Ah, January 12th, 2025— yet, for all his bluster, his capriciousness outstrips even the most theatrical of leaders, his actions less steady than a ship on a tempestuous sea. He makes any leader of North Korea—tyrannical though they may be—appear like a model of calculated restraint. For where they rule with iron fists, his hand wavers, his mind dances erratically, his decisions driven by whims and tantrums rather than plans or principles. He is a storm with no center, a flame with no hearth.
Still, the people endure. They march forward, bent but unbroken, though their hearts ache and their loads grow heavier with each passing day. The promise of peace rings hollow in their ears, a mirage on the horizon of their struggles. The world lumbers on, a weary giant dragged down by the ineptitude of its so-called shepherds. But endure they must, for what choice remains? Endurance, after all, is the currency of those who live in times like these.
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