Lithuania Issues Bi-Weekly ‘The World is Ending’ Memo to Indifferent European Bureaucrats

Ah, Friday. The day we usually wrap up the week with a light dusting of existential dread and a desperate hope that the weekend arrives before the missiles do. Lithuanian Foreign Minister Kęstutis Budrys took the stage to remind us that we have two choices: either we 'shape European security,' or we get comfortable living under a pile of concrete and rebar. It’s a classic ultimatum—the geopolitical equivalent of 'clean your room or I’m burning the house down.'
Budrys is out here doing his best Churchill impression, leaning heavily into the 'buried under rubble' imagery because, let’s be honest, nuanced policy discussions don’t exactly move the needle in Brussels. You have to admire the commitment to the bit. While Western Europe is busy debating the carbon footprint of its tank engines and wondering if the next summit can be held somewhere with better wine, Lithuania is staring at its border like a man whose neighbor just bought a woodchipper and a suspiciously large roll of plastic wrap.
But let’s cut through the performative urgency. This isn't just about security; it's about the eternal struggle of the Baltic states to keep the Big Three—France, Germany, and the UK—from falling into their usual deep-seated habit of 'strategic procrastination.' To Budrys, 'shaping security' means more boots, more hardware, and more money. To the rest of the continent, it usually means another three-year committee to decide on the font size for the next 'strongly worded' letter to Moscow.
The irony is palpable. We’re told the sky is falling every other Tuesday, yet the collective European defense strategy remains a chaotic game of Tetris played by twenty-seven people who don't speak the same language. Budrys knows the drill: in the theater of international relations, if you aren’t threatening your colleagues with a violent, dusty death, you’re basically invisible. It’s the 'Check Engine' light of diplomacy—we all see it, we all know what it means, but we’re just going to turn up the radio and hope we make it to the next election cycle without the engine falling out.
This story is an interpreted work of social commentary based on real events. Source: Baltic Times