> A wise man once said, ‘Don’t argue with a stupid person because they will just drag you down to their level and beat you with experience.’
Editor’s Note: Lily thinks Pizzagate was a psyop to make Epstein easier to dismiss. I don’t know if she’s right. I think it was real. I’ve seen the uncensored Frazzledrip videos on the Dark Web. (Btw, do not Google Frazzledrip. Seriously.)
Remember Pizzagate?
Remember when half the country lost their minds over a conspiracy theory about a DC pizza parlor running a child trafficking ring out of a basement that didn’t exist? When some lunatic showed up with an AR-15 to “investigate”? When the entire media establishment spent months using it as exhibit A for why conspiracy theorists are dangerous nutjobs who need to be deplatformed, censored, and medicated?
Well. Turns out the real pedophile network wasn’t hiding in some imaginary basement. It was cruising on yachts. Partying at Mar-a-Lago. Flying on private jets. And the man currently occupying the Oval Office has his name appearing nearly one million times in the unredacted Epstein files.
One. Million. Times.
Not a typo. Not hyperbole. When I started writing this piece, the count was over 500,000. Hours later? Damn near doubled.
And I’m supposed to sit here like a good little Christian and pretend this is normal? That this is just partisan noise? That the guy with his name plastered across a convicted pedophile’s communications almost a million times just happens to be an innocent bystander?
Get the hell out of here with that.
The files show those mentions didn’t stop after Trump claimed he and Epstein were “no longer friends.” They kept going. Emails. Communications. Connections. All while Trump was telling America he’d kicked Epstein to the curb years ago. The black ink of redaction covers nearly 950,000 instances of his name. Nine hundred and fifty thousand times the American people were told they don’t get to know what their president was doing with a man who trafficked children.
This isn’t about political tribes. This is about power protecting power while the rest of us are fed circus acts and told to focus on illegal immigrants and gender pronouns.
The Bondi hearing laid it bare. Attorney General Pam Bondi sat before Congress and put on a performance that would make a Real Housewives cast member blush. Smarmy. Combative. Evasive as hell. When Ted Lieu played footage of Trump and Epstein laughing together at Mar-a-Lago and asked whether underage girls were present at that party or any gathering Trump attended with Epstein, she refused to answer.
Just refused.
Deflected. Raised her voice. Threw out buzzwords like “transparency” and “Trump derangement syndrome” as if congressional oversight was a personal attack on her character. She invoked the Dow hitting some imaginary milestone like stock prices could sanitize what’s in those files.
Then came the survivors.
Women who were trafficked as girls. Women who named names. Women whose testimony was carved up with redactions so thick you couldn’t see daylight through them. Thomas Massie pointed out that survivor accounts identifying the men who trafficked them had been gutted beyond recognition. Black bars swallowing names. Black bars swallowing details. Black bars burying truth like bodies under fresh concrete.
Those survivors were asked right there in that hearing room whether they had requested meetings with Bondi’s Department of Justice. Whether they’d been granted the opportunity to speak. To be heard. To get justice.
Hands went up. One after another.
Not one had been given a meeting. Not one.
And Bondi sat there scrolling her phone. Snacking. Eyes fixed anywhere but their faces. On her notes. The ceiling tiles. The exit sign glowing red overhead. She refused to look at them. Refused to acknowledge their existence. These women who survived hell and came forward to name names, and the attorney general of the United States treated them like they were invisible.
You could feel the collective recoil. That stomach drop when you watch someone in power choose cruelty over duty. Choose loyalty to a man over justice for victims.
This is who she works for. Not the Constitution. Not the American people. Not those girls in the files. Donald Trump. Her loyalty shoots straight up the power chain to him. She’s a fixer. An enabler in a tailored suit who treats proximity to power like worship and accountability like blasphemy.
I like it when these Talmudic demons are so honest.
> A wise man once said, ‘Don’t argue with a stupid person because they will just drag you down to their level and beat you with experience.’
