How to Lose A RICO in 8 Weeks: Hire Maurene Comey
Was She Sabotaged by Trump—or Sabotaging the Truth All Along? A Deep Dive Examining the SDNY Prosecutor Behind Epstein, Maxwell and Diddy
The day I arrived at the Diddy trial, a journalist sitting next to me pointed across the courtroom to a woman with mousy brown hair and poor posture.
“That woman is a powerhouse” she whispered.
It wasn’t one of Diddy’s glamorous baby Mamas. It wasn’t one of his famously high-paid female defense attorneys with a fresh manicure.
"That’s Maurene Comey," she said. "I think I’m her only fan," she added, sheepishly grinning like she had a secret crush on a Baby-Sitter’s Club villain.
To her, Maurene Comey was the real star of 500 Pearl Street. Not the grey-haired mogul in the hot seat. Not his twins in matching pinstripe pantsuits. Not even his legendary attorney Brian Steele, who won over the hearts of hip-hop after helping Young Thug get acquitted from his own RICO case.
Comey was the it-girl to pay attention to. After all, was there anyone in the room more powerful than her? The woman who put Ghislaine Maxwell behind bars. The daughter of former-FBI Director James Comey. The Harvard-bred brainiac who never relies on charisma to win a case against the elite. Just a folder of sealed documents she’s been appointed and trusted to handle.
She gets by with a little help from the feds.
“The feds win over 90% of their cases,” I heard that stat on loop for eight straight weeks in New York—parroted by YouTubers like Tisa Tells and echoed by mainstream anchors who were sure Comey’s team had Diddy’s RICO locked. They spoke like he was already serving 15 years to life.
I was confused where this confidence was coming from.
The jury wasn’t vibing with Maurene Comey. Neither was the internet.
“Don’t forget who her father is! He’s the most corrupt!” comment sections exploded anytime her name came up.
Sure, Teny Geragos came from legal royalty too—daughter of the high-profile defense lawyer Mark Geragos. And yet, despite defending the man caught on camera violently beating his ex-girlfriend, she wasn’t dragged the way Maurene Comey was.
Comey entered the courtroom with baggage. Her surname alone triggered distrust. Her role in the Maxwell trial had already lit up conspiracy forums. By the time this trial began, her credibility was almost as scorched as the famous defendants.’ To much of the public, she wasn’t an impartial prosecutor—she was a deep-state puppet, a high IQ operative sent by the feds to stage a takedown while secretly shielding the elite from real trouble.
Maurene Comey, “You’re Fired!”
Just as the internet was up in arms over Trump declaring the Epstein Files a “hoax,” news broke that the Department of Justice— under the watchful eye of Pam Bondi— had fired Maurene Comey.
This was the biggest breaking news story since finding out Diddy liked applesauce on his cheeseburgers.
The 36-year-old prosecutor who had just spent eight long weeks trying to put Diddy behind bars for life, suddenly got Trumped.
“You’re fired!” the DOJ screamed.
It felt like a Black Mirror episode of the The Apprentice.
Diddy’s PR rep, Holly Baird, shared the news on her Instagram story.
“DOJ Fires Maurene Comey from the United States Attorney's Office for the Southern District of New York,” outlets reported.
“Ding Dong, the wicked witch of the SDNY” is gone, Comey’s haters sang, overjoyed that the government’s most infamous nepo hire would no longer be in a position to operate in the shadows to protect celebrities and politicians, a theory conspiratorial thinkers suggest.
But anyone familiar with Comey’s case history, knows this sudden termination probably had little to do with the underwhelming outcome at the Combs trial— and more to do with her family bloodlines and close proximity to the Epstein case.
Her father—former FBI Director James Comey—was fired by Donald Trump in 2017 after confirming that the FBI was investigating Russian interference in the 2016 election. Recently, media reports suggested Trump just launched an investigation into both James Comey and former CIA Director John Brennan for their roles in the Russia probe.
Since 2015, Maurene Comey has been handed some of the most high-profile cases in the country by the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Southern District of New York. She assisted in the Epstein prosecution in 2019, led the charge against Ghislaine Maxwell, and—up until her abrupt firing this week—was working on the Nick Tartaglione case, the former cop accused of killing four men and facing the death penalty. Tartaglione is also the inmate who shared a cell with Epstein in 2019 and claimed he found him unconscious after his first alleged suicide attempt.
