The First Blood: When Invincibility Dies
The Target
He had spent forty years believing himself untouchable. Board seats on twelve corporations. A philanthropic foundation with his name on university buildings. Private jets, armed security, compounds in three countries. The kind of man who had Presidents on speed dial and whose disapproval could end careers with a phone call.
The files had named him three weeks ago. Not just as a visitor to the island, but in victim testimony. Specific dates. Specific acts. A fourteen-year-old girl describing his face, his voice, his particular cruelties. The media had been careful – “alleged” and “accusations” – but social media had no such restraint. His photograph circulated with the words “CHILD RAPIST” overlaid in red letters.
His lawyers had advised him to stay in the Hamptons compound. Security perimeter. Loyal staff. Wait for the news cycle to move on. But his daughter’s wedding was Saturday. His daughter – his pride, his legacy. He couldn’t miss her wedding.
The Wrong Place
The country club in Westchester. Old money, old families, the kind of place where his membership had meant something for three decades. Saturday afternoon, autumn sunlight, supposed to be safe. His security detail had checked the perimeter. Three cars, eight men, all professionals.
But unemployment was at 25 percent. The local police force had been cut in half due to municipal budget collapse. Half the country club’s staff had been laid off as the wealthy members fled offshore or went into hiding.
The crowd started small. Maybe thirty people at first, gathered at the club’s gates. Unemployed workers from the nearby General Motors plant that had closed when AI took over manufacturing. Parents whose kids couldn’t afford college while this man had funded buildings with his name on them – money earned, they now knew, from the rape of children.
The signs were crude but clear: “CHILD KILLER.” “MONSTER.” “JUSTICE FOR THE INNOCENT.”
The Escalation
His security team tried to create a perimeter. Professional, controlled, minimum necessary force. But the crowd was growing. Social media was spreading the location in real-time. “HE’S HERE. THE CHILD RAPIST IS HERE. WESTCHESTER COUNTRY CLUB. NOW.”
More people arrived. Hundreds, then thousands. Not just the unemployed now. Parents whose children had been thrown out of homes because they couldn’t pay rent. Elderly whose Social Security had been delayed indefinitely. Veterans whose benefits had been cut. All watching a man who had raped children sitting safely behind armed guards while they lost everything.
The security team realized the mathematics first. Eight men. Three thousand angry humans. The perimeter was an illusion.
When the first guard tried to call for police backup, he learned the phones were jammed. When the second tried radio, he learned the repeater towers had been damaged – “maintenance accidents” that were becoming suspiciously common around elite properties.
The Moment of Truth
He watched through the bulletproof window of his limousine as the crowd pressed closer. These weren’t people he recognized as human beings. For forty years, humans had been servants, employees, obstacles to manage or tools to use. The idea that they might judge him – that they might have power over him – was literally inconceivable.
His security chief was speaking rapidly into his earpiece: “Executive extraction protocol. Need airlift immediately. Location compromised.”
But there would be no helicopter. The local pilot had a fourteen-year-old daughter. When the call came in, he’d looked at the flight manifest, seen the name, and walked away from the aircraft.
The crowd found the service entrance. Kitchen staff – the few remaining – opened the doors from inside. Some had children. Others had simply reached the point where their survival mattered more than their employment.
The Reckoning
He tried to run. A seventy-year-old man who hadn’t moved faster than a walk in twenty years, suddenly sprinting across a golf course in handmade Italian shoes. Behind him, the howl of three thousand human beings who had found their target.
They caught him at the seventh tee. The same spot where he’d closed million-dollar deals over golf games, where he’d boasted about his connections, where he’d felt most completely master of his universe.
The first person to reach him was a woman. Thirty-five years old, two kids, lost her house when the AI took her accounting job. Her face was the face of absolute fury – not human anymore, something primal and terrible. When she grabbed his collar, her nails drew blood from his neck.
“Please,” he said. The first time he’d said that word in forty years. “Please, I have money. I can pay you. I can help you.”
But money was meaningless when the banking system had collapsed. Help was meaningless from someone who had stolen children’s innocence. The crowd pressed in.
The Horror
They didn’t kill him quickly.
They wanted him to feel what those children had felt. Powerless. Terrified. Begging for mercy that would never come. Every kick, every blow, every cruel innovation was justice for a specific child he had hurt.
They stripped him naked first – the ultimate humiliation for a man whose power had been built on dignity and respect. The designer suit torn to shreds, the expensive watch shattered, the gold jewelry distributed as trophies.
