The President's Son's Dirty "Art" Sale
The president's scheming son just sold five shitty art prints for $75,000 each. $375,000 for printed art. The veil our government uses to cover its corruption has decreased to a thin piece of paper. Not because the people are up in arms. Not because some three-letter agency has held fire and investigation to the criminals. The government has become so complacent in its crooked ways that they no longer bother going through the trouble of disguising the bullshit.
To drive the fork further into the thigh-meat of the public, the art gallery who cooperated with this shit-show received upwards of $500,000 in government loans meant to to to covid relief for small businesses — a large chunk of the fund is meant to help with employee paychecks. Get this, the art gallery has two employees.
Across the country, thousands of small businesses have closed their doors for good unable to withstand the financial trials of the pandemic. Most of these businesses received no help and many were fined, threaten, and harassed for their attempts at remaining in operation through the covid crisis.
There’s not even a vague hope that this will lead to public outrage and any retribution at all. This isn’t a country where the people are well-known to FEAR their government. However, most of our cowardly society fears the backlash that they might receive from their peers if they ever spoke out about such an obvious discretion.
We’ve beaten ourselves into a sad submission. The media orchestrates outrage and aims it at anyone who it deems an enemy. The public, easily manipulated, performs the peck-to-death social executions on command.
Speak out about Hunter Biden’s corrupt art sale and they’ll say you don’t support the military. Be loud about the allocation of the taxpayers’ money and they’ll call you a communist and write little articles about your hatred of freedom and disrespect of the American flag and Abe Lincoln’s dumb beard. Meanwhile, the so-called leaders of this country are stuffing their pockets with three hands.
Rampant nepotism spreading like gangrene across the family trees of our elected officials. Hunter Biden has already been red-flagged when he received hefty payments from the country’s so-called arch enemy, a Ukrainian natural gas company, Burisma. The conflict of interest exists, not as a rumor, but with a clear paper trail. Yet, anyone who questions the legitimacy of our holy elections will be skewered as a conspiracy theorist and a nut job.
No media outlet has the balls to follow the blood-money trail. When world-class pedophiles slip away from their prison cells, when activists end up suddenly suicided, when ungodly amounts of taxpayer money vanishes into thin air — the organizations responsible for investigating, the journalist responsible for sharing the information, the people responsible for keeping their government in check — do nothing more than raising a collective eyebrow.
No, we’re an over-comfortable society that prefers to drive their hatred at foreign bodies. We’ll boycott China and shake our fist at communism and bomb the life out of the middle east because we’ve been lulled into a gigantic case of Stockholms Syndrome. Maybe we pick targets further away and less familiar because the returned stones do not threaten the thin protection of our own glasshouses.
Even a glasshouse would offer more protection than the art prints, probably done with chewed crayon, on paper ripped out of Hunter Biden’s coloring book. Yet, we sit here, with our dicks in our hands, raging about liberals versus democrats, attempting to stick it to our neighbors with big hokey flags, all the while a long line of trucks carrying our tax money pulls out of sight, heading to the middle east where the money will be laundered, washed in blood, and deposited into the offshore bank accounts of our elected officials.
It’s no wonder they spend millions of dollars on election campaigns. They’re well aware of the fact that they’ll get that money one-hundredfold in return if they land the job. The same plain-sight corruption exists when presidents do their post-office speaking tours for $500k a pop. No transcripts, no cameras, only the same thirty-minute pep-talk in a cooperate auditorium, performed under the ambient slurping of expensive wine and gourmet foie gras. The former political leaders stroll away with a heavy check in their breast pocket and some corporate secretary's lipstick on their cock.
At last, the news cycle will bury it under superficial celebrity drama. They’ll perform the same misdirection when questioned, refusing to comment, a smug untouchable grin pooling in the corner of their thin greedy lips.
How to stop it? I probably shouldn’t suggest my morally flawed ideas, it begins with “ass” and rhymes with mass political “fascinations” or “lacerations” or “conflagration.”
And I thought I was a supporter of the arts. If you’ve got any ideas of your own, shoot me a message.