After Trump announced that the Jeffrey Epstein Files were a “hoax,” attempting to rewrite history one Trust Social post at a time, Americans went ballistic. Both the left and the right demanded the President to stop gaslighting the American people and release the files— a promise he made when campaigning for president. As we’ve watched Trump drum up new Epstein Files origin stories each day, Comey’s sudden firing feels strategic. She’s the common thread running through every case connected to the late convicted sex trafficker. If anyone’s standing in the way of Trump’s revisionist history tour for this case, it’s Comey. She’s seen the evidence, knows what’s really in the vault and is unafraid to stand up to powerful men.
It’s been almost 48 hours and Comey has yet to hear the reason she was fired.
The Department of Justice did not provide an explanation, just a memo that read “presidential authority.”
According to sources, in the lead-up to his decision, Trump repeatedly vented to confidants that he didn’t want a single Comey working under his administration.
Comey put out a memo of her own, addressed to her colleagues.
“If a career prosecutor can be fired without reason, fear may seep into the decisions of those who remain,” she warned.
“Fear is the tool of a tyrant, wielded to suppress independent thought,” she continued, “Instead of fear, let this moment fuel the fire that already burns at the heart of this place. A fire of righteous indignation at abuses of power. Of commitment to seek justice for victims. Of dedication to truth above all else.”
The irony is hard to miss. For years, Comey prosecuted the abuse of power. Now, she claims, she’s a victim of it, too.
Was firing Comey an act of justice, political theater, or a strategy to rewrite the narrative of the Epstein saga? It all depends on who you ask.
If you ask Alex Jones, he’ll likely back Trump on his decision. Since the Diddy trial wrapped, Jones has been calling out James and Maurene Comey. Jones, like many conservatives, doesn’t trust James Comey, framing him as a symbol of the deep state—a disloyal, bureaucratic threat.
Even more shocking than hearing Trump fired Comey, was seeing my face on The Alex Jones Show and InfoWars. Two of my hot takes live outside the Diddy trial were featured during his anti-Comey segments, calling out the father/daughter duo for corruption. My courthouse recaps supported Jones’ theory that every trial Maurene Comey touches turns into a “show trial.”
One giant distraction with no real outcome.
I had already been working on a critical thought piece examining Maurene Comey—her mishandling of the Combs case, the eyebrow-raising choices she made throughout the trial, and my up-close view of what went wrong inside room 26B.
So many reporters got the verdict wrong. Somehow, I got it right.
And maybe that’s why my videos are now entangled into an Alex Jones deep-state expose— cemented into the Comey family conspiracy web forever.
When John Mayer sang—“If you trust your television, what you get is what you got, ‘cause when they own the information, ooo they can bend it all they want”—he was warning us. He knew the power information held.
In an era where corruption hides in plain site and “facts” are manipulated, gut instinct is all we’ve got left. Vibes are the last honest metric to assess truth.
Thanks to everyone who donated money to my line sitter fund, I was able to snag a seat inside the main courtroom and accurately track the vibe.
And from the very start, my gut told me:
Something was off about Maurene Comey.
The Plain Jane Prosecutor
At first glance, Maurene Comey doesn’t exactly scream powerhouse. If that journalist hadn’t pointed her out, I would’ve assumed she was just another junior prosecutor. She blends in with the rest.
No blowout, no makeup, no power walk in loud designer pumps you can hear clacking down the hallway. Her flats don’t make a peep. Neither do her outfits—a barely memorable rotation of muted pencil skirts and ill-fitted blazers. She slouches during direct examinations, eyes often buried in her notes. She never bothers to stand up straight, even when the whole world’s watching.
Her aura radiates valedictorian who played first-chair clarinet, extra credit “for fun.” The student who bought every textbook, even when the syllabus said “optional.” That girl with a type-A father just a little too involved—redlining her senior thesis between his 5 a.m. cold plunges and Russian collusion briefings. Every time she addresses the judge, she sounds like the brown-nosing student who reminds the teacher to collect the homework.
Above all, she screams rule follower. The “best friend” who’d rat you out for skipping class. Valuing protocol over people. Lawfulness over loyalty. In another life, she would have made a fantastic hall monitor.
The rest of her team’s aura? I couldn’t tell ya. Somehow, Comey, even understated, was still more memorable than her team better known as “the six pack of white women,” as Mark Geragos famously put it during jury selection. As a white woman, I can attest that these women are as white as it gets. Even their names couldn’t get any whiter—“Elizabeth, Christy, Meredith and Madison.” Ladies, your pumpkin spice lattes are ready!