Editor’s Note: Lily thinks Pizzagate was a psyop to make Epstein easier to dismiss. I don’t know if she’s right. I think it was real. I’ve seen the uncensored Frazzledrip videos on the Dark Web. (Btw, do not Google Frazzledrip. Seriously.)
Remember Pizzagate?
Remember when half the country lost their minds over a conspiracy theory about a DC pizza parlor running a child trafficking ring out of a basement that didn’t exist? When some lunatic showed up with an AR-15 to “investigate”? When the entire media establishment spent months using it as exhibit A for why conspiracy theorists are dangerous nutjobs who need to be deplatformed, censored, and medicated?
Well. Turns out the real pedophile network wasn’t hiding in some imaginary basement. It was cruising on yachts. Partying at Mar-a-Lago. Flying on private jets. And the man currently occupying the Oval Office has his name appearing nearly one million times in the unredacted Epstein files.
One. Million. Times.
Not a typo. Not hyperbole. When I started writing this piece, the count was over 500,000. Hours later? Damn near doubled.
And I’m supposed to sit here like a good little Christian and pretend this is normal? That this is just partisan noise? That the guy with his name plastered across a convicted pedophile’s communications almost a million times just happens to be an innocent bystander?
Get the hell out of here with that.
The files show those mentions didn’t stop after Trump claimed he and Epstein were “no longer friends.” They kept going. Emails. Communications. Connections. All while Trump was telling America he’d kicked Epstein to the curb years ago. The black ink of redaction covers nearly 950,000 instances of his name. Nine hundred and fifty thousand times the American people were told they don’t get to know what their president was doing with a man who trafficked children.
This isn’t about political tribes. This is about power protecting power while the rest of us are fed circus acts and told to focus on illegal immigrants and gender pronouns.
The Bondi hearing laid it bare. Attorney General Pam Bondi sat before Congress and put on a performance that would make a Real Housewives cast member blush. Smarmy. Combative. Evasive as hell. When Ted Lieu played footage of Trump and Epstein laughing together at Mar-a-Lago and asked whether underage girls were present at that party or any gathering Trump attended with Epstein, she refused to answer.
Just refused.
Deflected. Raised her voice. Threw out buzzwords like “transparency” and “Trump derangement syndrome” as if congressional oversight was a personal attack on her character. She invoked the Dow hitting some imaginary milestone like stock prices could sanitize what’s in those files.
Then came the survivors.
Women who were trafficked as girls. Women who named names. Women whose testimony was carved up with redactions so thick you couldn’t see daylight through them. Thomas Massie pointed out that survivor accounts identifying the men who trafficked them had been gutted beyond recognition. Black bars swallowing names. Black bars swallowing details. Black bars burying truth like bodies under fresh concrete.
Those survivors were asked right there in that hearing room whether they had requested meetings with Bondi’s Department of Justice. Whether they’d been granted the opportunity to speak. To be heard. To get justice.
Hands went up. One after another.
Not one had been given a meeting. Not one.
And Bondi sat there scrolling her phone. Snacking. Eyes fixed anywhere but their faces. On her notes. The ceiling tiles. The exit sign glowing red overhead. She refused to look at them. Refused to acknowledge their existence. These women who survived hell and came forward to name names, and the attorney general of the United States treated them like they were invisible.
You could feel the collective recoil. That stomach drop when you watch someone in power choose cruelty over duty. Choose loyalty to a man over justice for victims.
This is who she works for. Not the Constitution. Not the American people. Not those girls in the files. Donald Trump. Her loyalty shoots straight up the power chain to him. She’s a fixer. An enabler in a tailored suit who treats proximity to power like worship and accountability like blasphemy.
Jewish Lobbyists must be forced to register as Agents of a Foreign State. Those who refuse should be expelled immediately from America.
You keep doing great work.
Thank you.
Thanks Jose , another scumbag I learned of today .