In yet another episode of “Reality Is Optional,” President Donald Trump has declared that the recently buzzed-about Epstein files are, in fact, a giant hoax cooked up by the Democrats. A devious scheme! A political hit job! A conspiracy worthy of a Netflix docuseries narrated by a stressed-out Morgan Freeman!
There’s only one tiny, microscopic, nearly invisible problem: Trump simultaneously demanded a DOJ full investigation into Bill Clinton’s involvement with Epstein, based on those very same files he just finished labeling a hoax.
A hoax so dangerous, apparently, that it must be investigated immediately. Preferably by a task force funded with taxpayer dollars and armed with flashlights, ambition, and absolutely no sense of irony.
Of course, the internet reacted the only way it knows how: by making popcorn and taking screenshots.
On one side, Trump supporters nodded vigorously, insisting that the files are fake ...fake except for the parts that totally prove Clinton’s guilt. On the other side, Democrats responded with a collective eyebrow raise so high it achieved low orbit.
But the fun doesn’t stop there. The real comedic perfection lies in the idea floated joyfully by half of Twitter that during this brilliant new investigation, the investigators could very well stumble upon Trump’s name scattered across Clinton’s Epstein files like confetti at a morally questionable parade.
Imagine the scene: A dimly lit room, stacks of documents, a weary investigator muttering, “Um… sir? We found Trump’s name. Again. And… again.”
Meanwhile, somewhere in Florida, Trump is declaring to reporters, “My name is only in the files because Democrats forged it seventeen different times using seventeen different pens in seventeen different fonts. Everybody knows it.”
Experts, meaning anyone with common sense and a pulse, note that Trump’s approach is a bold new style of crisis management called the Schrödinger Strategy. The files are both fake and real until someone opens them, at which point they become fake again.
But the dark humor of the situation is unavoidable. We are, after all, dealing with a story involving the world’s least mysterious mystery: billionaires doing suspicious things on private islands. Every time someone says “bombshell revelation,” society collectively sighs and says, “Of course. Obviously. What else is new?”
And now, as both political parties clutch their pearls and pray their names don’t pop up on page 47, the American public gets to watch the grand spectacle: politicians pointing fingers so aggressively it could qualify as a new Olympic sport.
Trump, for his part, will continue insisting he’s never even heard of Epstein, despite the photographic evidence of him hearing of Epstein very enthusiastically on several occasions.
Clinton’s camp will issue statements so polished they could be used as mirrors.
And somewhere, the universe is laughing, darkly, sarcastically, and with the exhausted sigh of a planet that has seen far too much.
But hey, at least it’s entertaining. In a “we’re all doomed, but at least it’s funny” sort of way.
No comments:
Post a Comment