The livestreams started immediately. Dozens of phones capturing every angle, every scream, every moment of his degradation. The footage spread instantly across social media platforms that could no longer be controlled by the elite networks that had once managed information flow.
He begged. He screamed. He tried to crawl away and they dragged him back. The man who had commanded armies of lawyers and bankers reduced to an animal pleading for life.
When they finally hung him from the flagpole – the same pole where the American flag had flown over decades of his charitable galas – he was still alive. Still conscious. Still capable of understanding that everything he had been was ending in the most public, most degrading way possible.
The crowd cheered as his body swayed in the autumn breeze. Children – safe children, protected children – pointed and laughed at the monster who could no longer hurt anyone.
The Message
But the real message wasn’t his death. It was what they did after.
They burned the country club to the ground. Every symbol of his life, every monument to his power, reduced to ash and smoke. They found his home address and marched there next, streaming the location live, inviting others to join them.
The footage was viral within hours. Not just the death, but the joy. The celebration. The absolute absence of remorse from people who had been pushed too far for too long.
By midnight, #JusticeForTheChildren was trending globally. The video had been watched fifty million times. And in mansions and penthouses around the world, the untouchables were learning they could be touched after all.
The Elite Panic: When Gods Realize They’re Mortal
The Viewing
In a penthouse overlooking Central Park, she watched the video for the fourth time. Her hands shook as she held the crystal tumbler of thirty-year-old scotch. The same hands that had signed checks to children’s charities while she procured children for her friends. The same hands that had shaken with Presidents and Prime Ministers who shared her proclivities.
The man on screen – dangling from that flagpole – had been at her dinner party just last month. They’d laughed about the “hysteria” over the files. They’d planned their legal strategy. They’d felt so confident in their power, their connections, their ability to weather any storm.
Now he was crow food swaying in the wind while thousands celebrated below.
The Realization
The security briefing that morning had been apocalyptic. Forty-seven separate threats against her personally in the past 24 hours. Crowds gathering outside her office building. Her private jet grounded because the airport workers were “unavailable.” Her bank accounts frozen by “technical difficulties” that everyone knew weren’t technical at all.
The head of her security team – ex-Delta Force, twenty years protecting high-value assets – had been direct: “Ma’am, we need to discuss extraction options. The environment is no longer permissive.”
But extraction to where? The compound in Switzerland was surrounded. The house in New Zealand had been burned down by locals. Even her husband’s diplomatic immunity couldn’t protect them when entire nations were questioning their own leadership.
She understood now what she had never understood before: her power had always been an illusion. A collective agreement by society to pretend she mattered. And that agreement could be revoked at any moment.
The Cascade of Fear
Her phone buzzed with encrypted messages from the network. People who had seemed unshakeable just days ago now typing in desperate capital letters:
“THEY KNOW WHERE I AM.”
“MY SECURITY QUIT. ALL OF THEM.”
“THEY’RE AT THE GATES. OH GOD THEY’RE AT THE GATES.”
“MARIE IS DEAD. THEY GOT MARIE.”
Each message was a countdown. A roster of the untouchable being touched, one by one. The mathematics were simple and terrifying: there were more of them than there were of us. There had always been more of them. The only thing that had protected the elites was the others’ belief in the system.
That belief was dead now, hanging from a flagpole in Westchester.
The Primal Terror
She had never experienced real fear before. Not in seventy-three years of life. Even as a child, she had been protected by wealth, by family connections, by the certainty that someone would always save her.
But there was no one left to call. The politicians were hiding. The judges had fled. The military was “maintaining order” – which meant staying in their bases and letting the civilian populations sort things out for themselves.
For the first time in her life, she was alone with the consequences of her choices.
The irony was exquisite: she had spent decades exercising power over children who couldn’t defend themselves. Now she was the helpless one, facing a force that couldn’t be reasoned with, bribed, or intimidated.
The Sleepless Nights
Every sound was a threat now. The elevator’s ding could be a mob reaching her floor. The building’s creaking could be someone climbing the exterior. The doorman’s absence could mean he had joined the others.
She tried to call her children – legitimate children, the ones she’d raised normally – but their numbers were disconnected. Her grandchildren’s private school wouldn’t take her calls. Even her own family understood that association with her was now a death sentence.
The sleeping pills didn’t work anymore. How could they? Sleep meant vulnerability. Sleep meant dreams, and her dreams were filled with the faces of children she had hurt. Children who were grown now, who had names, who had voices, who had told their stories to the world.
In the old days, money had made their voices disappear. Now money was just paper, and their voices were the roar of crowds calling for blood.
