Letter to Louisiana: You Can’t Bullshit a Bullshitter

I never fell for it.

Not when he came down that gold escalator. Not when he promised to drain the swamp. Not when he said he alone could fix it. Not when folks swore he was playing 4D chess.

I didn’t buy it. Because like most people raised in Louisiana, I was taught something more useful than any Ivy League degree:

You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.

That was one of the first phrases I ever learned. I heard it from coaches, teachers, neighbors, and family. Anytime I tried to talk my way out of trouble, that’s what I heard. It wasn’t just about catching a lie. It was about gut instincts. The ability to sniff out a fraud.

And Trump? He’s always been one.

I never watched his reality show. Never admired him as a businessman. I just saw a man who was always performing. Always saying whatever he needed to say to get power, applause, or money. I saw the loudness, the finger-pointing, the constant chaos. And I thought, he’s not strong. He’s just shameless.

Still, I understand why some folks bought in. Maybe you believed in the free market. Maybe you thought cutting corporate taxes would grow the economy. Maybe you were tired of the public education system or wanted faith to have a stronger voice in government. I get that.

And I get why Trump seemed like the guy to finally push those things through after other Republicans failed.

But he wasn’t fighting for you. He was fighting for himself.

And now, the Epstein files are pulling back the curtain on what he’s been trying to hide all along.

We’ve seen the signs for years. The lawsuits. The reports. The photos. The stories from women — now grown — who say they were targeted, groomed, and exploited. Not just by Epstein, but by powerful men who ran in the same circles. Men who used modeling agencies and promises of fame to lure young girls into abuse.

These were scams sold as opportunity. Predators hiding behind polished brands and billion-dollar smiles.

I always figured Trump’s name would be in those files. I didn’t need proof. The pattern was already there.

But last week week, when the files started coming out, he didn’t deny it. He said, “So much of the things we found were fake, with me.”

That’s not a denial. That’s a smokescreen. That’s what he always does. Point fingers. Blame the system. Stir chaos so nobody sees who’s really at fault.

And behind the scenes, he reportedly deployed over 1,000 FBI agents to scan every document for mentions of his name. Not to help victims. Not to seek justice. Just to protect himself.

Now the walls are closing in.

And the lie isn’t just shielding Trump. It’s threatening to bury the truth. It’s helping cover up the names of men who abused children. And the ones helping him do it? They’re not strangers from far-off places. They’re our own.

Right now, Louisiana has more national political power than it has had in decades. We’ve got the Speaker of the House. The House Majority Leader. Senior senators. A governor who can’t wait to get Trump’s approval.

Back when Huey Long held that kind of power, he used it to fight for the poor. He helped create Social Security. He got kids free textbooks. He took on the oil giants and built hospitals.

Our current leaders? They’re not using that power for us. They’re selling it to protect one man.

They could be fixing flood insurance. Rebuilding the coast. Bringing jobs and infrastructure home. Fighting for working people. But instead, they’re blocking the release of documents that could finally expose the full truth of Epstein’s network.

They’re not even trying to hide it. Mike Johnson. Steve Scalise. John Kennedy. Bill Cassidy. Julia Letlow. Clay Higgins. They either voted to block the release or stayed silent while Trump lied. Some even helped him shut down Congress to stop the fallout.

With all that power, they could have done something for the people of Louisiana. Instead, they used it to protect a man who may be one of the worst predators alive.

I know some people still think Trump is the hero in this story. That he’s exposing corruption. That he’s the truth-teller, not the one hiding from it.

But let’s be honest. You can feel it. You know better.

This story is old. The villain who pretends to be the victim. The predator who says he’s the protector. The liar who says he’s being lied about.

It’s Cain standing over Abel, telling God he has no idea where his brother went. And thinking God might believe him.

But the truth doesn’t stay buried. Even when you try to silence it, it cries out from the ground.

Trump’s power has always relied on illusion. That he’s different. That he’s bold. That he’s the only one brave enough to speak the truth. But what happens when that illusion breaks? When the lie gets so loud that people stop pretending they can’t hear what’s underneath?

That time is now.

If you supported him, I understand. But staying fooled is exactly what they’re counting on. They are betting that pride will keep you quiet. That you’ll protect them from the consequences.

You don’t owe them that.

You don’t owe Trump anything.

You don’t owe silence to men who would protect predators over children, billionaires over families, or power over truth.

You owe it to yourself to trust your gut.

Because in Louisiana, we’ve always known:

You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.

Dustin Granger

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