While Iranian generals are busy burrowing into mountain caves to build enough missiles to reset the global economy, local Singaporeans have confirmed they would fold faster than a cheap mahjong table if the Wi-Fi dropped for even a fucking second.

Tehran insiders claim the Islamic Republic has enough food to feed its population for half a year, a statistic that baffled Singaporean netizens who famously started a fistfight over the last pack of toilet paper during a mild rainstorm in 2020.

“Six months of endurance is impressive, but have they tried standing in a queue for a limited-edition Hello Kitty toy for four hours without a portable fan?” asked one local man who considers a slightly warm Tiger beer a breach of the Geneva Convention.

Iran’s boast of an “infinite drone stockpile” has been largely ignored by Singaporean SME bosses, who argued that their own stockpile of unpaid interns and toxic gaslighting techniques could survive a direct nuclear strike from Israel.

Geopolitical analysts noted that while Iran uses tunneling hardware to hide its nuclear supply chain, the average Sinkie still cannot find his own car in the Suntec City basement after a thirty-minute shopping trip.

“Ancient civilisations are very patient,” said one Iranian lawyer, clearly unaware that a Singaporean will suffer a literal stroke if the person in front of them at the MRT gantry takes more than 0.2 seconds to tap their card.

China’s role as a constraint on the war effort was described by local experts as “standard big brother behaviour,” similar to how the Singapore government allows citizens to have fun until they realise people are actually enjoying themselves.

While Iranians are prepared to endure a summer of renewed fighting, the Singaporean public has indicated that they would collectively surrender to any invading force that promises to maintain a constant 18-degree air-conditioning setting in all public spaces.

One Tehran resident noted that cafes and shops remain open despite the threat of missiles, a level of resilience that stands in stark contrast to Singaporeans who treat a “temporary maintenance” sign on a bubble tea shop as a signal to begin the end-times.

Ultimately, the prospect of a global oil shortage caused by the closure of the Strait of Hormuz is less terrifying to locals than the prospect of having to talk to their own families for ten minutes because the Netflix servers went down.

“Let them have their six-month war,” said one auntie while hoarding fifteen bottles of soy sauce for no reason.

“As long as the delivery apps still work and I don’t have to see my lan jiao neighbors in a bomb shelter, they can bomb whoever they want.”