My very own unique plan for the area would never pass either the House or the Senate, which is why I haven't bothered to run for office. I suggest we nuke the entire Middle East and after the dust settles, build a new Disney theme park there. There could be a roller coaster called The Wailing Wall and a House of Horrors called Old City Jerusalem, with scary Arabs jumping out of darkened stalls who grab your arm and twist it a little, whispering, "Come inside my shop and see what I have for you. I promise you'll like it." Oh wait, that's what they already have now. Okay, then something along those lines but maybe a bit less threatening.
I cried many tears yesterday and again today over the deadly attacks by Hamas in Israel. I've been so depressed I've eaten half a jar of Super Crunchy peanut butter and a bagel with hummus and some ice cream, and that's not including breakfast and lunch, and now I'm still depressed but also nauseous. That's what happens when food is your go-to drug and your president is a feeble old man who refuses to address what's going on and instead hosts a barbecue for members of his staff and stays off the TV, offering no plans for how to help or what to do or even sending his prayers, which means nothing we all know but at least it's something.
My husband points out that over time the fallout from several nuclear bombs would get to all of us. So be it -- it's time, really, for all of us to go. I know, I know, there are plenty of fine people here on Earth, it's not just evil-doers like Ilhan Omar and that Rashida Tlaib, but alas -- considering everything, we need to start from scratch.
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