Compared to the sharp-suited, media-savvy defense with distinguishable personalities and ethnic diversity, Comey’s team was dull and devoid of flavor. You could have swapped them out with six vanilla ice cream cones and the jury wouldn’t have noticed a difference. They felt less like federal prosecutors and more like math teachers saving up for Eras Tour concert tickets.
During breaks, Diddy’s defense team smiled and schmoozed the press and public in the hallways—warming up to anyone that could help restore their client’s public perception. They gracefully responded to sidewalk heckling each day, answering tough questions ranging from “is your client a pedophile” to “what’s on your Spotify playlist?”
Comey’s team was never seen roaming around the federal grounds. They avoided the public and press at all costs.
Sure, federal courts aren’t a runway. But unless you’re one of Combs’ sons treating 500 Pearl like a Zoolander 3 audition, appearances still say something. And during most of the trial, Maurene Comey’s said:
“I’m not trying — because I don’t have to.”
Comey carried herself like someone who believed the win was hers by default. Her hunched over posture boasted “the system is mine.”
The quiet confidence only someone who’s seen the real Epstein Files would display. The attitude of someone who knows whether or not a human trafficking tunnel exists beneath the Getty Museum.
And when Trump fired her this week—no warning, no reason—he confirmed what the internet’s been screaming for years:
Maurene Comey was given too much power. And it’s possible, at this point of her career, she really does know too much.
So the question remains: was she sabotaged by Trump or sabotaging the truth all along?
EXAMINING THE CURIOUS COMEYS:
I didn’t pay much attention to Comey the first month of the trial. Nothing about her screamed “notice me.” But during the second month, she started behaving noticeably different. Her tone grew theatrical. Her podium grip was tighter. She finally had the competitive edge, fighting for the win rather than believing it was already hers.
One sunny afternoon in June, I remember watching Comey address the jury and thinking to myself, “Wow, this woman really wants this.”
Her voice pierced through the court room. She was standing straighter than usual.
“This evil lady really wants to destroy one of ours!” I heard an older woman tell a group of her black peers in the hallway.
Even she could feel it— Comey’s quiet war against Combs grew personal.
She leveled up her approach that day—whether by choice or necessity—because the prosecution’s second star witness was crumbling on the stand.
Jane Doe Fumbles Her Testimony
She was supposed to be the knockout punch—the government’s “most important witness yet.” We were bracing for bombshells that would seal the Bad Boy legacy shut. Instead, Jane Doe’s testimony wrecked the prosecution’s case.
Teny Geragos’ cross-examination was fatal. With every question, she chipped away at Jane Doe’s credibility. Combs was still paying her rent up until her arrest. She’d continued participating in “freak offs” even after speaking with federal agents in 2024.
Then came the contradictions. Sexts, pulled from the archives, showed her organizing sex parties and introducing escorts to other celebrities—after her relationship with Combs had ended. She admitted to flashing her breasts at a celebrity party. The defense painted her as not just complicit, but enthusiastically involved grown adult who made adult choices.
By the end of cross, Jane Doe looked like the prosecution’s liability.
And Comey knew it.
Jane’s unraveling lit a fire under Comey. She rushed back to the podium determined to claw back the credibility her witness had just torched. It suddenly felt like a courtroom cage match between two strong female attorneys with famous fathers, locked in a war for control of the narrative.
For a few minutes, I finally saw the “powerhouse” side of Comey.
Comey’s voice was louder than ever, more urgent. She spoke fast and surgical, trying to stitch up the damage Geragos had inflicted. She knew she needed a mic-drop moment to win back the hearts of the jury— a sentimental moment to remind the jurors why they were really there.
“Jane, tell everyone why you’re here today,” Comey asked her as a final question, clearly expecting a soaring declaration about justice and survival.
Instead, Jane paused and said in a soft baby voice:
“Because I was subpoenaed.”
You could almost hear Comey’s soul leave her body. This was the witness the government had just called “the most important yet.” And in front of the jury, she’d just confirmed what many other witnesses had already implied: she didn’t want to be there.
Then to make matters worse, she left the stand and hugged not only the prosecutor but also Teny Geragos. Had Jane Doe just played the entire room?
