Free Thinking Through the Fourth Turning with Sasha Stone

In the good old days, before the Great Feminization, social media tribalism, and the instant fame of TikTok, most people felt disgust and horror at the thought of a mother killing her kids, let alone methodically leading each one down in the basement, then strangling them with an exercise band.
This is the stuff of nightmares. Imagine your mother, the person you trust most in the world, telling you to “go to God, baby” as you felt your throat close and your life wither away. We’ve seen their faces, and we know their names.
Everyone should be horrified, and yet, three years after the murders, Lindsay Clancy is not seen as a monster by hundreds of thousands of women all over the world but rather as their hero and a martyr for the agony and pain of motherhood.
We are Lindsay! We stand with you, Lindsay!
A triple homicide suspect whose fate was upended by one juror who withstood the pressure of 11 others to insist she was guilty beyond a reasonable doubt has become, for women, another Me Too moment. Me too, Lindsay. Me Too.
Why are so many women losing their minds over this case, insisting Lindsay isn’t guilty because either she was afflicted with postpartum psychosis and had no control over these acts or Patrick did it because Patrick “said it” and he wanted out of the marriage to go have an affair with the woman he’s now married to.
I wish it wasn’t mostly women who are vulnerable to this level of group psychosis. But it is. Women are communal. They tend to form groups or tribes, out of necessity and human evolution.
Every time I scroll TikTok, I see them. There they are, staring back at me, those crazy, crazy women, performing for total strangers, united only by one singular idea: Lindsay Clancy is not guilty.
Welcome to Rock Bottom
Lindsay Clancy has been cast as a typical heroine in a Lifetime movie, or the protagonist in one of the psychological thrillers so popular on Audible. I know this world all too well. I watch these movies as a guilty pleasure, and I consume so many of these books that I forget which ones I’ve already read.
It looks something like this:
This might explain why the less camera-ready child killers like Andrea Yates or Susan Smith never became a worldwide sensation.
The plots play out almost the exact same way. The ambitious, successful, beautiful woman has a seemingly ordinary life until it is disrupted by a dark force. Almost always, this is an abusive, manipulative, lying, cheating man. But not always. Sometimes it’s a woman. Whatever it is, the protag is never to be rescued. She must always rescue herself. Men who are “good” are allowed to admire them from afar and serve them but never save them.
Lindsay Clancy has fit neatly into this role, especially if you are one of the truly insane women who believe she didn’t do it, and there are a lot of those. How perfect for a Lifetime movie or a psychological thriller if we found out in the last act that Patrick really did do it and Lindsay emerges as the true victim.
Their theory is that Lindsay only thinks she killed the kids when, in reality, Patrick did it. It’s just that Lindsay did do it. She admitted it. She told the Chaplain first. Then, she told her husband and a psychologist that a voice told her to do it. The voice never appeared before or since because the voice was actually the mother who wanted to kill her kids.
If Patrick Clancy is guilty of anything, it’s being too kind and trusting of his wife. Their text message exchange the day of the murders:
And a recent appearance at his church.
Patrick Clancy and their entire family have forgiven Lindsay and believe this was the result of postpartum psychosis, which is why Patrick and Lindsay are both suing the healthcare providers who treated her. And it also explains why they stonewalled, testified for the defense, and refused to give any insight into what else might have driven Lindsay to murder that day.
These are not the cries of someone who lost her children but the cries of a woman who remembers that moment she caused them so much fear, so much pain, and their deaths. If a voice ordered her to do it, why didn’t she just say no? Why didn’t she scream for her babies when she snapped out of it?
Believe Women
I always thought it would be funny to put out a bumper sticker amid the Me Too movement that said: “Believe Children, Salem, 1692.” I’m not sure anyone would have gotten the joke. There aren’t many people out there like me who have read every book, listened to every podcast, and know everything there is to know about the Salem Witch Trials.
One thing I know for sure, however, is that it wasn’t about “burning witches” nor was it about the patriarchy punishing women. These are lies that have never been corrected. The truth is that it was adolescent girls, not men, who had the power to decide who could live and who would die.
