A LETTER TO EPSTEIN, HOLDING THE KEY TO HELL

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Submitted Date 08/12/2019
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Dear Epstein,

The US is weeping. The globe is shrinking away in discomfort. The children you bought, the children you sold, the children you reaped such immeasurable profits from will never be the same. And, Mr. Epstein, had you not been so wealthy, you would have been shut down long ago. I understand why you did it: the mere prospect of bringing world leaders to their knees is not only contrary to popular opinion but also dangerous as FUCK. If you hadn't done it, someone else would have, hence people aren't always entirely sure you did it yourself in the first place. Was your guard bribed? Not too far fetched when you consider the names implicated by your victims. Both sides of the aisle in the United States, and a sweeping group of nasties from across the world. How could the wealthiest in the world go down in flames? Particularly when you got away with this blasphemy for so long simply because of the demand you were supplying. You were a medium by which others could conquer their desires without being touched. You were untouchable because you fed the wealthy, because you fed politics, and because you held power in your man-purse full of coinage.

money

Make no mistake, had you been poor you would have been rehabilitated, perhaps, and then required to report to your jurisdiction. I worked in a prison for two years, you piece of shit. I watched twenty-one-year-olds who were on ten-year sentences and will be sex offenders required to report for life for offenses as innocent as sharing nude pictures of their partners. Sending pictures. Not raping, not selling, and definitely not enslaving. But you. You held the children of our world in your grasp and because of your firm hold on your contacts--you definitely had friends in high places looking the other way--and because of your power in financing situations, you were allowed to slide.

And here we are.

Here we are with so many questions your coward ass will never face. Typically, suicide is a slow death. A dripping of the psyche into a deep abyss from which it can not return. Depression is a cancer, and those who typically kill themselves do so because they've been dying for years and only finally realize that their times have come. It's not pretty, it's not right, but it is. Believe it or not, you make those who take their own lives look bad. You are despicable.

Yours was not a life of despair, of hardship, but of frivolous sex and of luxury. You killed yourself, if indeed that's what happened, because you were too chicken-shit to name the names of the princes, of the presidents, of the prime ministers, who FUCKED the girls you recruited. Disgusting. You extricated yourself from your own behavior because of pure, unadulterated, cowardice. What do we have now?

Despair

We have a president, Trump, claiming to have had nothing to do with you. We have a Duke of York swearing his innocence in the face of such proclamations that the Devil himself would turn red (toe-sucking, you bet!). We have prime ministers unnamed, we have governors and who knows how many other celebs that are hiding out because you, YOU, didn't have the BALLS to say that what you did was not only wrong, but supported and inflamed by the money and prowess of those in the most powerful of positions.

In case you don't know, this sex trade, this illegal sex trade built and hidden by money and only money, is the same exact situation we experience when we consider the oil fields, pharmaceutical companies, and other high-profile, despicable escapades in our country. Why do they do what they do? They have money. How do they get away with it? They have money. Money is the influence. Those in power don't shrink from improprieties as long as they benefit monetarily, sexually, or ideologically, from such depravity. We need a political revolution. Period.

Depravity

Dear Mr. Epstein, sitting in Hell, burning for the entire of eternity:

I hope that the screams of the girls you sent into the pulpits become the screams that won't leave your throat while you howl when the flames lick your feet, lick your stomach, lick your cheeks. I hope that the girls-turned-women you employed come forth and scream from the rooftops since they couldn't do such then...you were too untouchable. Clinton, Trump, Andrew. You're touchable now, and you know it. I hope you watch upon the earth as your name is destroyed. I know you saw the beginning, but have you seen it since? We here on earth find you the biggest, not only pedophile--the worst of the worst--but coward, for taking your life. Dig in, dig it, burn.

BURN.

 

 

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