The Guilty Always Yell Loudest

Trump and Bondi aren’t chasing truth; they’re staging a purge, using Epstein’s ghost as a political boomerang, hoping vengeance lands before anyone notices the fingerprints on their own doors.

Guest article by Michael Cohen. Remember to follow him on Substack for more by clicking here. Michael is also racing to 500K followers on YouTube! Subscribe today for free here.

There’s a moment in every long-running farce when the punchline loses its punch, when the audience stops laughing and starts looking around for the exit. And that’s exactly where we are with Donald Trump and Pam Bondi’s latest “investigation-palooza.” It’s like Oprah on her most caffeinated day: you get an investigation, you get an investigation, EVERYBODY gets an investigation! Except instead of cars, it’s subpoenas. And instead of joy, it’s the cheap thrill of watching a government act like a vindictive homeowners’ association run by people who weaponize pettiness as if it’s a constitutional right.

As I said last night on CNN’s Laura Coates’ show, Trump and Bondi are out there crowing—literally boasting—that they’ve lined up a “special prosecutor” to go after Democrats whose names appear in the newly released Epstein emails. The MAGA base, of course, treats this like it’s the season finale of Law & Order: Retribution Unit. They cheer, they post memes, they declare victory over crimes no one’s even accused these people of. They’re not looking for justice; they’re looking for a hit of vengeance from the only dealer they trust.

And Pam Bondi? Spare me. This is the same Pam Bondi who, after receiving a check from Trump, suddenly lost her appetite to investigate Trump University. And now she wants us to believe she’s the torchbearer of ethical purity? Sure. And while we’re rewriting reality, I’ll be signing autographs tomorrow at the Museum of Things That Never Happened.

But here’s the part the public must not lose sight of: if Epstein’s network is finally being exposed—truly exposed—then turn the lights on for everyone. Blue, red, billionaire, broke, famous, forgotten — doesn’t matter. Shine the flashlight on every corner of that cesspool and let the truth fall where it falls. What Trump is doing isn’t that. What Trump is doing is the governmental equivalent of pointing across the room and yelling, “Hey! Look over there!” while quietly sliding his own file under the couch.

Just compare the theatrics with the facts. Congressional Republicans dump 23,000 pages of Epstein-related documents into the public square, Democrats release a few emails mentioning Trump, and suddenly Trump is screaming “HOAX!” louder than a guy caught with a suitcase full of marked bills. Bondi jumps in within minutes—because why bother pretending the Justice Department is independent anymore?—and assigns a top prosecutor to chase down Trump’s political enemies for crimes no victim has alleged and no investigator has identified.

It’s performative righteousness, the kind that rots from the inside out.

Trump thunders that he’s the “chief law enforcement officer,” which is his way of saying: I can do what I want. And Bondi echoes it with bureaucratic cheerfulness, announcing her latest mission like she’s unveiling a new theme park ride: “Step right up! Come see the investigation of people we already decided must be guilty because the boss said so!”

Meanwhile, the actual record—the FBI’s own memo—states they found no predicate, no evidence, no basis for investigating any of the supposed Democratic targets Trump is obsessing over. But what does evidence matter when there’s a narrative to sell and enemies to name?

Let’s not forget: Trump’s own name shows up in Epstein’s correspondence. He spent years bragging about Epstein being “a terrific guy” before suddenly pretending they barely knew one another. But now that Democrats have released a handful of emails that make him look uncomfortably aware of Epstein’s activities, Trump’s entire strategy has become: flood the zone with nonsense, accuse the accusers, and pray the public gets dizzy.

And then there’s the final twist: Trump now calls the entire matter a Democrat-manufactured hoax—even after demanding investigations, assigning prosecutors, and insisting that Clinton, Summers, Hoffman, JPMorgan, and half the known universe be put under scrutiny. It’s like watching someone set their own kitchen on fire and then yell at the fire department for showing up.

What’s really happening here is simple: selective prosecution dressed up as moral outrage. It’s the political version of a guy caught cheating screaming, “But what about HER friends?” louder than any human voice should be able to.

If we’re going to follow the truth—the real truth—then the rule is simple: release the entire file. Investigate everyone. Open every file. Turn every page. Let the guilty face judgment, and let the innocent walk free without the shadow of politically engineered suspicion. But don’t let Trump sell vengeance as justice. Don’t let Bondi pretend obedience is integrity.

And for God’s sake, don’t let these people gaslight America into believing that pointing fingers is the same thing as accountability.

Because the louder they shout about Democrats, the more desperate they are to keep you from looking at the names they pray you never read.

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