From 1997 Prague to 2025 Pentagon Leaks: How Far We've Fallen
WhiskeyLeaks: Top Secret Meets Mid-Day Tipsy Text (Hillary's Server Could Never)
2025.03.25-29.
I'm exhausted. And embarrassed. And infuriated.
Let's just start with the YankoBoop! "PeteThumping" 🎵
Here it is. Feel free to play it. These won’t be on music distributors anymore because I’d prefer to stay out of the El Salvador Gulag, and that’s just the country we live in now. So for everyone who voted for this (especially the three-fers): F.U.
The YankoBoop. PeteThumping.
Rage-share it.
Britpop Meets National Security Failure
I was 30 minutes into my evening panic-scroll through the day’s nonsense — I had set this shit aside for like some hours — to help the Other One with her first chemo (went fine) and to, you know, do my day job (which is finally great) and WHAT?
I was scrolling through headlines about our Secretary of Defense's classified text adventures. They’ve been published pretty much everywhere except Fox and Dear Leader’s other outlets.
Chumbawamba's "Tubthumping" slid into my jamz and I had a moment.
Suddenly, I wasn't just annoyed at the news—I was jamming, and I was transported right back to 1997.
This particular ditty (still love it!) takes me RIGHT back to a hotel room in Prague, where The Matron and I were traveling across just a smidge of Eastern Europe. It was a great trip, this “fam trip.” The Matron was in the travel business at the time, and I’d spent enough holidays and summers delivering airline tickets that I could go on an occasional one of these fam[iliarization] jaunts — trips to places, big discounts in return for familiarizing ourselves with their properties (so as to sell them better). No internet yet. No YouTube. Imagine!
This fam trip was to Dachau, Auschwitz, and Krakow.
It was the November after I finished law school. A fall trip with a party bus full of travel agents with a fun-n-somber agenda.
I have only my mental pictures because someone forgot to put film in her camera.
It was a different time to be an American abroad. There was a quiet pride in being from a country that stood for something better (and that had helped defeat, you know, fascism and stuff).
At the time, The Matron and I didn't agree on everything—how dare I suggest that Reagan's trickle-down magic wasn't really working out for anyone beyond our comfortable bubble. But our disagreements still existed within a shared reality where facts mattered and democracy was non-negotiable.
Then, over the years, some people didn’t even try to resist getting red-pilled (and it’s this unwillingness to consider taking even little itty bitty baby steps toward looking outside of Fox that (at first) kept me so infuriated out of my mind). A steady diet of increasingly extreme media and algorithmic radicalization.
Now folks seem to think that transgender foreigners have somehow stolen opportunities they were entitled to but never actually had—opportunities that exist only in the mythology of their grievance-based worldview. What was once a political disagreement has morphed into completely separate realities.
Back then, we didn't have to agree on everything. I would've bet [something really worth betting] that we agreed on basic humanity, kindness, not torturing people, checks and balances in the branches of government, the rule of law. Travel was a good thing. Exposure to other cultures was a good thing. It was cool being able to have checking accounts (even as women!) and to vote! And if needed, to terminate a pregnancy. Even in Texas. No fear of getting charged with murder should one in a pregnant state suddenly miscarry.
While touring Auschwitz, the Matron and I agreed (silently) that is was sad and horrific: these piles of eyeglasses and hair and other things collected from people on their way to being gassed, or maybe pried from their fried bodies (who can say?).
Dark, rainy, musty smell, too warm for the season (I think we were already divided on the whole "myth" of climate change — guess which one of us believed science (and may have written her first YankoBoop in 1980-ish, at age 10, on "hydras floored carboms (sic) destroying the Os' Tone Layer" (tortured pun —I started early — hydrofluorocarbons destroying the ozone layer).
And now here we are in 2025, with a Secretary of Defense who can't manage a group chat but somehow has access to the nuclear codes. We’ve changed sides — yep — screw Ukraine, long live Russia (apparently).
And one of us voted for this (three times).
For the record, here’s my view:
WhiskeyLeaks: The Ackshual Scandal
Here's what happened, for anyone who missed it:
✔️ National Security Advisor Michael Waltz accidentally added Jeffrey Goldberg (editor of The Atlantic) to a Signal group chat called 'Houthi PC small group'
✔️Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth then shared detailed war plans for Yemen airstrikes two hours before they happened
✔️ The plans included "precise information about weapons packages, targets, and timing"
✔️ When confronted, Hegseth denied it happened at all, despite the National Security Council confirming the texts are authentic
✔️ Absolutely ZERO accountability or consequences
Remember when Republicans wanted Hillary Clinton LOCKED UP for using a private email server where no classified information was ever found? And also for the record: she was not my favorite. She’d have been infintely preferable to DFT 1.0 and DFT 2.0 is beyond the beyonds. In case you hadn’t noticed.
The WhiskeyLeaks Remix
One song just wasn't enough for this level of national security incompetence, I crafted a second take with a different vibe.
And I’m sharing it right here and right here only.
A twofer.
YankoBoop #2
The Pete Translates™ Press Conference
Reporter: "Secretary Hegseth, can you explain how classified information about Yemen airstrikes was shared with a journalist via Signal?"
Pete: "So I— you're talking about a deceitful and highly-discredited so-called journalist who's made a profession of peddling hoaxes..."
