Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Here we go again: another episode in the long-running American series “Failing Upward: The Musical,” starring Pete Hegseth, a man whose résumé reads like a Mad Lib filled out by cable news producers at 2 a.m.

Pete Hegseth—yes, that Pete Hegseth—has apparently decided that his second-string, weekend-shift Fox News hosting gig, combined with a National Guard record he now treats like a medieval title, qualifies him to menace Mark Kelly. Mark Kelly. Actual combat veteran. Actual Navy captain. Actual astronaut. A man who has been shot into orbit by NASA, not launched into relevance by a teleprompter and a makeup team.

And yet here we are, watching Pete Hegseth puff out his chest and threaten reductions in retirement rank like a kid who just discovered the volume knob on a megaphone.

Let’s be clear: this is not a disagreement about policy. This is not a principled stand. This is Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater cosplay-authoritarianism, where a man confuses proximity to power with possession of it. He’s doing the political equivalent of borrowing someone else’s uniform and demanding a salute.

Hegseth’s claim to fame is not battlefield heroics. It’s not strategic brilliance. It’s not even original thought. His primary contribution to American life has been nodding vigorously on Fox News while saying things that sound tough but dissolve on contact with facts. He is a vibes-based warrior, a man whose understanding of strength comes from studio lighting and applause cues.

And now he wants to play Big Man™ by threatening the retirement rank of someone whose service record could bench press his entire talking-point binder.

There is something especially grotesque about this genre of chest-thumping: the loudest demands for “respect” coming from those who have done the least to earn it. Hegseth speaks endlessly about honor while publicly trying to humiliate someone whose honor is so self-evident it literally left Earth and came back with scorch marks.

This isn’t leadership. It’s insecurity with a microphone.

Mark Kelly didn’t become who he is by sneering at others from a TV set. He didn’t serve for applause, didn’t fly missions for clout, didn’t orbit the planet to impress donors. His record speaks quietly, confidently, and without the need for props.

Pete Hegseth, by contrast, needs the props. He needs the threats. He needs the performance of dominance because without it, there’s just a man yelling at the mirror, hoping rank will magically appear if he says “rank” loudly enough.

Threatening a decorated veteran and astronaut doesn’t make you tough. It makes you small. It doesn’t project strength. It projects panic—the kind that arises when you realize your authority exists only as long as the cameras are rolling.

This isn’t about Mark Kelly’s rank. It’s about Pete Hegseth’s ego. And like so many in this era, he mistakes cruelty for courage, volume for valor, and television time for legitimacy.

History tends to be unkind to people who confuse themselves with the uniform they’re borrowing. And it’s downright merciless to those who try to bully actual heroes to feel tall.

But by all means, Pete—keep posturing. The astronaut will still be an astronaut when the lights go out.