There are moments in life when the curtain is finally yanked back, revealing the grotesque megachurch machinery behind all the fog machines and strobe lights. And if you didn’t already know who was pulling the levers—if you still didn’t know—Elon Musk (of all people) just gave you one more chance. One more tweet. One more public-facing glimpse into the sickness you chose to excuse.

Trump is all over the Epstein files (que sarcastic group-gasp from all of us NOT in the cult).

Elon said it. It’s not a leftist conspiracy. It’s not some deep-state psyop. It’s not a hit piece from The Atlantic or MSNBC. That chainsaw wielding, piss-down-his-leg-from-all-the-ketamine, tech billionaire douche bro just told you. Trump’s name is woven into the fabric of one of the most grotesque stories of systemic child rape and exploitation in modern history. And I need you to hear me: you don’t get to pretend anymore.

You don’t get to call yourself the “party of family values.”

You don’t get to wear your “Jesus is my Lord and Savior, Trump is my President” T-shirts to the rally.

You don’t get to look me in the eye and claim the moral high ground while flying a fucking Trump flag.

You sold your soul. To a pedophile. And for what?

Tax cuts?

Owning the libs?

The goddamn Supreme Court?

Look, I’m past the point of pretending. I’m past softening the edges for the sake of politeness. This isn’t political anymore. This is about children. About their bodies. About their trauma. About their lives. And every single one of you motherfuckers who made Trump your messiah—especially the ones I call family—chose to protect a monster instead of the most vulnerable among us.

You made your choice.

And I wouldn’t trust a single one of you assholes to be alone with my daughter.

Because what if the worst happened? What if something unthinkable took place and you were the one she needed to protect her? You’ve already shown that you would lie. That you would gaslight. That you would make excuses. That you would vote again for a man who partied with Epstein and wished Ghislaine Maxwell “well.”

You’d sell us out. For acceptance in a cringey cult. For your white supremacist social club. For your seat at the table of power. You’ve already proven that.

I’m talking to my own family and in-laws here. Yeah, you, if you dare to stand on some fucking business for once.

You showed me who you are when you put that wretched flag up, when you were “there in spirit” on Jan 6, when you turned away every time more evidence came out. I begged you to look. I pleaded with you to read. I asked you to believe me when I said, “There is something deeply evil about this man.”

But no. You stuck your flag in the ground and wrapped your faith around a man who fucks kids.

I hope the tax refund that you’re not even getting was worth it.

And don’t even come at me with “all sins are equal.” You know that’s bullshit. You don’t believe that. Nobody does. Even hardened criminals in the prison system know the lowest of the low is a child molester. That’s why, as Kendrick said, “you better not ever go to cell block 1.” Because even the most violent offenders have a moral line. Apparently more than you.

You like to think of yourselves as “law and order” folks, don’t you? You scream about protecting the children when it comes to drag queens and rainbow flags and people reading The GayBCs at the library. But when an actual, documented, jet-hopping, Mar-a-Lago hosting, beauty-pageant-watching pedophile strolls across your stage and promises you a kingdom of guns, bibles, and white Jesus statues?

You bow.

You clap.

You donate.

You vote.

So, now what?

Now that you can no longer claim ignorance, what are you going to do?

Because the truth is, this was always the end of the road. There was always going to be a reckoning. You were never going to be able to hold your head up high while defending him forever. Eventually, the mask would slip. Eventually, the receipts would come due. Eventually, everyone would know what some of us have been screaming since 2015:

Donald J. Trump is evil.

Not “flawed.” Not “controversial.” Not “rough around the edges.” Fucking. Evil.

You can call me dramatic. I don’t give two shits. I’ve read the Gospels, and I know who Jesus flipped tables over. It wasn’t the drag queens. It wasn’t the feminists. It wasn’t the immigrants or the woke college kids. It was the powerful men who used religion as a front to exploit the weak. The exact kind of man Trump has always been.

So, again, what do you do now?

Do you double down like all the cultists who have come before you, clutching your Made In China MAGA hats like talismans against the truth? Do you go down with the ship, eyes closed, ears covered, chanting “fake news” as the Atlantic water rushes in? Or do you finally—finally—repent?

And no, I don’t mean some abstract spiritual repentance where you cry your little snowflake tears and say your little prayer and vote for the child-fucker again next November.

I mean real repentance.

Tear down the goddamn flag.

Call out your goddamn church.

Tell the truth at your next goddamn family gathering.

Apologize to your Godblessed children.

Start making amends to the people you’ve hurt with your allegiance to a goddamn rapist.

But let’s be honest and admit that most of you won’t. Because you’ve come this far. And admitting now that you were wrong would be admitting that you defended the indefensible. That you turned your back on your own kids. On my kid.

And maybe that’s the real reason I’m angry. Because the betrayal isn’t theoretical. It’s personal. You would watch us burn alive for your sloppy savior in a red tie. You would sell out your own queer family, your own Black neighbors, your own trans coworkers, for a man who took the stand and pled the Fifth when asked about child trafficking.

Do you think God is proud of that?

Do you think Jesus is coming back with a Trump bumper sticker on his lifted pickup truck?

No.

No the fuck he isn’t.

And this is the part where I tell you the truth I wish weren’t true:

I don’t hate you.

I pity you.

Because what a pathetic life that must be. To be so desperate for belonging, so terrified of losing status, that you hand over your soul to a man who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire. A man who wouldn’t lift a finger to save your children, but would absolutely fuck them if he knew could get away with it.

You’re not the hero in this story. You’re not even an NPC. You’re nothing but background noise in the fall of a never-yet-great nation. You’ve stood for nothing. And so you’ve fallen for everything. To quote Hamilton—and don’t worry, I know most of you haven’t seen it because you think Broadway is gay—“If you stand for nothing, Burr, what will you fall for?”

Well, now we know. You fell for the golden calf in a red hat. You fell for the reality show villain with a Bible upside down in his hands. You fell for a pedophile. And you dragged Jesus into the muck and the mud with you.

And when history writes its chapter on you?

You’re fucked.

But maybe—maybe—you’ll still have time to write a different ending. Assuming you actually care more about praying for kids than you do about protecting those who prey on them.

But honestly? I’m not holding my breath. You better hold yours though because your ship is sinking faster than Trump would fuck his own daughter.

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