Okay. Okay. Lemme get this straight. Our government—you know, the people with the nukes, the people who are supposed to keep all our top-secret military crap locked up tighter than a Vegas slot machine—somehow managed to accidentally add a freakin’ journalist to a group chat… where they were discussing actual war plans?
And not even on some secure government line. No. No, no, no. That would make sense. They were using Signal. SIGNAL! The same damn app you use to send nudes without leaving a trail. That one. These chuckleheads are out here talking about blowing stuff up in Yemen like they’re planning brunch.
So here’s how it goes: Jeffrey Goldberg, editor-in-chief of The Atlantic—real journalist, not some dude with a YouTube channel—he gets a Signal message from National Security Advisor Mike Waltz. Couple days later, BOOM, he’s added to a group chat called “Houthi PC small group.” Not ominous at all. Totally normal name. I’m sure that’s what Apple calls their military ops division too.
Now, this group? It’s not some intern mistake. It’s not a chat for snacks in the break room. We’re talking Vice President JD Vance, Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, Marco Rubio, Tulsi Gabbard—the whole Red Team Avengers in there—just blabbing away about targets, missiles, and strategy like they’re organizing a fantasy football league.
And Goldberg’s just sittin’ there, staring at his phone like, “Is this… real life? Am I in trouble?” He doesn’t say a word, just quietly bails out of the chat, probably went to throw up in a plant.
Meanwhile, these brain wizards don’t even notice. They keep chatting. Then they go ahead with the strike in Yemen like nothing happened. And Goldberg? He doesn’t even publish the juicy details. Man has more restraint than a TSA agent at an orgy convention.
But here’s the part that really roasts my ribs. When this story breaks—and of course it breaks, because maybe don’t text war secrets to the press—the administration acts like he’s the problem. Like Goldberg snuck into their little group chat wearing a mustache and a fake name. Nah, bro. You added him. You clicked the damn button!
And when someone asks Trump about it? The man goes, “I don’t know anything about it. I’m not a fan of The Atlantic.” What?! That’s your takeaway? Not “Holy crap, my team just sent a journalist our military playbook,” but “Eh, I don’t really read that one”? My guy. Your VP is over here stress-texting about how the strike might make oil prices go nuts, and you’re treating this like someone spoiled the ending of The Bachelor.
And by the way, why the hell are they even using Signal for this stuff? You don’t need to be a cybersecurity expert to know that’s not how you plan a war. We have entire departments dedicated to secure communication. Red phones. Encrypted systems. Rooms with no windows and twelve layers of security clearance. And these clowns are group texting like it’s a surprise party.
Lawmakers, even the ones on their own damn team, are like “Yeah, uh, maybe don’t do that.” Chris Deluzio’s out here saying “heads should roll.” Don Bacon—his actual name, by the way—says, “Everybody’s made texting mistakes.” Sure, Don. We’ve all accidentally texted an ex. We just usually don’t accidentally start World War III while we’re at it.
And look, I know mistakes happen. I once sent a “thinking of you” text to my mechanic. Whatever. But I’m not the Secretary of Defense deciding who gets bombed next Tuesday. There’s a difference.
Bottom line? This wasn’t a whoopsie. This was dereliction of duty. This was “Hey, let’s do national security like it’s a group project at a community college.” And instead of owning up to it, they’re trying to pretend like it’s no big deal. Like we’re all just being dramatic.
Nah, man. You don’t get to leak your own war plans by accident and then act like the reporter who saw it is the problem. That’s like crashing your car into a daycare and yelling at the toddlers for being in the way.
It’s dangerous. It’s stupid. And if this is how they’re handling foreign policy? We’re all one group chat away from Armageddon.
