A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, which is probably the extent of the strategy currently unravelling in Iran.

Fundamentally – in keeping with the territorial vibe – Trump just grabbed that opportunity by the pussy.

This was no veiled threat.

You might have thought that Netanyahu would have known better, although the comb-over probably reflects an embedded lack of judgement if you dig deep enough beyond the outer softness and compassion.

Even a three-seasoned aficionado of Apple TV’s Tehran could comfortably assert that the regime’s grip on Iran was always more than just the product of the iron fist of a handful of leaders.

It’s systemic.

Old Bibi himself would certainly garner a beating from the erectly peaked cops if he ventured into downtown Qom not covering that hair with a scarf.

But back to the potentially liberated, and things are not precisely as they seem.  The rhetoric that ordinary Iranians are welcoming the Persian carpet-bombing is bordering on the bizaar, if not the shisha house.

They’re bricking it, not simply because their cities are being levelled à la Gaza, but because they know what’s coming next.

It’s going to be the same as the old boss – but possibly even worse as the new mega Mollah, particularly if it’s big Ali’s son, will undoubtedly have a phat score to settle.

If the people want change, they’ll have to rise up from within, but we shouldn’t hold our breath. The spectacle of gaggles of psychotic birds, shrieking in Farsi, hurling off their headscarves, and flopping out their feminist foibles is as farcical as it is futile.

Mopped up like small pools of piss from the interrogation cell floor.

The main rebellion seems to be some weird proxy cyber spat on X/Twitter, fuelled by blobby, exiled Persians gobbing off from the comfort of their living rooms.

Frankly embarrassing, but this is 2026. Nobody stays to fight for freedom – they all scarper and commentate from afar.

They’re loving the bombing.

But then again, they would, wouldn’t they?

It’s not their problem.