When Comey was asking Jane Doe questions, she’d break into tears, . But when Geragos would question her, suddenly her personality shifted into stereotypical “bad bitch,” quipped with empowered statements and snarky zingers you never saw coming.
“She really is THAT bitch,” a popular YouTuber said, claiming Jane Doe knew the game she was playing.
Another YouTuber speculated that maybe Jane Doe used this moment to prove to Diddy she wasn’t the submissive side chick he saw her as. She was the prize, worth far more than $10,000/month, the surprisingly low “love contract,” she signed during their relationship.
The Blind Spot that Cost Prosecutors the Case
Speculation exploded inside the court room: did Jane Doe throw the case on purpose? And if so, why would Comey—Harvard-trained, deep state adjacent, daughter of the FBI’s most controversial man—risk everything by putting her on the stand? Her contradictions didn’t just muddy Cassie Ventura’s testimony; they undercut the entire case. Online theorists guessed this was intentional sabotage orchestrated by the feds.
Watching from the courtroom, though, it didn’t feel like a setup. It felt Comey got played.
It didn’t seem like Comey didn’t fully understood Jane Doe’s story—or the type of woman she was dealing with— the modern woman who tells a jury that she regrets not starting an OnlyFans. Who hops on commercial flights to attend a freak off with her boyfriend and an escort. Who asks her boyfriend for $15,000 to cover the cost of a small birthday dinner. Who flashes her tits at a rapper’s hotel party in Vegas because the “energy” felt right.
This is the modern woman Comey was dealing with.
Comey wanted Jane to fit the narrative the prosecution had been running with—that all Diddy’s victims were manipulated, coecered, and helpless. Jane’s story was different. More nuanced. Harder to read. And this blind spot may have cost her the case.
Theory: The Prosecution's Sheltered Nightlife
The week of Jane Doe’s testimony, I met up with a group of journalists for a dimly lit dinner in Williamsburg. One of them said something I haven’t been able to shake: “It’s clear Maurene Comey and those prosecutors have never encountered an OnlyFans girl in their lives.”
We laughed, but she had a point. The prosecutors were women who likely never had more than two beers in college. Probably never shared a blunt with a stranger. Never swallowed a Molly pill at an EDM festival. Yet for some reason, much of their case was built on the idea that Diddy’s secret world was some kind of underground cartel—but for anyone who’s been to a Hollywood afterparty, it was all painfully mid.
They painted his drug use like it was Pablo Escobar-level criminality. But when Brendan Paul took the stand—the supposed “drug mule”—he came off like your average Syracuse grad turned assistant who Diddy would occasionally ask for drugs. One time Diddy asked him to find him a “couple Xans.” I looked down in my purse and realized I had more Valium pills in my bag than Diddy had in these “drug trafficking” stories.
If I sued a liquor company, would the feds be after me, too?
Weak Witnesses Called to the Stand, Strong Witnesses Ignored
Multiple witnesses throughout the trial praised Diddy and told the government they didn’t want to be there. Brendan Paul was one of them. He, like many others, told the jury they were only testifying against Combs because “prosecutors forced them to” with a federal subpoena. Many times on the stand, multiple witnesses failed to remember key details they had told the government during federal meetings pre-trial.
Comey and her team prepped the jury by painting some of these witnesses as victims of Diddy’s alleged decades-long criminal operation. But when some of these former Bad Boy executives would get on the stand, they told a different story. That Diddy was a wonderful mentor and boss. That this was a job they never wanted to leave.
One witness, Mia, who accused Diddy of sexually assaulting her multiple times allegedly threatened to commit suicide when she was fired. His right hand man, Kristina Khorram, texted her sweet messages to calm her down and talk her off the ledge. These texts were shown to the jury during closing arguments to hammer the point home that Kristina Khorram was a normal, attentive, and caring executive at Bad Boy, not the dark, elusive boogeyman the prosecution painted her to be.
The public wanted to know why KK never showed. Rumors started swirling that she was hiding in a tunnel somewhere. Or maybe fled to a tree fort in Bali. Somewhere peaceful and free from the feds.
However, music Producer Charlucci Finney, Diddy’s Godbrother, who was at court house all eight weeks of the trial, escoriting the Combs family in and out of the van each day, told me that KK was not hiding. He said that Comey allegedly didn’t call her to the stand because Khorram is still Team Diddy and Comey knew she’d make statements that would weaken the prosecution’s case. Others supported this theory by saying that the feds were building a case against Khorram and were waiting to convict Diddy to go after her.