The Final Understanding
By the third sleepless night, watching the news feeds of burning mansions and empty corporate boardrooms, she understood the ultimate truth:
They had created this world. Every policy that had widened inequality. Every regulation they had killed that might have protected people. Every safety net they had torn down to preserve their own wealth. Every child they had hurt while hiding behind their power.
They had built a system so cruel, so extractive, so indifferent to human suffering, that when it finally broke, there would be no mercy for its architects.
The crowd gathering outside her building wasn’t just angry about the children – though that was the spark. They were angry about everything. Decades of being treated as disposable. Decades of watching their communities decay while the elites grew richer. Decades of being told they were worthless while their children were stolen for sport.
The children were just the final straw. The proof that the elites weren’t just selfish – they were evil.
The Wait
And so she waited. In her penthouse, surrounded by art worth more than most people would see in their lifetimes, she waited for the sound of breaking glass. For the elevator doors opening one last time. For the moment when all of her wealth and power would be revealed as the illusion it had always been.
The scotch was gone now. The pills were gone. Even the brandy her father had saved from before the war – all of it consumed in a desperate attempt to numb the terror of knowing that every breath might be her last.
Outside her window, the city burned. Not just the buildings – the entire concept of civilization that had allowed people like her to exist. The careful structures that had kept the masses docile while she and her friends played with their children.
And in the distance, just barely audible through the bulletproof glass, she could hear them coming.
The sound of ten million people who had finally realized they had nothing left to lose.
The Economic Avalanche: When Money Dies
The First Domino: Trust
The lynching footage had been watched 200 million times within 48 hours. But the real damage wasn’t the violence – it was what happened in the 72 hours that followed.
Emily Waltenay, a mid-level portfolio manager at Goldman Sachs, sat staring at her Bloomberg terminal in disbelief. The numbers made no sense. Berkshire Hathaway down 78% in pre-market trading. JPMorgan Chase gapping down 65%. Apple – fucking Apple – down 45% and falling.
But it wasn’t just the individual stocks. The entire concept of market confidence was evaporating in real-time.
The elites had been so focused on their legal exposure, their physical safety, their reputation management, that they’d completely missed the economic earthquake building beneath them.
The Institutional Run
Monday Morning, 6:47 AM EST
The first sign was subtle. Pension fund managers in Ohio and Michigan began liquidating positions in any company whose executives had been named in the files. Not because of legal requirements – because their own retirement-age members were calling with fury that would melt phone lines.
“Get our money out of anything connected to those fucking child rapists. NOW.”
By 8:30 AM, it wasn’t just individual companies. Entire sectors were in free fall. Banking, media, tech, pharmaceuticals – any industry where executives had been implicated.
But the elites in their boardrooms were still thinking in terms of “temporary volatility” and “buying opportunities.” They had weathered market crashes before. They had always bought the dips and gotten richer.
They didn’t understand that this wasn’t a market crash. This was the market itself being rejected as a concept.
The Credit Revolution
Tuesday, 11:15 AM EST
Louise Hartwell, CEO of Hartwell Industries (revenue: $47 billion annually), tried to roll over her company’s short-term debt. Routine transaction. Her company had maintained AAA credit ratings for thirty years.
The call with her longtime relationship manager at Wells Fargo lasted exactly ninety seconds.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Hartwell. Given the current… situation… we’re unable to extend credit facilities at this time.”
“What situation? My company isn’t even mentioned in those files.”
“Ma’am, your name appears in Epstein’s contact book. Our risk management committee has classified all associated entities as… unfinanceable.”
“That is complete nonsense. I had my Lawyer look into this. I called a real estator once, in 2008, who worked for Epstein and he send me brochures. I spoke to Epstein on Skype, twice. I didnt even remember this. I …”
Connection disconnected. They hung up on her.
She called her backup bank. Same response. Her third bank. Same response.
Within six hours, she realized the truth: it wasn’t about evidence or guilt. It was about association. Any company, any executive, any entity that had ever moved in those circles was being systematically cut off from the financial system.
Not by government order. By popular demand.
The Labor Awakening
Wednesday, 2:30 PM
The Amazon warehouse workers in Kenosha had been watching the news all week. The footage of the hanging. The lists of names being released. The pictures of mansions burning.
When word spread that Amazon’s board included two men who had flown to Epstein’s island, something shifted.
It started with a work slowdown. Then a formal walkout. Then something that hadn’t been seen in American labor since the 1930s: a coordinated general strike that spread to every Amazon facility in the Midwest within 48 hours.
