The Epstein Iceberg

This is my very first take on the latest Epstein release. I want to bleach out my eyes after reading about 100 articles on this trance of documents from Hell. There is so much more to shock and horrify than I cover here, but this is a first go.

The Epstein document dump of January 30, 2026, was not a victory for transparency; it was a forensic autopsy of a rotting civilization.

What we received was three million pages of digital vomit, a sprawling, 180,000-image testament to the fact that the people who run the world are not just more powerful than you; they are fundamentally more depraved.

That degeneracy now sits in the Oval Office, in Cabinet positions within the Trump Administration, and in the transactional money-and-power culture that defines this White House. The Epstein Files Transparency Act was a rare, bipartisan lever into a corrupt and sick world that needs sunlight, bleach, and a flamethrower.

Even this Department of Justice, steered by criminal cover-up artists like Todd Blanche and Pam Bondi, couldn’t stop the signal in the end.

They were forced, at long last, to hand us a broad, though still heavily redacted, map of a pedophile’s playground nestled within the elite layers of global power. Even through the hamfisted black bars of the DOJ’s censors, the stench is unmistakable. It is the smell of old money, new tech, and the kind of entitlement that believes the laws of God and man are merely suggestions for the “little people.”

Let’s look at the revelations trickling out of this latest tranche, shall we? If you have the stomach for it.

Across the Atlantic, we already knew Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor, the man formerly known as a Prince, possessed questionable judgment and vile impulses. But the January 30 release peels back the skin on a level of sycophancy that would make a court jester weep.

Emails show that after Epstein’s 2008 conviction…well after the world knew exactly what he was … Andrew wasn’t just “maintaining a friendship.” He was playing the eager host. “We could have dinner at Buckingham Palace and lots of privacy,” he wrote. Lots of privacy. In the hallowed halls of the British Monarchy, a convicted child predator was invited to break bread and, presumably, browse the “menu” of human misery Epstein provided.

Then there’s the “gift.” Epstein, ever the concierge of the carnal, offered to arrange a dinner for Andrew with a “clever, beautiful and trustworthy” 26-year-old Russian woman. Andrew’s response? He was “delighted.” He even asked if it was “good to be free” from house arrest. It is a chilling reminder that for the high-born, Epstein wasn’t a monster; he was a travel agent for their perversions.

If the royals represent the decayed past, the tech titans and financiers in these files represent our dystopian present.

Leon Black, the private equity titan Epstein called “Mr. Big,” haunts these documents. We see lists of “gifts” totaling over $600,000 to former models connected to Epstein. Black’s lawyers were carbon-copied on emails discussing the surveillance of women. It is the banality of the evil that gets me, the breezy way these titans utilized Epstein as a combined tax advisor, social secretary, and pimp.

Then we have Elon Musk. Oh, Elon...