The public still had questions.
Where was Aubrey O’Day? Gene Deal? Jaguar Wright? Why didn’t the government call these outspoken voices to the stand, who have been unafraid to speak publicly about Diddy’s alleged criminal behavior over the years. Why did they only invite witnesses who sang his praises?
It made you wonder three things:
What was the prosecution’s vetting process like? How did they determine who was a credible witness and who was not?
Were the final witnesses paid off? Were they intentionally set up to bomb their testimonies to hurt the prosecution’s case?
Was Comey the mastermind behind the failed testimonies? Was she the “operative” the internet believed? A plant sent in to protect Diddy and give the world a “show trial?”
Comey’s Final Words: Pretentious and Desperate
During closing statements, the prosecutors laid out the RICO charges so clearly it felt like a college presentation—bullet-pointed, linear, and airtight. One by one, they walked the jury through each alleged crime, connecting the dots with precision. For the first time in weeks, even Diddy’s most loyal defenders looked uneasy. That night, I went home thinking, “Comey’s got this in the bag.”
But the next morning, Mark Agnifilo rolled into court like a man with nothing to lose. If Maurene Comey’s delivery mirrored Hillary Clintons’, Agnifilo’s mirrored Trumps’. He didn’t rely on facts to discredit his opponent. He leaned into his native New York charm, cracked corny Dad jokes and leaned into the online conspiracy chalking this entire case up to a “sham,” a waste of tax payers dollars.
Agnifilo didn’t speak at the jury—he spoke to them. Sometimes even with them. They nodded. They smiled. Two of them even laughed a few times. At one point, someone even responded to one of his rhetorical questions.
Some reporters in the room that day described his closing statements as “brilliant.” Others called it “unhinged.” To each their own.
I could tell the jury was enjoying it. Their opinion was the only one that mattered, holding the power to determine the fate of Sean “Diddy” Combs life forever.
When the moment came when Agnifilo questioned the motives of the prosecution team, all hell broke loose.
“My client, Sean Combs was targeted by the United States Government.”
Agnifilo told the jury that the feds started investigating Diddy after Cassie Ventura filed her lawsuit, even though none of the victims reported any of these crimes to the police. He said the feds took it upon themselves to launch their own investigation in an attempt to destroy the legacy of a black billionaire.
Once Agnifilo finished, the proctors stormed to the judge, fuming. Agnifilo had broken a federal courthouse rule. An attorney is never allowed to question the motives of the government.
The jury was dismissed for a break.
For ten minutes, the two attorney's argued before the judge, figuring out how to erase this hiccup. Comey’s team requested that the judge tell the jury to “disregard” that part of the closing, but everyone in the room knew the damage was already done. The jurors heard the message loud and clear. Nobody could un-ring that bell now.
The jurors were welcomed back into the court room for Comey’s final statements. She needed a Hail Mary.
She started addressing the jury—her voice louder than usual, her tone more condescending than ever. Almost desperate. She sounded like she was talking down to them, using the same pretentious cadence Hillary Clinton adopted when annoyed by Trump’s interruptions during their debate: sharp, smug, patronizing. It felt like she was taking out her pent-up frustration with Agnifilo on the jury instead. A few of the jurors stopped making eye contact. The room grew tense. It became genuinely uncomfortable to watch.
I grabbed my bag and excused myself ten minutes early. I couldn’t take another second of Maurene Comey speaking to a room full of adults like they were a bunch of idiots. Maybe Agnifilo was right. Maybe this trial really was a sham—a targeted attack against a powerful Black billionaire to seize his hard-earned assets.
Other independent journalists felt the same. They left the courthouse that day praising Agnifilo’s closing remarks. I filmed a video imitating Comey’s condescending tone, offering her some unsolicited advice—free of charge.
Comey’s Protecting High-Profile Celebrities
Comey and her team came off like cold, robotic elitists. They didn’t read the room. By the end, my outrage toward Diddy had shifted—toward Comey and her colleagues. Something about her screamed deep-state fed, like she was hiding something, aided by the quiet complicity of her cronies—and maybe even the government itself.
I started replaying moments from the trial that made my gut twist. Like the day she begged the judge to redact the celebrity names from the Vegas freak-off story. Diddy’s defense had no problem naming names, but Comey insisted on keeping them secret—and the judge agreed.
