Dispatch #4: He’s Dead. 108 Girls Are Dead. Three Of Ours Are Dead. He Called It “Easy.”
We need to start with a correction, and we are going to make it without flinching because that is what we do here. In our last update, we held the line on Khamenei’s death. We said we would not call it confirmed based on the word of a man who spews demonstrable bullshit like Old Faithful spews water — on schedule, under pressure, and regardless of what’s actually true. We said we would not call it confirmed simply because a compound was reduced to rubble. After all, the East Wing of the Very White House is a pile of rubble — not from enemy fire, but because everything Dicktater Don touches eventually turns to trumpshit, and because his pathological need to slap his name on every institution he can get his tiny hands on tends to leave things structurally unsound. The Trump White House renovation project is its own special category of destruction. And yet somehow, Dicktater Don and Melanomia remain very much alive and presumably still surrounded by shrimp cocktail and sycophants in Mar-a-Lardo. Rubble, it turns out, is not a death certificate.