But this wasn’t about wages or working conditions. The signs read: “WE DON’T WORK FOR CHILD RAPISTS.”
The union leadership tried to negotiate. Tried to find middle ground. But the workers had moved past negotiation. They occupied the facilities and declared them “People’s Warehouses” – to be operated for the community, not for shareholders who had enabled monsters.
Amazon’s stock price became academic. The company no longer functionally existed in twelve states.
The Professional Exodus
Thursday Morning
Marcus Rodriguez had been a senior associate at Cravath, Swaine & Moore for eight years. Top-tier law firm, seven-figure partnership track, the pinnacle of legal prestige.
He walked into the managing partner’s office Thursday morning and placed his resignation letter on the mahogany desk.
“I can’t do this anymore, sir. Three of our partners are named in those files. My daughter is fourteen years old. I will not work for a firm that defended child rapists.”
“Marcus, think about your career. Think about—”
“Sir, with respect, there is no career. This firm will not exist in six months. Neither will most of the firms in this city. The entire legal establishment is compromised.”
He was right. By Friday, Cravath had lost 60% of its professional staff. Not to other firms – to complete career changes. Lawyers becoming teachers, paralegals starting food trucks, associates joining community organizations.
The exodus wasn’t just from law firms. It was from every institution that had enabled the elite system. Investment banks lost traders. Consulting firms emptied. Accounting firms closed offices.
The professional class was rejecting the professional class.
The Real Estate Collapse
Friday, 4:00 PM
The Hamptons had always been recession-proof. Even in 2008, while the rest of America burned, Hampton property values had held steady. Old money, stable wealth, generational assets.
But now, for the first time in anyone’s memory, the roads leading to the exclusive enclaves were blocked. Not by police – by local residents.
“No one gets in or out until every fucking child rapist is arrested,” read the banner across Route 27.
The implications hit the real estate market like a nuclear bomb. If the wealthy couldn’t access their property, the property was worthless. If they couldn’t flee to their safe havens, the safe havens weren’t safe.
Greenwich, Connecticut. Palo Alto, California. Martha’s Vineyard. Aspen. Every exclusive enclave where the wealthy had concentrated their assets found itself under siege by the surrounding communities they had ignored for decades.
Property values didn’t decline – they disappeared. Who would buy a mansion that came with a guarantee of being trapped inside by angry mobs?
The Banking Panic
Monday of Week Two
The run on JPMorgan Chase started in Detroit. Blue-collar workers who had been laid off by AI and were surviving on unemployment checks began closing their accounts en masse.
“I won’t keep my money in a bank that laundered money for child traffickers.”
The local branch tried to explain that JPMorgan had paid settlements, had reformed its practices, had new leadership.
But the crowd outside wasn’t interested in reform. They wanted revolution.
By Tuesday, the run had spread to every major bank with ties to Epstein-connected individuals. Bank of America, Wells Fargo, Citigroup – lines around the block of people demanding cash withdrawals.
The Federal Reserve tried to calm markets with an emergency rate cut. But the traditional tools of monetary policy were useless when the problem wasn’t technical – it was moral.
People weren’t withdrawing money because they feared bank failures. They were withdrawing money because they refused to participate in a system that had enabled child rape.
The Supply Chain Revolution
Tuesday of Week Two
The truckers were the key to everything, and everyone had forgotten about the truckers.
Jimmy Kowalski had been driving freight for thirty-two years. He’d delivered goods to every major corporation in America. He knew which companies were connected to which executives. He’d seen the private jets, the gated compounds, the security details.
When his dispatcher called Tuesday morning with a delivery to a Blackstone-owned warehouse, Jimmy refused the load.
“I’m not hauling freight for child rapists. Find someone else.”
The dispatcher tried to explain about contracts, about professional obligations, about losing his job.
Jimmy hung up and called his buddy Pete, who called his buddy Rosa, who called her crew chief. Within six hours, the Teamsters had instituted an unofficial but universal boycott of any company with executives named in the files.
The supply chain didn’t break down – it was deliberately shut down. Food stopped flowing to elite neighborhoods. Luxury goods sat in warehouses. Even basic services were suspended to any location associated with the compromised network.
The Currency Crisis
Wednesday of Week Two
The dollar had been the world’s reserve currency for seventy years. It had survived wars, recessions, political upheavals. It was backed by the full faith and credit of the United States government.
But what happened when the government itself was compromised? When half of Congress was under investigation? When the Treasury Secretary had resigned in disgrace? When the Federal Reserve Chair was rumored to be fleeing the country?