So many people were convicted and hanged in Salem because of “spectral evidence,” what you could not see but could only imagine. There is a reason so much power was handed to those adolescent girls. Spectral evidence is why it’s so hard for so many to see the Lindsay Clancy case clearly.
It was postpartum psychosis! It was bad therapy! It was the drugs! It couldn’t have been Lindsay. How else to explain how a seemingly normal “perfect” mother, high-achieving student, biology major, competitive cheerleader, could have killed her kids and then tried to kill herself?
And for those girls in Salem, no one would have ever believed they could lie like that for so long. What Cotton Mather would call the Wonders of the Invisible World is the stormy darkness of the female mind.
We can see from the Clancy case that so many are unwilling to see it for what it is: a mother who wanted to murder her children and took meds to stop those thoughts from coming, but they came anyway. All she wanted was for the problem to go away.
But it’s that mysterious world men don’t dare even try to understand and usually avoid the endless emotional needs of women, which is why women need other women and why so many are now wrapping their arms around Lindsay Clancy. Me too, Lindsay.
But what about the kids? Why isn’t there a bigger movement for them? Why is everything and everyone else blamed for their deaths except the woman who planned it? Thought it through. Knew exactly where the bands were and how to kill her children one by one. Spectral evidence is that no one dares question a woman who claims she was in postpartum psychosis and gets away with murder.
Lizzie Borden got away with murder, it’s been theorized, because she hid the murder weapon and the bloody clothes in her menstrual pail, and none of the male detectives or any of the lawyers wanted to get anywhere near that subject.
How does any society survive when this kind of murder is not only glossed over but excused because it’s the woman who matters, not the kids? Why not the kids?
And why are things so much different now from when the case first broke in 2023? It’s easy if you know your Salem history. If Donald Trump was an existential threat to our utopia like the Devil was to Salem, then his second win in 2024 kicked into motion a Me Too on steroids. Now, it isn’t just about who assaulted, harassed, or raped women. It's about all men.
Lindsay Clancy became their avatar because she tried to do everything right. She was the best woman, wife, and mother she could be, and it still wasn’t enough. Not even her Beach Body, Attachment Parenting, water parks, or birthday parties were enough. The same woman who left the hospital before she was ready so as not to miss her daughter’s birthday is the same woman who, a short time later, killed her daughter.
That mirrors the psychology of what happened to so many women who thought they had enough power to win the presidency with Hillary and then with Kamala. Their collective rage projected onto Lindsay Clancy has exploded in a way it probably never would have otherwise.
Trump’s second win, along with a hungry social media churn that wants more stories that will ignite our culture wars, turned a grotesque triple murder into a spectacle of narcissism and look-at-me trauma porn.
“Me Too Lindsay”
I spent so much of my adult life serving myself, chasing my own happiness because that was the blank check written for me as the first generation to come of age after Rose v. Wade and the Feminist movement. I couldn’t just have kids and get married. My life had to amount to more than that.
Women became successful homeowners and business owners, and were elevated to positions of power thanks to a concerted effort to reorder our society and achieve gender parity across all industries and spheres of power. But chasing our happiness would eventually lead us back to where it started. How could we have everything and still not be enough?
The world was changing. Now, it wouldn’t just be white men in charge. We would teach the young about the oppressors and the oppressed, and they would grow up to seek social justice, to fight against the colonizing white supremacist empire America had become.
We just had no idea what we were building, what kind of madness we would unleash, and how it would all go so wrong for us that we’d end up abandoning women athletes, vulnerable women in prisons - we’d even accept that a transgender woman winning at Chess or Jeopardy was a win for women. We did it! Except that we didn’t.
Little by little, the rights of the mostly white feminist women who dominated the Left were eroded. They just weren’t oppressed enough. It was “white feminism” - it was “TERFS.” Women were expected to take two steps back, to de-center themselves if they weren’t “of color” or “trans.” Abortion was all they had left. This baby is not yet human.
And should we be that surprised that we’ve arrived here? If a baby is already disposable and if abortions have become almost an act of empowerment, why wouldn’t the killing of children be the next thing women force themselves not to care about?