For real.
Translation: I'm attacking the journalist instead of answering the question because I have no defense for my actions.
Reporter: "But the National Security Council confirmed the texts are authentic."
Pete: "Nobody was texting war plans, and that's all I have to say about that."
[LiveNOW from FOX - Signal chat leak: Defense secretary Pete Hegseth remarks on group chat leak]
Translation: I absolutely texted war plans but am counting on my base never believing anything that contradicts what I say.
There's always that one person in the group chat who communicates 50% in emoji. Someone made that person the National Security Adviser.
WHAT YOU CAN DO (INSTEAD OF JUST SCREAMING)
✔️ Share this story and song—make sure everyone understands the hypocrisy
✔️ Don't let them control the narrative—point out the double standard EVERY time
✔️ Remember this in 2026—accountability at the ballot box (assuming there’s anything left by then)
✔️ Check in on your relatives still living under the red pill fog—maybe send them Tubthumping as a reminder of simpler times
✔️ Make your five calls a day (iykyk)
Final Thought:
It's not funny, but laughing is one way to bug them (they’re pretty snowflakey with the ridicule when they’re not the ones dishing it out).
This isn't just another scandal. It's a perfect encapsulation of everything wrong with this administration—incompetence, hypocrisy, and zero accountability.
But we can't just scream into the void. We need to document it, mock it, and organize against it.
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#WhiskeyLeaks #PeteThumping #NationalSecurity #DoubleStandards #Democracy
PeteThumping
Truth is, I thought secure channels mattered. I thought national defense mattered. But does it? Bollocks. Not compared to Pete's group chat vibe check. We'll be leaking While we're drinking We'll be leaking I texted war Then I blamed the press You'll never hold me down I texted war Then I blamed the press You'll never hold me down He drinks a whiskey drink He drinks a Signal ping He sends a war plan link Then blames the whole damn thing He sings the songs that remind him of his frat house He sings the lies that deflect like a louse Oh, Benghazi Oh, her emails Oh, Fast and Furious Oh, you snowflakes He texts a target map (He leaks 'em!) He shares the weapons pack (He sends 'em!) He adds Jeff G. Says "Oopsie, my bad, see?" Typing with thumbs As the bourbon numbs Fat-fingered "Add All" Now Yemen knows it all I texted war Then I gaslit hard You'll never hold me down I texted war Then I spun real fast Still no orange gown "I was just... you know... multi-tasking... Running the Pentagon... having a drink... If I can't share war plans with friends And random journalists... is this even America? Was I not… supposed to? Was the… airstrike thingy… off limits? I was led to believe… Signal is private. OPSEC? What's that? SCIF? Just a chat room Need-to-know? Everyone! Clearance? That's no fun!" He drinks a whiskey drink He leaks a Yemen strike Her server? TREASON! LOCK HER UP! His war plans? Just a little hiccup He sings the songs that remind him of immunity He sings the tunes that rewrite reality Oh, the witch hunt Oh, I was framed Oh, the hoax list Oh, I did great He gets no court date He gets no charge You'll never bring him down He leaks classified And winks real large You'll never bring him down So raise your glass To classified sass Where national secrets Just need a bourbon pass! Texted it once Lied it twice Pete don't care, just blinks real nice
WhiskeyLeaks
🎶 [VERSE 1 – sloshy banjo, stumbly beat] Pete had a drink and then he had a couple more, Logged onto Signal and typed “let’s go to war.” Hit “Send All” — whoops, added Jeff G., Now Yemen’s got the playbook, and look it's casualty-free. No SCIF, no brief, just vibes and flag pins, He runs D.O.D. like it’s poker with friends. War plan went out like holiday memes, Now the N.S.C. chugs Maalox and screams. 🎶 [CHORUS – hoedown holler with ironic trumpet] Oopsie daisy, Signal crazy, Plastered Pete don’t read fine print. Texted war to Jeffrey G., Now the world’s in Yemen’s mint. Raise your glass and dump the files, Hoot and holler while justice leaks. He’s in camo but makes typos — Welcome y’all… to Whiskeyleaks. 🎶 [VERSE 2 – ragtime piano + fiddly menace] Remember how Hillary ruined the globe With a server? (spoiler: no classified code) But Heggy's in a Signal group chat mess, With Marco, Tulsi, and “who leaked the address?” Jeffrey’s like “Uh, guys, I’m a scribe,” But they kept on texting like “This is the vibe.” They planned a war like a brunch at the lake, Now the world’s on fire — was that a mistake? 🎶 [BRIDGE] “Was that wrong?” (Was that wrong?) “Nobody told me I couldn't text an airstrike plan…” (Nobody told me...) “I assumed... you know... we all trust each other…” (trust…each…other…) 🎶 [CHORUS 2 – tambourine + clapping + synth dropout] Oopsie daisy, laws are hazy If you ain't got a D on your tag. Hillary blinked, Pete leaked ops — Guess treason’s fine with the right flag. Sip and leak, and blame the press, “Who gave that journalist access?” He’s no Snowden, just too lit — Plastered Pete and his Whiskyleaks. 🎶 [OUTRO – slow, dramatic fade with soft kazoo] So raise your flask for national shame, And toast to cowards who dodge the blame. He spilled the war and kept his seat... No orange jumpsuit. Just Whiskeyleaks.