Valethian (Nicholas Jolie)

Donald Trump’s “business genius” is a mausoleum of bankruptcies, sham universities, and Ponzi grifts. His tariffs torch livelihoods, yet conservatives cheer. They hoist J.D. Vance and deify racist Charlie Kirk, not to defend liberty but to smother equality beneath their holy war on “woke.”

“Alligator Alcatraz”: two-thirds missing, the math obscene. Donald Trump’s choir still sings, mourning Charlie Kirk with one breath, laughing at vanished lives with the next. Oceans as graves, patriotism as parody—America cosplaying Russia badly.

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Trump embodies a paradox: adored yet unloved, exalted yet empty. His lust is for recognition from those he despises, a redemption he can never grasp. In this contradiction lies his torment—an endless hunger where power grants everything but the love he craves.

Donald Trump and Charlie Kirk crowned hate as holy, blind to the irony that love alone redeems. Kirk’s death sealed the truth: in spurning compassion, they became empty vessels, preaching Christ yet void of Christ, tragic proof that without love, even faith becomes damnation.

Trump is the antithesis of Christ—no charity, no grace, only hunger for dominion. His flock, drunk on proximity to evil, call it holiness. They clutch a rope of sanctity so frayed it strangles them. He is the man who lost his soul, and they gladly follow him into ruin.

Liberalism drifts, pale and hesitant, too timid to guard its own light; conservatism rages, fierce in its twilight, conserving only cruelty. Both betray liberty—one through silence, the other through violence—until freedom fades between their failures.

Trump seeks not applause but worship, a love beyond the adoration of crowds. Yet the very venom that raised him ensures exile from the hearts he covets. Thus he wanders in power’s desert, thirsting for an oasis of love that forever recedes into mirage.

No great art is born of a purely conservative spirit. Nostalgia excludes, rage consumes, but creation demands openness. Politics postures, faith is twisted—but art remains untouchable, luminous, beyond their grasp, for beauty cannot dwell where spirit is absent.

“Make America Great Again” is a hollow litany serving ideology, not humanity. The faithful boast of morals yet strangle Christ upon the cross they brandish, forgetting He preached love and compassion, never domination or cruelty.

One must question the soul of anyone who urges you to abandon a dream that harms no one yet brings you joy. What motive compels them? Fear, envy, control? It reveals more of their shadows than your light. In such paradoxes, the world shows its strange, unfathomable nature.

The 90s were freer—before politics became every breath. Trump was just a tacky TV punchline, not a dreary puppet of ideology. Today, everything is tribal, performative, exhausting. Tech thrives, but society decays. I miss when life meant more than endless “us vs. them.”

Republicans sanctify Charlie Kirk’s death, dox dissenters, ax Jimmy Kimmel, applaud Brian Kilmeade’s call to kill the homeless, cheer as Donald Trump spits “son of a bitch” at cancer-stricken Joe Biden. Their gospel: cruelty exalted, censorship weaponized—flag-draped ghouls feasting on liberty.

Charlie Kirk dies and J.D. Vance with Mike Johnson cry for job firings over criticism. Yet when John Lewis, a civil rights giant, passed, Trump offered no honor. They villainize Black leaders but sanctify Kirk? Hypocrisy in jackboots—fascism dressed as patriotism.

European Parliament refuses right wing request for moment of silence for hatemonger Charlie Kirk 👏🏼👏🏼💙💙👇🏼

www.washingtonexaminer.com/news/world/3...

Charlie Kirk denied empathy to women, Black people, queer and trans lives, even children slaughtered in schools. Now dead, his mourners beg for it. Trump stokes grievance, the MAGA-faithful parroting xenophobia. The final irony: empathy wasted on the corpse that spat on it.

Decrying violence against political opponents rings a bit hollow when you pull Secret Service protection from your political opponents.

Maybe so. But I’ve seen debts get collected in ways no one expected.

White Christian nationalism is cosplay fascism in choir robes—less Jesus, more Jim Jones with Wi-Fi. They swapped hoods for hashtags and pulpits for policy. When Trump keels over on a cheeseburger, they’ll cry amnesia, but history will staple their hypocrisy to the cross.

That’s your take. I’ve seen karma work like clockwork.

Every time Karoline Leavitt parrots Trump’s lies, that cross she flaunts should burn. She’s not serving God—she’s doing Satan’s PR. Trump buried Epstein’s secrets, dangles pardons like bait, and Leavitt, his ventriloquist’s doll, spews falsehoods on cue.

I leave revenge to the petty. My art is survival—polished, luminous, unbothered. Meanwhile, karma lurks like a debt collector with brass knuckles, ensuring every fraud and coward gets their invoice. Payment is mandatory, and the interest rate is hellish.

Bill Nye: the TV tinkerer with a Cornell BS, bowtie, and brand deal on “science.” Dolph Lundgren: BS chemistry, BS/MS chemical engineering, Fulbright scholar, MIT. One plays a scientist on screen; the other could build a reactor between workouts. Credentials vs cosplay—pick your fighter.

The cosmos doesn’t lack aliens—it’s drowning in them. They just have the good sense not to visit our petty carnival of cruelty, where we crown liars as kings, torch the future for profit, and call it progress. Why would any intelligence bother with Earth’s asylum of idiots?

Trump and Vance are detestable, but it’s Trump’s Epstein ties that reek. He scrubs, silences, threatens—classic guilty man. If there were nothing in those files, he wouldn’t twist the whole GOP to bury them. His terror of exposure is the loudest confession of all.

The straight agenda is everywhere—marriage, kids, religion—yet they shriek when gay affection appears. Imagine having every privilege, every institution, every script written for you, and still crying. Pathetic doesn’t even cover it.

Society is built for straights, yet they whine like children at the sight of two men kissing. We endure their endless weddings and rom-coms; they can’t stomach our love without clutching their pearls and screaming “the children!” Hypocrisy draped in a cross.

“If your dream still lives, if that castle gleams just as brightly in your eyes, then it is your obligation to lay the stones that surround you now.”
— Void, Berserk

#Berserk #Void #Griffith #Eclipse #CastleOfDreams #KentaroMiura #DarkFantasy #MangaQuotes

Black women are worshipped then pillaged: their curves, lips, and style stolen, spat back as parody. Gay men get the same deal—paraded as “sissies” or “queens,” denied love, erased as heroes. This is America’s kink: devour us whole, then swear you never saw us.