Why? She had no issue dragging assistants, unknown escorts, and low-level staff into the spotlight—asking them questions that were frankly humiliating. But the moment powerful celebrities entered the frame, it was redactions and restraint. The selective protection didn’t sit right. It felt like she was shielding someone. Or several someones.
It reminded me of the whispers surrounding her other big case—the Maxwell trial. Why is Ghislaine the only one behind bars, when the crimes were committed against dozens, maybe hundreds, of victims? Sure, she’s guilty of trafficking victims to Epstein. But where are the other convictions? Why does the chain of accountability always seem to stop just before it gets interesting?
Is a Freako a RICO?
Comey and her team painted Combs as the ringleader of a criminal empire propped up by a cast of loyal co-conspirators. But none of those alleged players ever took the stand. “Where’s Kristina Khorram?” “Where’s D-Roc?” They never were called to testify.
In closing arguments, Mark Agnifilo mocked the government’s narrative, likening their treatment of Khorram to a “Ghislaine Maxwell” smear. He countered by holding up a blow-up photo of Mia, KK, and other smiling Combs Enterprises staff—everyone beaming like it was a Christmas card. “Does this look like a criminal enterprise to you?” he asked the jury. “What’s the first word that comes to mind?” He bet it was “family”—not RICO.
To no surprise, in the end, the jury unanimously agreed: A Freako is not a RICO.
A rhyme I’ll forever be attached to thanks to the paparazzi who snapped a photo of me holding up the neon green t-shirt outside after the verdict was announced.
The jury ruled Combs “not guilty” on the three biggest counts, RICO conspiracy and two counts not sex trafficking. Comey and her team gracefully accepted the defeat. They didn’t argue the verdict. They sat quietly until they were dismissed, never to be seen again around the courthouse again. No press conference. No final curtain call.
The show was over.
The question remains…where are the blackmail tapes?
Where are the Rumored Celebrity Blackmail Tapes?
In the early days of the trial, it came out that Homeland Security had only raided one of Diddy’s two Miami properties—Star Island 2. They left his adjacent property, Star Island 1, untouched. How convenient.
Shortly after, Diddy’s son, King Combs, dropped a track bragging that the feds had “raided the wrong property.” The internet lit up. Was Star Island 1 the real vault? The one with the infamous blackmail tapes rumored to show celebrities and politicians in compromising sexual acts. The ones supposedly used for leverage and control?
I guess we’ll never know. Eight weeks passed and not a single mention of these damning blackmail tapes the internet expected the feds to find at Diddy’s home.
Eight weeks passed. Not a single mention of surveillance video blackmail. The only video the feds admitted to having? Footage handed over by Cassie Ventura. Footage the alternate juror recently described on CNN as “tame.”
Naturally, suspicions grew. Was the government covering something up?
Online theories exploded: that Maurene Comey was working with the feds to bury the tapes—just like the Epstein files. But now that Trump’s DOJ has fired her, days after declaring the Epstein case a “hoax,” you have to wonder: why?
If Trump were really on the tapes, wouldn’t he want Comey to bury them forever? Or is the fear that, under pressure—or out of revenge—she might leak them?
What we do know: the Epstein files are being whitewashed in real time. And Comey, now ousted and disgraced, may be sitting on evidence the world was never meant to see.
Maybe she won’t go quietly. Maybe she’ll burn it all down on her way out of SDNY—leaking the tapes the internet’s been asking for.
But knowing her vibe—tightly wound, law-and-order loyalist, the kind of woman who files her taxes in January and never drives five miles over the speed limit—I doubt she’ll take that risk.
She’s not Elon. If Elon had the tapes, he’d launch them from Mars.
They always say truth is stranger than fiction. But lately, the government wants us to believe the opposite—that fiction is somehow more outrageous than the truth. That our collective imagination about Epstein is nothing more than political fan fiction—an elaborate hoax penned by the Dirty Dems and exaggerated in our minds.
Tomorrow, the truth we were sold yesterday will bend again. And like clockwork, we’ll be expected to blindly follow along.
All we can do now is sit back and binge-watch The Epstein Files—America’s most exciting new fictional series, brought to you by the White House: Home of the “Most Transparent Administration in History!”
This is how you do a deep dive 👏 I haven’t seen any article on Maurene like this so far. Great job!
What an informative and well written piece! You have the brain for a REAL deep dive and bring a refreshing, honest, and hilariously witty perspective. Well done! Can’t wait to read your next article 👏🏼