Mass hysteria gripped Salem Village for one long dark winter. But how long will ours last? How far will all of this go? If rock bottom isn’t turning a mother who murdered her children into an internet sensation, I don’t know what is.
I am suddenly afraid for babies and children in this country and the mothers who see them as their oppressors. I am afraid of what those mothers might do, and I am even more afraid of a society of women that doesn’t even seem to care.


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The Psychopath
Lindsay Clancy, in my opinion, did not want to kill herself. She wanted to kill her children.
It was all becoming too much for her, and she felt like she was drowning in it. Drowning in trying to be the perfect wife and the perfect mother. Her thoughts of suicide came as she tried to stop her thoughts of wanting to kill her children because what mother would ever think of doing such a thing?
That voice? That was her. That was her hatred bubbling up, especially for Dawson, the middle child. Her hatred at herself for not being the perfect mother, and the loud voice of her inner psychopath who gave her advice on how to end her misery. Kill them. That’s what you really want to do. Then, you can kill yourself.
Except that she didn’t really want to kill herself. She is a nurse, after all, and everyone knows how to commit suicide by slitting your wrists. She would know exactly where the carotid artery was, oh, but that voice would tell her just make it look like that was what you were trying to do. Get enough blood to make it convincing, then crawl out the window and into the snow and wait for your husband Patrick to find you and save you.
What wasn’t in the plan? The way she fell, paralyzing herself, which is why these, along with whether she had a lawyer or not, were her primary concern once in the hospital. Do my legs work, she asked. The voice guided her through all of this and probably even through the trial now, careful never to disclose that it’s still with her. The camera is on you now, Lindsay. Put on a good show.
Maybe a part of her was sad to hear what the voice made her do, but she knew the voice was her own. It was the psychopath within that did not want to do the job of motherhood anymore. She wanted her old life back. She wanted to be who she was before. She wanted control. Her inner voice was herself.
She tried every medication she could. She tried aspirations. But the dark thoughts kept seeping through, no matter how much she tried to suppress them. She disclosed these thoughts to her husband and mother and hinted at them to her best friend.
What she never did was turn herself in for them as a danger to her own children. If the husband bears any responsibility for these deaths, it is that he did not turn her in himself and keep those precious babies far, far away from her.
On the day of the killings, Lindsey Clancy meticulously planned her actions, not as an irrational act but as a coldly rational one. Separating the children one by one and leading them down into the basement would have been scary for them, since it had never happened before. That was where Daddy worked. That was where Mommy worked out. That was where guests slept. It was not where kids belonged.
And that ominous walk down those stairs with Mommy must have been terrifying, but their little brains could not comprehend what would happen next.
Here is a clip from Chicks on the Right highlighting the prosecutor’s powerful closing.
The hope and the reflex is to blame the drugs. We’re a country of people on too many drugs, whether they’re dying on the streets of San Francisco of Fentanyl or they’re murdering their children in Massachusetts. One thing is for sure: lots of people are making lots of money selling the illusion that there is such a thing as being perfect.
I noticed this back in the 1990s when suddenly everyone had something wrong with their brains. We’d gone through therapy and healed the trauma and abuse in our past, but it didn’t make us “right” or “correct.” We needed drugs for that. We needed, wanted to be “healthy.”
We were the victims of our hard lives, of our society, of our government, of the environment, of our diet, of our education, our culture, our marriages, and yes, even our children.
Our children have paid the price, too, because if they weren’t perfect, something had to be wrong with them; we had done something bad or failed at motherhood. The mythical “post-partum” depression came on like one of these ailments in our brains we could do nothing about. We were all supposed to respect women who undergo this affliction and forgive them everything.
Over the many decades, especially on the Left, we’ve become separated from ourselves in nearly every way. Whether it’s mothers aborting their children now as a rite of passage and an act of empowerment, or it’s mothers resenting their children and unable to mother them with post-partum. Be afraid, they say, be very afraid.
