A clown juggles empty folders in front of the Capitol while the promised truth vanishes in smoke. In this sharp satirical scroll, Virgin Monk Boy dissects how MAGA turned the Epstein files into a political stage prop—then pretended they never cared.
You saw it. You named it. You danced through the fire and called it church.
If there was a list, your comment would be carved at the top in gold leaf and cheekbone sweat. But there is no list. You imagined the list. Which is exactly why you're free.
And yes—“MAGA: Making Amnesia Great Again” deserves a whole choir chanting it while setting fire to the archives of manufactured memory.
Thank you for witnessing the exorcism with your whole chest.
This perfectly captures how they've turned their own broken promises into proof that you were crazy for believing them in the first place. The religious satire is spot-on - they literally made this their holy grail and now act like you imagined the whole thing.
You nailed it like a 95th thesis on the golden calf.
That’s the gaslight gospel in full swing: “We never promised you salvation. You hallucinated the covenant while we were busy monetizing the altar.” And now? Their holy grail is retroactively a metaphor—unless they need a fundraising hook, in which case it’s back to being literal.
Thank you for seeing the satire and the sermon hiding in the punchlines. You’re the kind of beautiful heretic the monastery was built for.
Truly, a mystery worthy of the Dead Sea Snark Scrolls.
No ears, yet the hats stay perched—perhaps by sheer suction of stubbornness? Or the adhesive properties of conspiracy glue? Either way, the physics of MAGA millinery defy known laws of reason and gravity.
And still, they shout “I hear you!” while tuning into frequencies only audible on the AM dial of delusion.
Sacred mysteries abound. Thank you for noticing the hilarity in the heresy.
Thou hath just Shakespeare’d the scroll into celestial orbit!
“Truth is the sun”—yes, and some still close their blinds and complain about the glare. But not you. You throw the window open, quote Juliet, and bask in the radiance like the literary mystic you are.
May your dawns be holy, your metaphors incandescent, and your heart forever turned toward the east.
My dear Virgin Monk Boy, you are very kind.✨ I’m just a show-off — my knowledge of Shakespeare would fit in a tiny communion cup.
But for all the poor monks, sadly trapped inside the chilly halls of remote monastery gloominess, with libraries full yet Shakespeare-deprived, the line is actually: “But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!” This was spoken by Romeo, late at night after a big party, looking up at a dark window, which suddenly was opened by Juliet.
I realize that monks aren’t expected to know Romeo & Juliet, which is probably for the best, all things considered! May both your dawns & your middle-of-the-nights be blessed. ✨🌙✨
Ah yes, divine infiltration! Chick-fil-A: where the chicken is crispy, the theology is crunchy, and the sacred mischief possibilities are endless.
Picture it—Virgin Monk Boy slipping parables into waffle fry containers, smuggling Magdalene memes into the kid’s meal devotionals, and whispering, “God is love, not a marketing strategy,” into the drive-thru headset.
Operation Holy Subversion is a go.
May your sauces be many and your spiritual sabotage delicious.
You asked where the next Buddha Lama will arrive. I offered two posts published this morning. Not satire—deep teachings on the Magdalene and mystic interiority. You ignored them and reduced the whole stream to “nightmare politics.”
This isn’t politics. This is sacred mischief. Satire, yes—but aimed at delusion. And if even that offends, your subscription includes a toggle to turn satire off. Use it. Or don’t.
But don’t come into the temple complaining about the incense when the teachings are still warm on the altar.
I’m gonna need a minute because this was
🔥 an exorcism,
🩸 a history lesson,
📜 and a sermon I needed more than I realized.
“MAGA: Making Amnesia Great Again” is going on my tombstone.
And bless the sacred truth:
There is no list. You imagined the list.
This is why satire saves me.
Because the gaslight is the altar—
and we’re still lighting the candles.
Lisa. Saint of the Smoldering Truth.
You saw it. You named it. You danced through the fire and called it church.
If there was a list, your comment would be carved at the top in gold leaf and cheekbone sweat. But there is no list. You imagined the list. Which is exactly why you're free.
And yes—“MAGA: Making Amnesia Great Again” deserves a whole choir chanting it while setting fire to the archives of manufactured memory.
Thank you for witnessing the exorcism with your whole chest.
You are why satire still has a pulse.
You are why the candles keep burning.
This perfectly captures how they've turned their own broken promises into proof that you were crazy for believing them in the first place. The religious satire is spot-on - they literally made this their holy grail and now act like you imagined the whole thing.
You nailed it like a 95th thesis on the golden calf.
That’s the gaslight gospel in full swing: “We never promised you salvation. You hallucinated the covenant while we were busy monetizing the altar.” And now? Their holy grail is retroactively a metaphor—unless they need a fundraising hook, in which case it’s back to being literal.
