Bombs are born from the womb of doom. Bombs offer ashes. Bombs go boom. They say, “No babies, no pets. No families, friends, or loved ones!” Bombs say, “Nothing but me, then absolutely nothing at all!” Bombs should be awarded the Pulitzer prize in genocide, the Academy Award in war. Bombs are far worse than photobombs. They’re in touch with their inner Hitler. They feast on the mushroom cloud for dinner. Bombs should take up meditation, go on extended vacations. Pick up a book, paintbrush, guitar, or gardening shovel. Bombs should offer us peace of mind, not pieces of oblivion.