Good morning Mastheads. I was not alive yet when America endured the Cuban missile crisis, but I’m pretty sure I now have a taste of how people were feeling during that time. Of course, the difference in this case was JFK was not telling Khrushchev to get his fucking missiles out of Cuba, adding sick bastard for good measure. I have a pretty strong hunch that the orange menace will pull a #TACO and say that the peace talks in his head have achieved a breakthrough, or something. Even still, I suspect my knuckles will be somewhat white this evening.

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