And then, all the way down to our precious babies whose genders we now view as potentially “something wrong with their brains.” Mothers allow gender clinics, teachers, and influencers to tell them they don’t know their own babies. Drugs will fix them. Surgery, intervention, turn them into something else, someone else, someone more perfect.
Women did not evolve to do it all alone. We evolved to be hovered over by our own mothers, our aunts, our sisters. Since women had babies so young in every era except the modern one, they needed the help and guidance of older women, which is why humans are among the tiny handful of species that undergo menopause, like Killer Whales. Older women have a role: to guide, to lead, and to help raise the younger generations.
Lindsay Clancy wanted to do it all alone. Or at least, she wanted it to look like she did. An athlete, a nurse, and a mom, she wanted that Instagram fantasy all women believe they deserve. It all looked so good outwardly, from photos to testimonies of family and friends. But Lindsay was good at hiding. She was not a good mother at all, it turns out. She was a psychopath.
It isn’t that mothers don’t kill their babies. They do. They dump them in trash cans, leave them in toilets, beat them until they can no longer breathe. Andrea Yates believed her children were demons and that they needed to be killed. That is what true psychosis looks like, and it’s more common than it should be.
Women should not be doing motherhood alone, at least not those who are fragile enough to crack under pressure.
It’s not easy. It's shocking how difficult it can be just to try to live your life after you’ve had a baby, but it is especially so for the modern woman who is used to centering herself.
I was one such woman. By the time I had my baby at 32, I wanted her. She was a way for me to heal from my own childhood because I would do everything right.
My own mother got so angry at times she flew into violent rages. She had four babies before the age of 25, and that must have been hard. We were untamed, wild children, and she needed control. Even now, I sometimes feel nervous when I spend time with her because we never knew when the fury would arrive or why.
Like Lindsay, I was into the “attachment parenting” method, which is just the natural way women raised children before they invented things like cribs and formula. I didn’t want drugs during childbirth and wanted to do it all naturally. This is the kind of pressure women put on themselves to be perfect. If one thing goes wrong, they feel like a failure. And things will always go wrong. Breastfeeding them, co-sleeping with them, hugging them when they cry.
Lindsay felt guilt for not being the perfect attachment parent and leaving her baby to cry it out with sleep training. She couldn’t sleep, and this was supposedly the solution. But leaving babies to cry it out is another way to separate mothers from their natural instincts, and Lindsay knew that too. But if the baby went away, then the problems went away too.
After 18 hours of agonizing labor, I begged for the epidural. They’d already given me morphine, which did nothing. My labor was induced, and the contractions were unlike anything I’d ever felt in my life. The only thing I could do was scream. And when she finally came out of me, and I saw her face, I knew her already. I recognized her. My baby.
I kept yelling for the nurse, “Just give me my baby!” They wanted to clean her up and check her vitals, but I just wanted to hold her in my arms to keep her safe. When they finally gave her to me and when I was complaining that I had wanted to do it naturally, without drugs, the nurse looked at me and said, “Healthy mom, healthy baby.” She was right. That’s all that mattered.
That’s also the kind of thing labor and delivery nurses see all the time. They see the perfect and the imperfect. They see the joys and the tragedies. They see the struggles and failures. Lindsay Clancy knew all of them.
I didn’t let go of my baby for a full two weeks. She stayed in my arms and close to me at all times. I had nightmares of something happening to her — what would I do? If there was a fire, or an intruder, or an earthquake, or a mass shooter. I was raising her without a father, which made me both the father and the mother, and yes, that was hard. It meant my life would no longer be the most important thing.
Of course, I lost my temper on occasion. But I knew I would never be like my mom. I might have been if I’d had more than one. Children are their own people. They don’t do exactly what you want them to do at all times.
One of my jobs was writing movie reviews, and if my daughter didn’t go down for a nap, I couldn’t make the showtime, so I’d drive around until she did, and sometimes she didn’t, and I felt the pressure of that, and I would think and sometimes say, “time for sleep!”
The few times I lost my temper stay with me. They haunt me. I wish I could go back and scrub them from my memory and my life because I was, I think, all things considered, a pretty good mom otherwise. Perfect? No. And we all want to be perfect because if something is wrong with our kids, it means we weren’t perfect mothers.
