Tonight’s Eyrie submission casts a jaundiced eye upon the Trump admin’s self-beclownment via unforced error concerning the too-conveniently phantasmagorical, now you see it-now you don’t Epstein client list. Coinky-dinkally enough, our bigly esteemed blog-colleague Ken Layne posts a bit of relevant meme-ology over at his crib. To wit:

Mo’ bettah.

The not-subtle, courteous-to-a-fault complaint tacitly made in that second meme above—using a sotto voce which reeks of hopelessness and despair as the realization sinks in at last: there will never be a reckoning for any of the well-connected frequent fliers on the Lolita Express—is sure to leave a powerfully bitter taste in the mouths of even the most placid, steadfastly unflappable Real Americans.

Those folks are a decent, justly proud albeit unassuming breed—endowed as individuals from birth, seemingly, with inexhaustible reserves of equanimity—whose interest in, patience for, and/or willingness to put up with ceaseless torrents of breathlessly gushing Hot Breaking News!!© reportage (despite the aforementioned equanimity) are in the main so grudgingly extended, greedily infinitesimal, and short-lived as to be undetectable using any method, process, or device known to modern science.

Or, to lay a-holt of a hoary, innocuous blogospherical catchphrase we’ve all heard a blue million times already and stand it on its head, so to speak:

This time, it AIN’T funny ‘cause it’s true.

Update! Looks like it is ON.

BONDI OR BONGINO: Bongino Won’t Remain At FBI If Bondi Keeps Job, Source Says
Dan Bongino and Pam Bondi have sparred over the handling of the Jeffrey Epstein files.

Dan Bongino, the Deputy Director of the FBI, is threatening to leave the bureau if Attorney General Pam Bondi remains on the job, a source close to Bongino tells The Daily Wire.

Bongino is reportedly furious with Attorney General Pam Bondi over her handling of the Jeffrey Epstein files, which has led many to believe he could walk away from the job that he took in February. The source close to Bongino said that he’s effectively issued an ultimatum, saying he won’t work alongside Bondi.

Bongino left a lucrative career in broadcasting to take the job in the Trump administration. He was not present at the FBI on Friday, after a reported spat with the attorney general earlier this week over the Epstein situation.

The rift between Bongino and Bondi intensified on Wednesday, days after the Department of Justice announced there was no evidence to prove that child rapist Jeffrey Epstein had a client list, had blackmailed powerful people, or had been murdered. Bondi had promised to reveal major details in the case five months ago, when there were no massive revelations to bring forward.

The deputy FBI director, who raised questions about Epstein’s death before he was in the Trump administration, said in May that his review of the file and hours of video recording from Epstein’s jail proved that the child abuser committed suicide. FBI Director Kash Patel also said that the evidence the bureau has reviewed shows that Epstein was not murdered.

A source close to the Justice Department told The Daily Wire that Patel also wants Bondi gone, and that he would consider departing alongside Bongino. The source also said that Patel wants Bondi to unseal more documents.

I have to say, this whole shit-circus has left me mighty damned disappointed in Ms Bondi. Which, I hate that, actually; I had terrifically high hopes for that gal back when Trump first picked her for AG. Now, though? Not so much, sad to say.

Of course, we don’t know the whole story here, possibly never will. That said, though, I’m thinking Trump’s people are going to find it extremely tough to reconcile the fact that Bondi explicitly stated back in February that she had the client list sitting on her desk among a bunch of other heretofore unreleased material and that she’d be releasing the whole kit and kaboodle the following Monday, IIRC, with the current admin claims that there IS no client list; that there never WAS any client list; that all the hinky aspects of Epstein’s purported “suicide” never actually happened, etc.

So what goes on here, anyway? As pretty much everybody knows by now,  or should know at any rate, the clumsy “Epstein committed suicide” ploy didn’t pass the smell test; right from the beginning, there was evidence aplenty indicating something entirely Else, great interlocking. mutually-supporting heaps of it. Now, though, the Trump team tries to tell us that there’s “no evidence?”

Sorta calls to mind Praetorian Media’s continually repeated refrain, from mid-November 2020 on, sniffily dismissing “Trump’s baseless claims” of election jiggery-pokery, a rousing Halleluja Chorus of “no evidence” for fraud, tampering, ballot-box stuffing, phonus-balonus absentee/early ballots, &c—the list goes on from there, and it is by no means a short one.

