No. of Recommendations: 14
⚠️ SPIRITUAL SATIRE AHEAD
If you're allergic to irony, critical thinking, or basic human decency, you may experience side effects such as rage, deflection, or an urge to comment “fake news” without reading. Consult your inner guru before proceeding. No refunds for lost illusions.
📖 And Lo, He Proclaimed
It came to pass in the Land of the Great Delusion, that the Anointed Orange One did proclaim from his holy pulpit at Mar-a-Lago:
“Behold, the Epstein file is upon my desk!”
And the red-capped disciples did rejoice, casting aside logic like unwanted subpoenas.
“Lock her up!” they cried.
“Drain the swamp!” they bellowed.
“Protect the children—from everyone but us, obviously!”
They waited, and waited, and waited some more.
Yet, lo, the Desk of Trump—like the Ark of the Covenant, the Holy Grail, and Trump’s actual Bible—remained unseen by mortal eyes.
📜 The Gospel According to Pam Bondi
Then came Pam Bondi, high priestess of televised deflection, who did go unto the airwaves of Fox and speak in solemn tones:
“It’s on my desk. I’m reviewing it.”
Blessed be her desk, for it contained:
A pile of unpaid bar tabs
Several cease-and-desist letters
One (1) Chick-fil-A gift card
And the sacred, mysterious Epstein list—wedged, allegedly, between a selfie stick and an urgent fax from Kris Jenner.
And the QAnonites did ask, “Where is the list?”
And the MAGA elders replied in parables:
“It’s 5D chess.”
“He’s waiting for the perfect time.”
“He’s protecting us… from the truth.”
🧙♂️ Seek Ye First the Kingdom of Distraction
A prophet arose on Twitter, bold and unforgiven, saying:
“If he had the list, he would have used it already.”
But the faithful drowned him out with memes of Hillary, Hunter, and hashtags like #TrustThePlan—which is spiritual code for “We have no plan.”
And Trump, seated upon the throne of ego, offered up new scrolls to the masses:
Golf scores, arrest mugshots, and limited-edition sneakers that could not save a single child, but could definitely raise $1.5 million before lunch.
🐫 The Camel, the Needle, and the Classified Folder
A rich man came to Trump and asked:
“Master, what must I do to inherit eternal dominion over the libs?”
Trump answered:
“Sell all that you have.
Give it to my PAC.
Deny everything.
Blame China.”
“But what of the Epstein file?” the rich man asked.
Trump looked upon him with the weary gaze of one who’s never read a book and said:
“It’s easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle…
than for me to finish reading anything over two pages without pictures.”
And the rich man went away grieved—for he was under investigation.
🦊 Fox and the Lost Scrolls
Rumors sprang forth like roaches in a Florida Airbnb:
“The list is in Giuliani’s glovebox!”
“No, Jared hid it in Dropbox under ‘Totally Not Blackmail Material.’”
“Bannon used it to start a fire in his bathtub.”
And lo, the FBI did open the Trump scrolls—those sacred classified folders hidden in the lavatories of Mar-a-Lago—and found…
golf tee times.
Maps of Iran.
A coupon for Big Macs.
But the list?
Nowhere.
For like the conscience of a career politician, it was always “just out of reach.”
💸 The Tithes of the Uninformed
And the people gave.
Oh, how they gave.
$25 for a mugshot mug.
$50 for a hat blessed by the ghost of Roger Stone’s dignity.
$1000 for a prophecy: “He will save the children.”
They chanted “Epstein didn’t kill himself,”
while conveniently ignoring how many photos exist of their messiah smiling next to him like it was prom night in pervsville.
They stormed the temple of facts and screamed:
“Why haven’t THEY been arrested?!”
And the prophets of propaganda whispered:
“Soon. As soon as he’s president again. Promise.”
🪞 A Final Revelation
In a truck stop bathroom somewhere outside Tallahassee, scrawled in vape pen ink, was a final verse from the Book of Q:
“You shall know them by their silence, their distractions, and their ability to have dinner with Nazis while blaming Hunter’s laptop.”
And the list?
It now dwells in the seventh layer of Florida bureaucracy.
Guarded by a sentient stack of unpaid taxes and one confused intern named Chad.
Some say the list was real.
Some say it was bait.
Some say it was never there.
But Virgin Monk Boy has seen enough to know:
If someone actually had the Epstein file... they’d be dead, not doing podcasts.
🙏 The Monk’s Closing Prayer
Dear Spirit of Satire and Spilled Secrets,
Grant us the courage to face inconvenient truths,
The wisdom to see through golden idols,
And the grace to ask:
Why do the loudest protectors of “the children”…
always seem to have dinner reservations with the accused?
Amen.
Or whatever.
With love, irreverence, and unsolicited enlightenment,
Virgin Monk Boy
(Still waiting for the file. Not holding his breath)