I would hear the complaints of other mothers and their difficult children. Why couldn’t they behave? I saw them punish them with time-outs, and I always thought I was so lucky to have such a good kid. It was never bad for me. It was the best thing that’s ever happened in my life. So I can’t get there. I can’t imagine wanting a life without my daughter. My life is my daughter.
And this is what I think haunted Lindsay Clancy the most. She wasn’t a perfect mother because one of her kids was driving her crazy with his obstinacy. He was the middle child, Dawson. She loved the daughter and the baby, but Dawson did not do as he was told and made everything a battle.
When your life runs like clockwork and that life depends on everyone and everything doing things perfectly, one piece of the puzzle that keeps flying out of our hands is the one that will drive you to anger and, in her case, hopelessness. What was it all for anyway?
Of course she was depressed. Lots of people struggle with feeling lost and hopeless, but in Lindsay’s case, she believed she was disappearing because everyone’s needs had to come before hers. Unless, of course, she could get rid of the child, the one making the picture not perfect. But how could she just kill him? No, she’d have to kill them all and then kill herself, or at least make it look like she tried.
She wanted to terrorize her husband. And terrorize she did. The screams haven’t been heard by the watchers, all of those paying close attention to the trial at home. Only those in the room and the jury heard the husband’s anguished cries upon coming home and seeing his dead babies.
I studiously avoided the Lindsay Clancy trial. It was like those animal abuse videos you scroll quickly by or at least fast-forward to the inevitable happy ending, if there is one. I did not want to get inside this story or put the images of those poor, sweet children strangled one by one in my head.
But eventually, like everyone else, I had to pay attention to it. There were so many crazy women — mostly on the Left but some on the Right — who have stood alongside Lindsay, sympathized with her, celebrated her, attempted to say she wasn’t guilty, that her husband did it, the drugs did it, the doctors did it, everyone but Lindsay herself.
There is such a thing as post-partum depression, which can often lead to feelings of sadness and helplessness after the birth of the child. No one can or should tell a woman she isn’t suffering from it, but it’s also taken on a new meaning in our modern age, a thing that happens to women that they can’t control, separating us from our natural selves. A tragedy waiting for them on the other end of the line.
We don’t live in a society that wants us to care about the little life conceived. We live in a society that wants mothers to be victims and martyrs - not only their babies, but their husbands or men in general- are doing something bad to them. The baby grows and changes everything. The man injects the sperm. The woman must be the helpless, passive participant who takes care of everything.
That might not have been Lindsay Clancy, but her careful planning of how her husband would find his children and his wife by the time he came home required pre-meditation. She knew what those exercise bands could do, because, of course, she did. She worked out every day.
Did she think of what those bands would do every time she picked one up and felt the tension in her hands? What could this do to a child’s neck? How long would it take?
The Long Day
It was an ordinary day like any other. She’d taken her daughter to the doctor and texted Patrick, her husband, a photo of their daughter on the day she would murder her.
He texted her back a photo of Dawson, who had dressed himself for the first time. Did she think and wonder how Dawson could be so much better behaved with Daddy?
Lindsay came home with Cora, who was having stomach problems. She probably was picking up the stress of her mother’s bizarre flatness for some time before the murders. She was the oldest. She would know something was wrong.
Patrick went to work in his basement office as their smallest baby, Callan, went down for a nap. Lindsay built a snowman with Dawson and Cora. Did Dawson give her his usual trouble? Did he say something bad to her? Or was she planning this day all along?
By the time she got inside, she put her plan in motion. She texted her husband at 4:53 pm, “Any chance you want to do takeout from ThreeV … I didn’t cook anything … It’s been a long day.” She checked the map to see how long it would take him, and it wasn’t long enough, so she asked him to go to the drug store to pick up medicine for Cora.
At 5:15 Patrick left, after kissing his daughter Cora and rocking his baby Callan, and said, “I’ll be right back.” That would be the last time he saw them alive. He’d be home by 6:09 pm and arrive to an absolutely quiet house.
