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You’ve spent years screaming about Trump’s decades-old Epstein adjacency...never mind that he banned the creep from Mar-a-Lago after Epstein creeped on an underage girl there, cooperated with investigators, and was explicitly cleared by victims like Virginia Giuffre under oath.
But you?
You dined with the monster himself, post-conviction, alongside Prince Andrew...the man later stripped of titles for his own Epstein ties...and you want a pass because “I only met him once” and “I’ve never been to the island”?
Spare us the selective virginity act, you curated fucking bitch.
You didn’t need to board the Lolita Express to be complicit.
You just needed to show up, smile, eat the canapés, and pretend the stench of corruption wasn’t choking the room.
That single dinner places you in the exact same moral sewer as every other celebrity who “didn’t know” while enjoying the perks of proximity to power.
You’re not innocent. You’re calculating.
You laughed in the same room as Prince Andrew and Woody Allen and never thought to ask why this guest list felt like a rogue’s gallery of alleged child abusers.
That’s not cluelessness. That’s choice.
And choices have consequences...even for untouchable Hollywood liberals who think their Trump hatred buys them eternal absolution.
You’re not a feminist warrior.
You’re a social climber who looked the other way when the devil was hosting dinner.
Your hands may not be bloody, but they’re not clean either.
Tick-tock, bitch.
https://x.com/grey4626/status/2019414725063233735