Where’s a giant can of Raid when you need it?
Back in July, Congress proved once again it’s less a governing body and more a daycare full of cowardly toddlers. Speaker Mike Johnson—better known as the Human Participation Trophy—slammed the gavel and sent the House home early for recess.
Recess!
Because God forbid anyone in that chamber actually do their jobs when the Epstein files were about to see daylight. Picture it: the biggest scandal of our lifetime, the unmasking of the global pervert-industrial complex, and these clowns bolted for the airport like Spirit Airlines was running a two-for-one sale on flights to “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” Island.
Johnson didn’t lead; he wet his Dockers, waved goodbye, and sprinted out like a toddler who just realized Santa isn’t real. And then there’s Trump—the Oompa-Loompa Mussolini, tangerine dream himself. The creamsicle cosplay disaster who thinks he’s Julius Caesar but actually looks like a traffic cone in a wind tunnel.
This cretin looked straight into the camera and said the Epstein files were “a hoax by the Democrats.”
A hoax.
This is the same man who thought bleach injections were cutting-edge medicine, so pardon me if his grasp on “reality” is shakier than a meth addict on roller skates. Well, unfortunately for him, the victims held a press conference yesterday and nuked his nonsense in broad daylight, rejecting his claim outright. Imagine being so low, so shameless, that women trafficked as teenagers have to publicly fact-check your bullshit while you sit on a gold-plated toilet rage-posting on Truth Social.
Congress? Complicit cowards. Johnson? A jellyfish in khakis. Trump? A bargain-bin Bond villain who couldn’t outwit a stapler. And the rest of the bipartisan cockroach swarm? They’re so allergic to accountability they’d rather guillotine democracy than admit Epstein’s client list isn’t just some fairy tale.
Let’s call them what they are: parasites in suits. They aren’t lawmakers. They’re PR interns for Satan. Every day they stay silent, they prove one thing: they’re not avoiding “drama,” they’re avoiding exposure. And when the names finally drop, these escape artists are going to wish they had Houdini’s trick of disappearing permanently.
Here’s the unvarnished truth carved in fire: if you’re in office and you’re not demanding the full, unredacted Epstein files, then congratulations, you’ve just outed yourself as a collaborator. You’re not protecting democracy; you’re protecting rapists and pedofiles.
So run, Johnson. Lie, Trump. Hide, Congress. The victims already showed more guts than all of you combined. And when the files finally blow open, I hope the fallout burns your legacy so deep it makes Chernobyl look like a birthday candle.
Because recess ends. Hoaxes unravel. And the truth? The truth has a kill switch, and it’s got your names all over it.
