The new Supreme Leader of Iran was on fire this week.

Well, that’s what GBU-57 Bunker Busters do for you.

You’ve got to hand it to him, though. For a chap in a coma, he’s not taking any prisoners.

Whether it’s now coma over or come-on, this so-called war has bumbled into an almighty clusterfuck. Illegal, illogical, and worst of all ill-advised.

We’re not dealing with Roosevelt here.

In this context, changing the leader changes very little, and it was hardly rocket science that the Mollahs would just go scorched earth if their backs were up against the wall. They’re not too fazed about being blasted into the ether and blessed with martyrdom.

And if the President lightbulbed that the Iranian man in the street would surf on the waves of warfare and stick it to the regime, that ship has sailed faster than, well, an IRGC fastboat. The natives flipped from a state of jubilation to jew-bile-ation in one fell swoop. Even some of the Iranian women’s football players – gifted asylum on a platter – fluffed the open goal and scuttled back to Tehran.

Those cats still loathe Israel and the US far more than any of their most barbaric, despotic compatriots.

They’d have been best left alone to figure out their own issues on their own terms.

Now that the world’s oil has predictably dried up, and the world got desperate in a cesspit or its own making, one person sits guffawing up his sleeve and once again at the top of the pile – Mr Putin.  He’s set to coin it in from suspended sanctions, trousering filthy monster loot to pump directly into the Ukraine War effort ringpiece.

Well, every cloud, and all that.