When Monsters Write
the Ending
The party of Trump crowned a trafficker as truth-teller,
erased the victims, and marched our democracy one step closer to the abyss.
Aug 26, 2025
The truth isn’t disappearing by accident — it’s being
buried alive with a predator’s grin. That’s the second season of this Trump
shitshow: an endless mudslide of corruption, cruelty, and circus-grade
distractions. Raids on enemies. Goons on the street. Manufactured meltdowns
about autopens and football teams. It never stops. One atrocity piles on
another until you’re gasping for air.
And that’s the point. They want you suffocating. They want
you broken. They want you too tired to notice when Trump teases America about
“needing a dictator,” and the crowd laughs like he’s delivering a punchline
instead of a confession. They want you too numb to fight. Too overwhelmed to
scream. Too exhausted to remember.
Are you f'ng kidding me?
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And in that blur, the story that should stop the nation
cold is being drowned out: the United States Department of Justice, under
orders from Donald Trump, sat across from Ghislaine Maxwell — a predator in
designer heels, a monster who hunted girls in gyms and malls, who promised them
opportunity and delivered them into hell, who groomed them, trained them, broke
them, then handed them to Jeffrey Epstein like offerings on a platter — and
handed her the keys to rewrite history.
Picture it: a sterile prison room, fluorescent lights
buzzing overhead, a tape recorder blinking red. Across the table: Maxwell,
convicted of luring children into Jeffrey Epstein’s orbit of velvet and
violence. And opposite her, not a prosecutor. Not an FBI agent. Not anyone
sworn to stand with the victims. Opposite her sat Todd Blanche — Donald Trump’s
personal criminal defense lawyer, now installed as Deputy Attorney General of
the United States.
That’s the scandal inside the scandal. Blanche wasn’t there
to serve justice. He wasn’t there to defend survivors. He was there for Trump —
to secure a line, a soundbite, a scrap of theater he could parade as proof of
innocence. Not innocence for the country. Not truth for the record. Innocence
for one man.
And Maxwell gave it to him, with the smirk of someone who
knows her leverage: “He was always a gentleman.”
One line from a convicted trafficker, and suddenly Trump
had his shield. Within hours, Fox News was running it in banners. Marjorie
Taylor Greene was tweeting it like gospel. MAGA influencers were calling it
vindication. The same people who once demanded Release the files! now waved a
predator’s blessing like a crucifix.
Because that’s what this was always about. This wasn’t an
investigation. It was a cover job. Trump sent his fixer into a prison to wring
out the one thing he believed could bury the Epstein story forever — the one
thing he could brandish to silence the demands for the truth he promised years
ago.
And I am fucking sick of it. I am sick of watching the
predators rewrite the script while the victims get erased. I am sick of
watching the bad guys get away with bad things, over and over, while the people
who were broken by them are told to sit quietly in the dark. I am sick of half
of this country pretending not to see it.
But the survivors do see it. They always see it. They live
with the weight every single day. They carry the memories in their bones, in
their nightmares, in the silence they were forced into. They don’t get to
forget — and that’s what makes it obscene that this government would hand the
microphone to their trafficker and let her rewrite the story.
“It’s like letting her rewrite history while we watch,” one
victim’s family member said, stunned at the spectacle. Another survivor put it
even plainer: “It’s like being erased all over again.”
Even hardened DOJ veterans flinched. One called the meeting
“bewildering.” Another admitted it was “not a vigorous interrogation.” Everyone
knew what they were watching. It wasn’t justice. It was propaganda — Maxwell
playing oracle, Blanche masquerading as a prosecutor while really acting as
Trump’s defense attorney in government drag.
This wasn’t accountability. It was desecration dressed up
as due process — a government in disgrace handing a trafficker the microphone
and telling survivors their truth doesn’t matter.
Because this was never about evidence. It was about
theater. Propaganda dressed up as transparency, spoon-fed to a public they
think is too exhausted to resist.
Maxwell wasn’t confessing. She was bargaining. She wasn’t
exposing crimes — she was covering them. She dangled absolution like bait,
knowing Trump’s machine would bite, knowing loyalty was the only currency that
mattered. And sure enough, the payoff came. Weeks later, she was quietly moved
to a minimum-security camp in Texas — a transfer corrections experts called
“unusual” for a convicted child sex trafficker. Reports even suggest she now
has work release. Imagine that: a woman who hunted children for Jeffrey Epstein
now strolling in and out of prison while the girls she destroyed remain trapped
forever in the cages of memory.
That isn’t justice. That isn’t mercy. That is treason
against every child who ever begged to be believed. It’s betrayal carved into
the seal of the United States, a government signing its name to the erasure of
its own daughters. It’s America spitting in the faces of survivors, telling
them their pain is negotiable, their trauma disposable, their truth a
bargaining chip to be traded away if it keeps Donald Trump safe.