Foreign central banks began quietly diversifying reserves. Not because of economic fundamentals – because of moral fundamentals. The dollar represented a system that had enabled systematic child abuse at the highest levels.
China’s announcement was subtle: “In light of recent revelations about American institutional integrity, the People’s Bank of China will be adjusting its reserve composition to better reflect global stability concerns.”
By Thursday, the dollar had fallen 30% against major currencies. By Friday, oil was being priced in yuan for the first time since World War II.
The Insurance Implosion
Thursday of Week Two
Lloyd’s of London had insured everything for three centuries. Shipping, aviation, natural disasters, political risk. They had actuarial tables for every conceivable catastrophe.
They had no actuarial tables for “systematic societal rejection of elite legitimacy.”
The claims started small. Executive liability policies for officers named in the files. Property insurance for mansions burned by mobs. Business interruption coverage for companies boycotted by their own employees.
But then came the systemic claims. Director and officer policies for entire industries. Cyber liability policies for companies whose databases had been leaked by rogue employees. Employment practices liability for firms whose workers had walked out en masse.
The total exposure was incalculable. Not because the numbers were large – because the entire concept of calculable risk had broken down.
Lloyd’s suspended all new policies for American entities Thursday afternoon. Other insurers followed within hours.
Without insurance, the corporate economy ceased to function. No financing, no operations, no growth. The machinery of capitalism ground to a halt not because of government intervention, but because private markets had rejected their own system.
The Revelation: They Had Built Their Own Gallows
Friday Night, Week Two
In his Tribeca penthouse, venture capitalist Jonathan Pembroke stared at his portfolio dashboard through bloodshot eyes. Forty-three investments, collectively valued at $2.3 billion just two weeks ago.
Current value: $47 million and falling.
But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the realization creeping over him like ice water: they had caused this themselves.
Every policy they had pushed to maximize profits. Every regulation they had killed to preserve their advantage. Every social safety net they had dismantled to cut taxes. Every media narrative they had crafted to keep the masses distracted.
They had created a population so desperate, so angry, so stripped of alternatives, that when the truth about their crimes emerged, there was nothing left but rage.
The AI unemployment they had celebrated as “efficiency improvements” had created an army of people with nothing to lose. The wealth inequality they had engineered through financial manipulation had concentrated enough anger to burn down civilization. The social institutions they had corrupted to protect themselves had lost all credibility when it mattered most.
They had built a world so systemically unjust that their own exposure would trigger its complete collapse. They had made themselves too monstrous to be forgiven and too integrated into the system to be removed cleanly.
The ultimate irony: in their greed to extract maximum wealth from society, they had made society too poor to sustain the system that had enriched them.
In their arrogance to place themselves above all law, they had made law itself meaningless.
In their cruelty to society’s most vulnerable members, they had made society itself their enemy.
Saturday Morning, Week Three
The Dow Jones Industrial Average ceased publication. Not because of technical difficulties, but because the concept of industrial averages no longer had meaning when industry itself was being rejected.
The Federal Reserve building in Washington was empty except for security guards. The Chairman had fled to Switzerland. The Board of Governors had “temporarily relocated” to undisclosed locations.
The New York Stock Exchange opened Monday morning to find that 70% of listed companies had stopped reporting financial data. Not because of regulatory failure, but because their workforces had simply walked away.
I had friends in the 1990s, guys who were in their 20s. They talked about Matilda in The Professional. They made jokes about “counting down when the twins get legal age”. I looked at Portman and commented ‘her legs are a bit thin’, trying to convey the image that a prepubescent kids is unattractive but this didnt register. Of those stunted developmental guys half would never have a longterm relationship and their only options were call girls. I saw the consequences in destructive lifestyles and despair. Some died literal deaths of loneliness and despair.
I know how men think. I was one. My ex wife was 25 when we met, I was 30 and I got comments “you picked a 5 years younger, pretty one. You win.” – her imagination and humor didnt count, access to her holes is what counted, the symmetry of her face, the swell of her breasts. The fact she was petite at 163cm. They didnt realize she was a rape surviver, held captive by some drug dealer for three days and raped constantly. She was broken and damaged to a degree I effectively became a caregiver for ten years. She gravitated towards me because she sensed the dormant femininity inside me – and our relationship ended when she admitted – “I can no longer keep doing this. I am not a lesbian”.
She needed a protector. I had become a sister.
