Dispatch 3: Shitty Neighbors

So here we sit, folks, in the spring of this foul year of somebody else’s Lord 2026, watching the planet’s biggest playground bullies kick the living shit out of each other. The title says it all: Shitty Neighbors. Because that’s what nations have become: venal, power-drunk leviathans gnawing on their neighbors’ bones …armed to the teeth with high tech death, tactical nukes and grudges.

Start with Russia and Ukraine. Putin’s been hammering away for four years like the drunk who thinks one more punch will save his marriage. The front crawls forward fifteen meters on a good da. Casualties? OBSCENE. Russia’s bled something north of 1.2 million—killed, wounded, missing—more than any major power since World War 2. Ukraine’s taken its own brutal share, but the math is merciless: Putin’s losing bodies faster than he can round them up.

And round them up he does. Prisoners first, then the desperate from the provinces, then foreigners tricked into “construction jobs” that turn out to be foxholes in Kursk. North Korea shipped over 10,000–11,000 cannon fodder; Africa’s bleeding talent—Ghanaians, Kenyans, Sri Lankans—lured with fake promises of “jobs”, dumped on the line, buried in unmarked dirt.

Recruitment’s so thin they’re hitting college kids now, waving cash and debt forgiveness like it’s some kind of prize. For the first time since the invasion, January saw more dead and maimed than new meat signed up.

Putin won’t quit. He CAN’T. He’s painted himself into a corner slick with blood. So the whispers start: tactical nuke. Just one little tactical boom to break Kyiv’s spine before the domestic roof caves in on him. Experts call it unlikely due to deterrence, or international blowback, but experts said a lot of things before February 2022. And when the manpower runs dry, desperation has a funny way of rewriting the rulebook.

The Ukrainians keep innovating on a shoestring: dronesL fishing nets strung across roads like medieval traps, Starlink blackouts courtesy of Elon turning Russian comms into static. But necessity only goes so far when your neighbor has endless North Koreans and you’re running low on everything but resolve.

Israel? Another shitty-neighbor. Gaza’s a smoking ruin, ICJ cases piling up like unpaid bills, provisional orders ignored, cycle spinning on: dehumanization, retaliation, more graves.

Iran? We bombed them into regime-change fantasy, killed the supreme leader, and now the crown prince is auditioning for the throne like it’s a reality show. History’s full of these meddling backfires—Mossadegh in ’53, Shah installed, revolution in ’79. We keep planting seeds and wondering why the harvest is just more shit.

China watches, cool as a cucumber, building high-speed rail while we bicker over chemtrails.

The Nordics? Happy, stable, boringly functional. They look like the adults in the room.

And us? We’re the loud drunk at the block party, roasting Canada over tariffs, threatening to annex the place like it’s a hostile takeover. Hell, Mexico’s patrolling their border, now.

The Biological Encore

Imagine it: some hostile power (roster’s crowded) slips a novel pathogen into the water, the air vents, the airport handrails. A few days of sniffles, fevers, confusion. Then the headlines hit like a freight train: hospitals overflowing, bodies stacking, the old folks and the kids going first because that’s how these things roll. …Just like the last time.

The administration …our current circus troupe, would cover it up until the lie cracked like cheap plaster. But then the bodies pile higher, the morgues run out of space, and the truth leaks like radiation from a cracked reactor. …Just like the last time.

When the vaccine push finally comes, because even the most delusional regime can’t ignore a million corpses, they’ll scream “Get your shots!” into the void. …Just like the last time.

Except, now, the void’s full of people who’ve been told for years that vaccines are microchip trackers, autism factories, Big Pharma poison. Trust in science? Shredded. Public health? Gutted. The cultural war on expertise has left us primed to die slow, stubborn and stupid.

Shit, measles is already making its comeback tour.. Late February 2026: CDC tally at 1,136 confirmed cases in two months. That’s already pushing half of 2025’s record 2,281, the worst since the early ’90s. Ninety-two percent unvaccinated or status unknown. Outbreaks in twenty-eight states.

And who’s at the helm of Health and Human Services? Robert F. Kennedy Jr., aka the worm-brain whisperer, former(?) coke-snorter, ex-heroin dabbler, the guy who allegedly dumped a dead bear cub in Central Park for laughs, chainsawed a whale’s head off for a roof-rack trophy, left roadkill in freezers like some gothic collector. He once bragged about blending baby chicks and mice for his falcons, a “perverse scene of despair and violence” per family accounts. Now he’s HHS Secretary, slashing the childhood vaccine schedule from seventeen to eleven recommended shots, clearing out the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices, and letting allies push “Medical Freedom” bills to gut school mandates.

He says he “probably” would vaccinate for measles if it were his kid, but the government’s not mandating it. Freedom of choice, baby. Even as cases explode, his crew’s out there undermining mandates, calling for “informed consent” while the virus doesn’t give a damn about consent forms. ‘Nutrition and exercise will save us,’ he says. Tell that to the dead kids in Greg Abbott’s West Texas food deserts who weren’t vaccinated and caught the bug anyway.

What could go wrong? Everything. A real bio-attack …cheap, …deniable, …no mushroom cloud, hits a nation already skeptical of needles, distrustful of experts, and led by a man who thinks dead animals make great pranks. The response? Delayed, politicized, half-assed. Vaccines roll out late, uptake craters because “my body, my choice” sounds noble until your kid’s on a ventilator. The outbreak goes epidemic, then pandemic-lite, and we wonder why the rest of the world looks at us like we’re the drunk uncle who just took a shit on the dining room table.

Humans iz in trubull, deeper than before. The shitty neighbors aren’t just across borders anymore. They’re in the cabinet, on the airwaves, in the mirror. Pour another round.

Somewhere in Kursk, a North Korean kid who thought he was going to build houses is learning what modern war really costs. Somewhere in Gaza, a child with shrapnel in her leg waits for a doctor who never comes because the hospital is now rubble. Somewhere in Iran, a family huddles in the dark after the latest strike, wondering if the regime’s collapse will bring freedom or just more chaos. Somewhere in South Carolina, a kid with a fever coughs in a classroom because Mom saw a TikTok. Somewhere in Washington, a man with a history of animal atrocities decides what’s best for public health. And somewhere in the shadows, the next pathogen is already practicing its lines.

Welcome to the neighborhood. The fences are down, the dogs are rabid, and nobody’s coming to fix it.