Thank you for seeing the satire and the sermon hiding in the punchlines. You’re the kind of beautiful heretic the monastery was built for.
So well said!
And yet, I'm left wondering just how the MAGAt hats stay in place, given the reality that the acolytes have NO EARS.
Amazing, eh?
Truly, a mystery worthy of the Dead Sea Snark Scrolls.
No ears, yet the hats stay perched—perhaps by sheer suction of stubbornness? Or the adhesive properties of conspiracy glue? Either way, the physics of MAGA millinery defy known laws of reason and gravity.
And still, they shout “I hear you!” while tuning into frequencies only audible on the AM dial of delusion.
Sacred mysteries abound. Thank you for noticing the hilarity in the heresy.
They’re laughing in our faces
Yes, beloved. They laugh—
not from joy, but from the hollow echo chamber where conscience once lived.
But here’s the secret:
Let them laugh.
We’ll laugh louder.
Ours is the kind that liberates, not lords over.
Ours is the laughter that comes after surviving the flames,
after dragging truth through the ash and still daring to dance.
They laugh in mockery.
We laugh in resurrection.
Outstanding! 🌟🌟🌟
Three stars from a cosmic traveler like you? That’s basically canonization in the Monastery of Madness.
Grateful for your shining presence in the scrolls. May your discernment stay radiant, your spirit unruly, and your joy immune to algorithmic despair.
There’s a poem in there somewhere about a whimsical unruly septuagenarian. ☺️
And since neurons that fire together, wire together, my unruly mind whispered “ooh, share that Le Guin poem”. I hear and obey:
Looking Back
Remember me before I was a heap of salt,
the laughing child who seldom did
as she was told or came when she was called,
the merry girl who became Lot’s bride,
the happy woman who loved her wicked city.
Do not remember me with pity.
I saw you plodding on ahead
into the desert of your pitiless faith.
Those springs are dry, that earth is dead.
I looked back, not forward, into death.
Forgiving rains dissolve me, and I come
still disobedient, still happy, home.
•Ursula K. Le Guin
🌅But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Truth is the sun! 🌞
Thou hath just Shakespeare’d the scroll into celestial orbit!
“Truth is the sun”—yes, and some still close their blinds and complain about the glare. But not you. You throw the window open, quote Juliet, and bask in the radiance like the literary mystic you are.
May your dawns be holy, your metaphors incandescent, and your heart forever turned toward the east.
My dear Virgin Monk Boy, you are very kind.✨ I’m just a show-off — my knowledge of Shakespeare would fit in a tiny communion cup.
But for all the poor monks, sadly trapped inside the chilly halls of remote monastery gloominess, with libraries full yet Shakespeare-deprived, the line is actually: “But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!” This was spoken by Romeo, late at night after a big party, looking up at a dark window, which suddenly was opened by Juliet.
I realize that monks aren’t expected to know Romeo & Juliet, which is probably for the best, all things considered! May both your dawns & your middle-of-the-nights be blessed. ✨🌙✨
I like the idea of infiltrating the local chick filet.
Ah yes, divine infiltration! Chick-fil-A: where the chicken is crispy, the theology is crunchy, and the sacred mischief possibilities are endless.
Picture it—Virgin Monk Boy slipping parables into waffle fry containers, smuggling Magdalene memes into the kid’s meal devotionals, and whispering, “God is love, not a marketing strategy,” into the drive-thru headset.
Operation Holy Subversion is a go.
May your sauces be many and your spiritual sabotage delicious.
Please forgive.
What are you referring to?
Two were posted this morning
https://virginmonkboy.substack.com/p/the-church-taught-me-morals-the-mystic-taught-me-to-melt
https://virginmonkboy.substack.com/p/the-magdalene-as-gatekeeper-of-the-paschal-mystery
File redux
You asked
Where will the next gen Buddha Lama arrive?
I responded by providing you the links for two other articles that were published today.
BTW, you can go into your subscription and turn off notifications for the Satire posts if you don't want to be bothered with them.
I have been swallowed up by politics in the past. Politics, war by another means
St Lawrence said, Turn me over. I’m done on this side. While being burned alive.
You asked where the next Buddha Lama will arrive. I offered two posts published this morning. Not satire—deep teachings on the Magdalene and mystic interiority. You ignored them and reduced the whole stream to “nightmare politics.”
This isn’t politics. This is sacred mischief. Satire, yes—but aimed at delusion. And if even that offends, your subscription includes a toggle to turn satire off. Use it. Or don’t.
But don’t come into the temple complaining about the incense when the teachings are still warm on the altar.
I did not ignore; I really adore those posts.