I think sexually, as a species, we have a problem. Rape as a strategy is too normalized. t isnt even about procreation, it is a pneumatic desire – masturbating into a wet receptacle and in doing so expressing the rage and frustration of being deemed undesirable.
Can we unfuck this clusterfuck?
The Species-Level Sexual Pathology
We’re looking at a systemic dysfunction in human sexuality that goes far beyond individual predators. The Epstein network isn’t an aberration; it’s the extreme end of a spectrum that includes my friends’ countdown calendars and the casual commodification of my ex-wife.
The Normalization Gradient
This is continuum of sexual pathology:
- Base level: “Counting down” until girls become “legal” (treating children as future sex objects)
- Social level: Reducing women to physical attributes and “access”
- Transactional level: Commodifying sexuality through escort/porn industries
- Elite level: Using power to access increasingly taboo/violent experiences
- Network level: Systematic trafficking and abuse of the most vulnerable
Each level normalizes and enables the next. My former friends’ jokes didn’t lead directly to child trafficking, but they created the cultural substrate that makes it possible.
The Male Psychology Problem
Modern male sexuality has been industrialized and weaponized:
Porn as Training: The average boy now sees thousands of hours of sexual violence before his first real relationship. The neural pathways get carved early – dominance, degradation, consumption.
Dating as Conquest: Apps that literally commodify human connection. Swipe, rate, consume, discard. The language is extractive – “hitting that,” “scoring,” “getting some.”
Status Through Possession: My comments about me “winning” a younger, prettier woman. Not partnership – ownership. Not connection – acquisition.
The Evolutionary Hijacking
Rape as reproductive strategy is documented across many species, but humans have technologically amplified these impulses while culturally normalizing them:
- Power differentials: Wealth, status, authority become tools for sexual access
- Dehumanization: Women/children reduced to objects for consumption
- Escalation dynamics: Normal stimulation becomes insufficient, requiring more extreme experiences
- Group validation: Elite networks reinforcing each other’s worst impulses
The Systemic Enablers
Economic: Wealth concentration creates power differentials that enable sexual predation Legal: Systems designed by and for powerful men to protect powerful men Cultural: Media that normalizes sexual violence and commodification Technological: Platforms that facilitate trafficking, normalize degradation
Can We Unfuck This?
The optimistic answer: Human behavior is remarkably plastic. Sexual norms have changed dramatically across cultures and time periods. What feels “natural” is often learned. But the realistic assessment: We’re dealing with multiple reinforcing systems that all profit from sexual dysfunction:
- Porn industry: $100+ billion built on escalating degradation
- Dating economy: Apps designed to maximize engagement through frustration
- Status systems: Wealth/power structures that reward predatory behavior
- Legal systems: Designed to protect perpetrators more than victims
The Intervention Points
Early Development: Comprehensive sexuality education that emphasizes consent, empathy, and emotional connection before porn exposure Cultural Narratives: Media that models healthy sexuality instead of dominance/submission Economic Restructuring: Reducing wealth concentration that enables power-based predation Legal Reform: Systems that actually protect victims instead of perpetrators. But here’s the brutal reality: The same elite networks that enabled Epstein also control most of these intervention points. Media companies, educational systems, legal frameworks – they’re all captured by people who benefit from sexual dysfunction.
The Species-Level Question
Maybe the real question isn’t whether we can fix this, but whether we want to badly enough to dismantle the systems that enable it. Because fixing human sexuality means:
- Dismantling wealth concentration
- Rebuilding media systems
- Restructuring legal frameworks
- Completely reimagining how we raise children
That’s not reform – that’s revolution.
The Personal vs. Systemic
Sadly individual solutions can’t solve systemic problems. My friends who made jokes about Portman probably weren’t inherently evil. They were products of a system designed to dysfunction their sexuality for profit and control. The real horror of the Epstein network isn’t just that rich men raped children. It’s that they operated in a culture that had already normalized the sexual exploitation of the vulnerable at every level. It is about a society that gives 14 year olds some alcohol or drugs, cultivates dawning sexual urges of pubescent children and commoditizes these urges.
The Post-Collapse Opportunity
If the cascading failure scenario plays out, there might be an opportunity to rebuild human sexuality from first principles. When the systems that profit from dysfunction collapse, there’s space for healthier alternatives. But that requires conscious choice to build something better, not just destroy what exists.
The question is whether the species has the will to choose connection over consumption, empathy over dominance, humanity over profit. And that may affirming that when people get older, they get scared, start amassing money to protect themselves from being old. Even an ugly, old rich man can buy love, comfort, sexurity.