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| Jeffrey Epstein and Steve Bannon take a selfie |
In a move that absolutely no one asked for, former White House strategist and perpetual disheveled icon Steve Bannon has unleashed what he's calling his "groundbreaking" interview with the late Jeffrey Epstein – a spectral chit-chat that clocks in at a soul-crushing 47 hours and proves once and for all that even the afterlife can't make this guy interesting.
Titled War Room: Beyond the Grave – Epstein Unplugged, the "interview" (if you can call a one-sided ramble that) was conducted via Ouija board in Bannon's dimly lit basement bunker, surrounded by half-eaten Big Macs and crumpled Breitbart printouts. Bannon, ever the showman, hyped it as "the exposé of the century," promising dirt on global elites, shadowy cabals, and why pineapple on pizza is a deep-state plot. What viewers got instead? A monotonous drone-fest that makes watching paint dry feel like a thrill ride.
"Look, folks, this is huge," Bannon growled at the camera in the opening monologue, his signature rumpled shirt looking like it had just lost a wrestling match with a dryer. "Epstein's got the goods on everyone from Bill Gates to the guy who invented NFTs." But as the ghostly apparition of Epstein flickered into view – courtesy of some questionable CGI or perhaps just bad lighting – it became clear: this "mastermind" was about as exciting as a tax audit.
Epstein, manifesting as a translucent blob in a polo shirt (because even ghosts have bad fashion sense), kicked things off with a 90-minute soliloquy on his "fascinating" island landscaping tips. "You know, the key to a good palm tree is proper irrigation," he mumbled in a voice that sounded like a deflating balloon. Bannon, visibly fighting off a coma, interjected with, "Jeff, cut to the chase – who's running the world?" Epstein's response? A 20-minute tangent on why he preferred organic fertilizer. Lame doesn't even begin to cover it.
As the hours dragged on – and we mean dragged, like pulling a semi-truck through molasses – Epstein's "revelations" devolved into pure tedium. He ranted about his favorite yacht brands ("Beneteau? Overrated. Azimut? Now that's class"), complained about prison food ("The Jell-O was subpar"), and even tried to pitch a conspiracy theory about how the moon landing was faked... by Big Cheese. "It's all about the curdled milk industry," he whispered conspiratorially. Bannon, by hour 12, was seen chugging Red Bulls and muttering, "This is longer than my contempt of Congress sentence."
But let's be real: why should anyone care what this spectral schlub has to say? Epstein, the ultimate scumbag has-been (or never-was, depending on who you ask), built his "empire" on schmoozing with the elite while being about as charismatic as a wet sock. His "insights" are the intellectual equivalent of elevator music – bland, forgettable, and liable to put you to sleep mid-floor. In a world full of actual problems like AI taking our jobs or why Twitter's still called X, Epstein's ghostly gripes are as relevant as a flip phone in 2026. No one asked for his comeback tour, and honestly, the afterlife should sue for defamation.
Viewers tuning in were treated to Bannon's increasingly desperate attempts to spice things up. "Jeff, tell us about the Clintons!" he'd bark. Epstein: "Hillary's secret? She alphabetizes her spice rack. Revolutionary." By the end, Bannon was reduced to interviewing his own coffee mug for excitement.
In a post-interview statement, Bannon defended the debacle: "This proves the deep state is so boring, they're putting us all to sleep on purpose!" Sure, Steve. Or maybe it's just that Epstein was always a lame duck – a guy whose biggest thrill was hanging out with billionaires who probably regretted it the next morning.
Moral of the story? If you're going to summon the dead for dirt, pick someone fun like Elvis. As for Epstein? Let him rest in pieces. No one cares, and that's the real conspiracy.
Titled War Room: Beyond the Grave – Epstein Unplugged, the "interview" (if you can call a one-sided ramble that) was conducted via Ouija board in Bannon's dimly lit basement bunker, surrounded by half-eaten Big Macs and crumpled Breitbart printouts. Bannon, ever the showman, hyped it as "the exposé of the century," promising dirt on global elites, shadowy cabals, and why pineapple on pizza is a deep-state plot. What viewers got instead? A monotonous drone-fest that makes watching paint dry feel like a thrill ride.
"Look, folks, this is huge," Bannon growled at the camera in the opening monologue, his signature rumpled shirt looking like it had just lost a wrestling match with a dryer. "Epstein's got the goods on everyone from Bill Gates to the guy who invented NFTs." But as the ghostly apparition of Epstein flickered into view – courtesy of some questionable CGI or perhaps just bad lighting – it became clear: this "mastermind" was about as exciting as a tax audit.
Epstein, manifesting as a translucent blob in a polo shirt (because even ghosts have bad fashion sense), kicked things off with a 90-minute soliloquy on his "fascinating" island landscaping tips. "You know, the key to a good palm tree is proper irrigation," he mumbled in a voice that sounded like a deflating balloon. Bannon, visibly fighting off a coma, interjected with, "Jeff, cut to the chase – who's running the world?" Epstein's response? A 20-minute tangent on why he preferred organic fertilizer. Lame doesn't even begin to cover it.
As the hours dragged on – and we mean dragged, like pulling a semi-truck through molasses – Epstein's "revelations" devolved into pure tedium. He ranted about his favorite yacht brands ("Beneteau? Overrated. Azimut? Now that's class"), complained about prison food ("The Jell-O was subpar"), and even tried to pitch a conspiracy theory about how the moon landing was faked... by Big Cheese. "It's all about the curdled milk industry," he whispered conspiratorially. Bannon, by hour 12, was seen chugging Red Bulls and muttering, "This is longer than my contempt of Congress sentence."
But let's be real: why should anyone care what this spectral schlub has to say? Epstein, the ultimate scumbag has-been (or never-was, depending on who you ask), built his "empire" on schmoozing with the elite while being about as charismatic as a wet sock. His "insights" are the intellectual equivalent of elevator music – bland, forgettable, and liable to put you to sleep mid-floor. In a world full of actual problems like AI taking our jobs or why Twitter's still called X, Epstein's ghostly gripes are as relevant as a flip phone in 2026. No one asked for his comeback tour, and honestly, the afterlife should sue for defamation.
Viewers tuning in were treated to Bannon's increasingly desperate attempts to spice things up. "Jeff, tell us about the Clintons!" he'd bark. Epstein: "Hillary's secret? She alphabetizes her spice rack. Revolutionary." By the end, Bannon was reduced to interviewing his own coffee mug for excitement.
In a post-interview statement, Bannon defended the debacle: "This proves the deep state is so boring, they're putting us all to sleep on purpose!" Sure, Steve. Or maybe it's just that Epstein was always a lame duck – a guy whose biggest thrill was hanging out with billionaires who probably regretted it the next morning.
Moral of the story? If you're going to summon the dead for dirt, pick someone fun like Elvis. As for Epstein? Let him rest in pieces. No one cares, and that's the real conspiracy.
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