Pete Hegseth Wakes Up to a Dozen Missed Calls from The Hague

You know those mornings, or perhaps in Pete Hegseth's case, those decidedly afternoons, when you finally drag yourself out of bed feeling like you've wrestled a grizzly bear in your sleep? Well, imagine that, but then add a sudden, chilling dash of international accountability to the mix. Such was the scene as the Fox News stalwart, in a haze that felt thicker than yesterday's pizza box, finally blinked his eyes open at a rather dignified 3:00 p.m. It was, shall we say, a classic Pete Hegseth start to the day.

Sunlight, or what passed for it through drawn blinds, barely pierced the gloom of his bedroom. The faint hum of a television left on some news channel provided a low, droning soundtrack to his re-entry into consciousness. He stretched, a deep, satisfying yawn escaping him, and reached for his phone – a ritual as old as time itself for anyone who’s ever successfully avoided morning responsibilities. But what he saw there, blinking back at him from the screen, was anything but routine. Twelve missed calls. A dozen of them. And not from his agent, or a network producer, or even his mom wondering if he’d finally eaten something green.

No, these were different. They all shared a distinctive international dialing code. And then, as he scrolled, one number finally resolved itself into a contact name, startling him with its sheer, unyielding formality: 'The Hague.' Yes, that Hague. The one in the Netherlands. The one synonymous with international courts, justice, and the kind of high-stakes legal proceedings that usually only involve people who've, well, you know, committed serious international transgressions. Not, one would assume, a Fox News co-host.

A ripple of confusion, quickly morphing into a cold, unsettling dread, ran through him. "The Hague?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep and bewilderment. "What in the world could they want? Did I accidentally sign up for some bizarre Dutch email list? A tulip festival membership gone wrong?" His mind raced, scrambling for any logical, innocuous explanation. Surely, this was some elaborate prank. Or maybe, just maybe, it was about that one time he advocated for, let's say, 'robust' diplomatic solutions during a particularly impassioned segment. You know, the one where he might have, hypothetically, suggested that certain foreign policy issues could benefit from a slightly more… definitive approach?

He sat bolt upright, the lingering remnants of sleep completely banished by a sudden jolt of adrenaline. His eyes darted around the room, as if the very walls might offer a clue, or perhaps betray some hidden war crime he'd forgotten about. An empty takeout container from last night stared back, accusingly. The news channel on the TV, almost mockingly, showed a graphic about international sanctions. Pete Hegseth, a man accustomed to dishing out opinions with unwavering confidence, suddenly felt a profound and deeply human uncertainty. He stared at the phone, vibrating softly in his hand, a dozen calls from a place he never expected to hear from. The weight of the world, or at least a very specific, juridical part of it, seemed to rest squarely on his shoulders. He gulped, then, in a moment of pure, instinctual human procrastination, he simply dropped the phone back onto the bedside table and pulled the blanket over his head, wishing for a moment that he could just go back to sleep and hope The Hague would, you know, just sort of... forget about him.