Sorry, Mr President sir, but anybody who’s even half-heartedly paid attention to the Everest of clear, documentary evidence in support of contentions of massive, systemic fraud rife before, during, and after the 2020 Presidential “election” knows better.

This just might be the most unappetizing tidbit from the whole rancid, offputting shit-sandwich.

“In February, I did an interview on Fox, and it’s been getting a lot of attention because … I was asked a question about the ‘client list’ and my response was, ‘It’s sitting on my desk to be reviewed, meaning the file, along with the JFK, MLK files as well,” Bondi said during a Cabinet meeting on Tuesday. “That’s what I meant by that.”

During that same Cabinet meeting, President Donald Trump blasted a reporter for asking Bondi about the Epstein case.

“That is unbelievable. … I mean I can’t believe you’re asking a question on Epstein at a time like this when we’re having some of the greatest success and also tragedy with what happened in Texas,” Trump said. “It just seems like a desecration.”

“Desecration,” my withered, baggy ass. You say you want to drain the Swamp? Well, I can’t think of a better way to demonstrate just how serious you really are about it than by shining a bright light upon the sloppily-concealed facts surrounding the murder, by Swamp rats, of one of their fellow Swamp-dwellers who had was too much on them for their own comfort.

Deny it all you want to; play along with the Deep State éminences grise to your heart’s content. It doesn’t amount to a hill of beans at this point—they still won’t trust you, they’ll never trust you. Before long, they’ll decide it’s necessary to remove the threat you represent to them in their own minds. This, they will assuredly do, or hire it done, rather, only next time it won’t be some cognitively-impaired, maladjusted teenage whackjob on whom the Secret Service and/or FBI “security” personnel will helpfully turn their backs and avert their gaze from; preposition ladders, rifles, and/or other essential equipment; unlock doors, switch off interior lighting, and close blinds/curtains. After all those preps are done, “security” will spend whatever time remains before the scheduled first pull of the trigger on shrugging off credible reports of suspicious persons, movements, and/or behavior given by alarmed locals who witnessed what was going down at firsthand, in real time.

No, no more of that amateur-hour clowning around. Next time, the contract will be offered to none but seasoned professionals, who will preferably have extensive military sniper training and field expertise. Afterwards, the shooter will police up the general AO—cigarette butts, candy/gum wrappers, boot-prints, empty water bottles, spent brass (assuming he didn’t just rig one of those fancy-schmancy brass-catcher thingamabobbers over his weapon’s ejection port before heading out for the field, thereby making his life a heck of a lot easier). This is NOT the sort of task on which a true professional would ever dream of doing less than a one hundred and ten percent perfect job; after all, it’s his own ass he’ll be saving (or endangering) by it. As such, he will leave no traces of his physical presence behind for investigators to find layer, nor will there be any slightest hint of his ever having been in the vicinity at all.

Unless something goes horribly awry, the shooter’s name will never be known, his true identity a fanatically guarded secret shared only betwixt the three to six FederalGovCo bureaucreeps behind the whole op, ie the small cabal of secret plotters responsible for choosing, recruiting, hiring, and briefing the members of the hit team (a shooter, a spotter, a cpl of gear-humpers who will later double as back-watchers and perimeter guards—probably four (4) support personnel all told, five at most, the fewer the better. As an important codicil from the Hells Angels’ charter says: three can keep a secret only if two are dead).

The treasonous original conspirators will pay their SpecWar field operatives with cold, hard cash money, half in advance, half on completion of their mission: wrinkly, crinkly, tattered, battered, well-traveled US greenbux with nonsequential serial numbers in various denominations ranging from one-hundred dollar notes, then fifties, all the way down to a smattering of lowly double-sawbucks, said currency having been passed along, around, through, and among hands beyond counting.

Once the operators have been paid off in full, all involved parties will disappear like a thin fog wafting off the surface of a lake, this spectral condensation quickly cooking off into nothingness by the heat of the rising summer sun—a damp, chilly mist that vanishes faster than a cockroach caught square in the middle of the kitchen floor when you turn on the light. Same-same with the assassination-provoking, power-obsessed cock-a-roaches on two legs who, if they’re anything like as smart as their more-admirable Neopteran cousins, will likewise vanish, never to be seen or heard tell of again by we lower-caste denizens of the overt world.

Believe it, Mr President: you’ll never know what hit you.