And Republicans? They cheered. They applauded. They clapped
not for truth, but for cover. Not for justice, but for survival. They clapped
for the erasure of survivors because erasure is what loyalty to Trump now
demands.
And the hypocrisy is obscene. Who leapt to endorse
Maxwell’s word? Rep. Jim Jordan. Jim fucking Jordan — the man accused of
ignoring sexual abuse at Ohio State while he was an assistant coach. The man
who looked away while wrestlers were assaulted now looks America in the eye and
declares he believes Ghislaine Maxwell. Think about that: a man accused of
protecting an abuser choosing to sanctify the lie of a convicted trafficker.
Not because she’s credible. Not because it’s justice.
But because her lie shields the madman he serves.
This isn’t coincidence. This is the blueprint. An
administration that rewards predators with power. The man who bragged about
grabbing women “by the pussy” sits in the Oval Office. The man accused of
ignoring wrestlers being molested chairs the Judiciary Committee. The woman who
trafficked girls is treated like a credible witness. The man found liable for
sexual abuse presides from the Resolute Desk while his
fixer-turned-DOJ-executive engineers the cover-up.
This isn’t government. This is a carcass dressed up in
ceremony, democracy hollowed out and stinking of rot — a grotesque theater
where predators are crowned and survivors are erased.
And through it all, Donald Trump sneers and spins — one day
dismissing the Epstein files as a “Democrat hoax,” the next promising lists of
names he never produces. The photographs are everywhere: him and Maxwell,
smiling, orbiting each other for decades. They were not acquaintances. They
were friends. Personal friends. And when Maxwell was arrested, when she was
convicted, when the world saw her for exactly what she was, Trump didn’t
condemn her. He wished her well. Three separate times.
Not once has he denounced her crimes. Not once has he
spoken for the girls she trafficked, the lives she shattered. Instead, he lets
her play redeemer — her words treated like scripture while the testimony of
hundreds of broken lives is shoved into a locked drawer.
Let’s not mince words: Donald Trump is no “gentleman”. He
is a devourer draped in power, trailed by the accusations of more than two
dozen women — their stories rising like a chorus of ghosts he cannot silence,
no matter how loudly he rants. He is a man found liable for sexual abuse in a
court of law, branded by the very system he spits on. He is not misunderstood.
He is not falsely maligned. He is a beast who bragged — with the feral grin of
entitlement, with the pride of a man who believed himself untouchable — about
grabbing women “by the pussy.” Not in shame. Not in regret. But in triumph.
And now we’re supposed to believe that one line from a
trafficker erases all of it. That Ghislaine Maxwell’s word is stronger than
verdicts, stronger than survivors, stronger than history itself. That’s not
hypocrisy — it’s surrender. It’s the Republican Party looking the country in
the eye and saying: we will side with the predator if it keeps our guy in
power.
And if you’re exhausted, I get it. I’m tired too. There are
a million fires burning at once. It’s impossible to keep up with all of them.
But that’s the plan. They are marching this democracy off a cliff, and in the
avalanche of distraction, this story — of all stories — cannot be the one that
fades.
Because if this story fades, so do the faces. The faces of
fourteen-year-old girls, lured with promises of opportunity, vanish into
shadows. The testimonies they gave — trembling hands, broken voices — gather
dust in file drawers while predators rewrite the record in real time. The cries
that once filled courtrooms are drowned out by applause for a trafficker
calling a president a “gentleman.”
If this story fades, history itself is corrupted. Survivors
become footnotes. Their scars invisible. Their courage erased by propaganda.
The predators don’t just win in courtrooms. They win in memory. And what is
memory, if not the foundation of justice? What is justice, if not the refusal
to let monsters edit the record of what they did?
This one matters. It matters more than a thousand petty
scandals, more than the churn of daily outrage. It matters because it tells
every survivor in this country that their pain can be bartered away, their
trauma is expendable, their truth disposable if it inconveniences power.
And I say this as a survivor myself: I know how isolating
it can be, how dark and lonely it feels to carry something unspeakable inside
you while the world looks away. I know the silence that sits like a stone on
your chest, the shame that was never yours to begin with, the nights when it
feels like no one will ever believe you, no one will ever stand with you. That
is what makes this moment unbearable — to watch a government hand a microphone
to a predator and let her erase the voices of those she abused, the voices that
already had to fight like hell just to be heard once.
And if we let that slide — if we shrug it off, if we scroll
past it, if we let ourselves believe it’s just another grotesque episode in the
Trump circus — then we are complicit in the silence predators depend on.
This is the line in the sand. This is the scandal that
cannot be forgotten.
I am sick of the bad guys winning, and I will not stop
until every fucking one of them is dragged into the light. History will not
remember the excuses — it will remember those who shielded the monsters, and it
will remember those who had the courage to confront them instead.
I love you guys.
Stay safe, stay strong, and keep demanding the answers
these survivors deserve.
💙 Jo
