obvious perhaps.
Been obvious in some circles since the 1990s
But hey, where were you people Nov 5 last when there was an out to this " lame duck"
Oh yeah, calling her a communist or some other poorly informed drivel
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zbhargrove
Well-known member
What are you even talking about? I’m just pointing out no one is reading your long post. Learn how to articulate your arguments more concisely. Or articulate your arguments at all. You are just the thethe of the left.