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Laylines @LaylinesBand - Video: We are back! Have you heard our latest single "Down Way Out" the theme song for Rippaverse's Dirty Deeds Comic?
Who knew Southern Rock, Trap, and Anime Metal could mix so well!
This tune is now available on all your favorite digital platforms!
https://x.com/LaylinesBand/status/2020193314927178104
Lee Zeldin @epaleezeldin - Farmers want to be allowed to fix their own equipment. They are RIGHT and the Trump admin couldn’t agree more, which is why we are advancing farmers’ RIGHT TO REPAIR. New op-ed with @SecRollins @SBA_Kelly
https://www.newsweek.com/cabinet-members-president-trump-is-strengthening-farmers-rights-opinion-11466974
https://x.com/epaleezeldin/status/2019963842852450747
Legal Phil @Legal_Fil - WEF casually discussing the use of biological weapons.
Quote
Defiant L’s @DefiantLs
WEF World Economic Forum Matthew Liao: We can induce 'meat allergy' by using Lone Star Ticks to stop the consumption of meat and “help the planet”
https://x.com/Legal_Fil/status/2020197626717556867
LHGrey @grey4626 - Chelsea fucking Handler...queen of the late-night sneer, self-appointed high priestess of feminist outrage, professional Trump-derangement case who built an entire career shrieking about powerful men abusing women while conveniently forgetting the night you parked your ass at a dinner table with one of the most notorious child traffickers in modern history.
Yes, darling. That dinner.
The one at Jeffrey Epstein’s Upper East Side townhouse...post-2008 conviction, mind you...where you rubbed elbows with Prince Andrew...Woody fucking Allen and his adopted-daughter-turned-wife Soon-Yi, Charlie Rose (later canceled for his own sexual predation), and Katie Couric as your plus-one chaperone.
You’ve told the story yourself, multiple times, with that trademark cackle...like it’s some quirky Hollywood anecdote instead of a glowing red flag screaming moral bankruptcy.
You claim you “didn’t know who Jeffrey Epstein was.”
Bullshit.
This wasn’t 2005.
This was around 2010.
Epstein had already plea-dealt his way through Florida, registered as a sex offender, served his joke of a sentence with work release, and was back hosting “star-studded” evenings for the exact same elite circle that always knew exactly what he was.
The New York media had already started whispering.
The Palm Beach police reports were public.
Conchita Sarnoff’s reporting was circulating.
Anyone with a functioning Google and half a conscience knew this man was radioactive.
But not you, Chelsea?
You just “happened” to wander into his mansion with the most toxic collection of alleged and confirmed predators outside of a Weinstein awards after-party?
Please.
That’s not ignorance. That’s willful fucking blindness.
You sat there, observed the vibe, felt it was “weird” enough to ask Woody Allen...on record, the man who married his ex-girlfriend’s adopted daughter after allegations of molesting another...how he and Soon-Yi “met.”
You claim it was innocent curiosity.
Right.
Then Katie Couric supposedly grabbed your arm and dragged you out before you caused a scene.
Cute story.
Almost believable if you hadn’t spent the last decade positioning yourself as the fearless truth-teller who eviscerates powerful men for far less.
But when it’s your own social circle?
Silence. Amnesia.
Classic narcissistic compartmentalization: one set of rules for the peasants and political enemies, another for the Manhattan media aristocracy you desperately wanted to join.
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