🇺🇸”Leadership Vacuum” Edition

Charlie Kirk’s assassination has left America asking: where’s the grown-up in the room? Once upon a time, presidents and pastors tried to calm the country in moments of crisis. Now, our would-be unifier-in-chief is Donald Trump—a man better known for pouring gasoline on the fire and then selling “TRUMP BRAND MATCHES” at the gift shop.

Trump dutifully read a solemn script about peace and unity from the Oval Office, then immediately pivoted to blaming the “radical left” and suggesting we should “beat the hell out of them.” It’s like following a Hallmark card with a bar fight invitation.

The country has no Billy Graham, no civic leader trusted across party lines, no one who can stitch back together a fabric that looks less like a flag and more like shredded laundry. Instead, Americans are left clinging to partisan soundbites, cable-news echo chambers, and the occasional ex-president tweeting “violence is bad” like it’s breaking news.

The tragedy of Kirk’s death has exposed an even deeper tragedy: in 2025, a “good politician” is no longer someone who persuades opponents, but someone who keeps their base perpetually angry. In that sense, Trump is the perfect man for the times—both the arsonist and the fire marshal, insisting only he can put out the flames he keeps fanning.

Rob Rogers - Andrews McMeel

Clay Bennett - Tribune Content Agency

Nick Anderson - Tribune Content Agency

Jeff Stahler - Andrews McMeel

Mike Smith - King Features

Ted Rall - Andrews McMeel

Matt Wuerker - Andrews McMeel

Matt Davies - Andrews McMeel

Clay Jones - Claytoonz

Pedro Molina - Tribune Content Agency

Brian Kilmeade, the man who makes Steve Doocy look like Walter Cronkite, has once again outdone himself. On Fox & Friends, Kilmeade suggested that mentally ill homeless people should be given “involuntary lethal injection” — in other words, just kill them. You know, your classic morning-show banter: weather, sports, and state-sanctioned murder.

Of course, backlash followed, and Kilmeade was forced to apologize, saying his remark was “extremely callous.” Translation: my bosses told me advertisers were calling. He assured viewers he now realizes “not all mentally ill homeless people” should be executed—just the ones he sees on his way to his car after work.

The apology came off less like contrition and more like a kid caught swearing in class: sorry the teacher heard, not sorry he said it. Meanwhile, advocates invited him to actually spend time in a homeless shelter—though it’s unclear if Kilmeade can function without a Fox chyron telling him what to think.

But for the foreseeable future, he will surely stick to Fox-approved talking points: immigrants are scary, the border is collapsing, and only billionaires truly suffer.

So, on the same network that warns endlessly about “cancel culture,” Kilmeade casually called for executing vulnerable people, then begged forgiveness when his own career was about to be canceled. If irony could power the grid, we’d have solved climate change right there on Fox & Friends.