Free show

The man stands at the podium like a circus ringmaster, preaching peace with the gusto of someone tossing gasoline onto a fire. Four wars brewing? Five? Who’s counting anymore? He gestures like a magician pulling scarves from his sleeve, but all he’s got is chaos masquerading as strategy. The world wobbles on its axis, already shattered, but here he is, spinning plates like conflict’s the new Olympic sport.

Could he have stopped Ukraine’s war on day one? Sure, and I could’ve been a billionaire by now if I had a nickel for every broken promise. But no, this war drags on, loud, messy, and just distracting enough to keep everyone from noticing the economy slipping on a banana peel. Grocery prices? Sky-high. People's burdens? Mounting like unpaid parking tickets. The invasion is a show, a smokescreen thicker than grandma’s gravy, keeping everyone too busy to see how empty their wallets are getting.

And yet, the people press on, worn out but unyielding, carrying empty bags and heavy hearts. Peace? Just another four-letter word for “never gonna happen.” The world trudges forward like a tired mule, burdened by leaders who promise everything and deliver nothing but hot air and higher bills.

This is January 12th, 2025. Same circus, different clowns. The struggle’s always there, inside, outside, everywhere. And still, people endure, because what’s the alternative? North Korea might as well be the moon for all the sense it makes now. But hey, at least the show’s free, right?