Lindsey wanted him to call out for her and his children. She probably knew he’d go upstairs next. Maybe she thought he would just go to the basement and find his dead babies, with Dawson lying dead in his office.
cBut he didn’t. He tried to find Lindsay. And when he saw the blood and the window and ran down to her where she was still alive, because of course she was, and asked her, “What did you do?” She said, “I tried to kill myself.”
All Lindsay said when he asked where the children were was, “They’re in the basement.” She wanted him to see that horror. Why?
Who does that? A psychopath does that. Not a woman suffering from post-partum depression. Not a woman in a state of confusion. No, a cold-blooded killer makes these choices to stage an event that would leave her children dead and herself barely alive but alive. A nurse who didn’t know how to properly cut her wrists or her throat?
She wanted to punish her husband. She wanted to punish everyone. She wanted to be free. She just didn’t think that would mean being in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. That was the unintended consequence of her plan.
The jury was excused for the weekend. I don’t expect this jury in Massachusetts, comprised mostly of women, will convict Lindsay Clancy of murder. That’s what she deserved. No, she’ll get off easier as some version of Not Guilty by reason of insanity. And that will be a lie.
Coming up, Part Two: The Sycophants

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The Democrats are just now waking up to a viral video of Hasan Piker singing We Are Charlie Kirk to a cacophony of cheers from the clapping seals in the sociopathic dehumanization factory known as the New Left.
Why do they believe they are morally superior to the working-class Trump voters? Because the legacy media props them up and never calls them out. Well, now, they have a bad case of Hasan Piker, and as long as they stand with him, they will have to excuse the idiotic things he says and does, like wearing a Mao costume and mocking the grief of the Right after Charlie’s brutal murder.
Not many Democrats will take that moral stand against Piker. They’re too afraid to look uncool, un-manly, and lose all of his millions of followers. And besides, they will say, Trump is “just as bad.”
Trump mocked the deaths of his enemies, but Charlie Kirk was not Hasan Piker’s enemy. Maybe he’s jealous of the love millions had for Charlie - real love, not the kind Hasan Piker has, his sycophants begging him to be more sadistic, not just to his dog.
These are dark and disturbed people.
We are now approaching the one-year anniversary of the brutal, bloody, premeditated, calculated murder of Charlie Kirk by a guy whose desire to become a somebody drove him to become a hero for a day. Maybe he did it for his confused and anguished lover who could not decide on his gender identity.
Maybe he did it for the pathologically insane furry community on Discord. Maybe he was whipped into a frenzy and aimed at Charlie by, oh, I don’t know, the CIA or the FBI. They’ve done worse. Israel, however, it was not.
That didn’t stop craven psychopath Candace Owens - whom Piker calls his “Queen” - from plundering the grave of her “friend” Charlie. The truth is that he kept her at a distance, needed her to help build Blexit, and then, when she got too crazy, he slowly, carefully backed away.
She blamed Erika for that. She blamed Turning Point. One thing is for sure: she is too much of a narcissist to put the blame where it really belongs, on herself.
Chicks on the Right had an illuminating interview with Andrew Kolvet of Turning Point to clarify just what kind of relationship Charlie really had with Candace and why she’s become a woman scorned.
But if Candace’s exploitation of Charlie’s death dwarfed the Left’s celebrating, Hasan Piker somehow manages to top them all.
What most people who are just waking up to the true evil that is Hasan Piker singing We Are Charlie Kirk don’t know is that just over a month after Charlie’s murder, one of Piker’s putrid streams brought him a tiny bit of internet fame for mocking the song.
Why did he think it was funny? Because he’s a dehumanizing, repulsive shitheel who uses his dog as a prop when he’s not shocking her to keep her in place.
He’s mocking MAGA for listening to and celebrating an AI-generated song that, to date, has over 6 million views.
There were lots of AI songs about Charlie. I even fell for it for a brief moment because I wanted to believe there were people on the Left kind enough, empathetic enough, and generous enough to sing about Charlie. But of course not. It was an empty void, one that AI filled.
And Hasan Piker, puny little cockroach that he is, found it “funny.” You see, he’s trying to outdo 4chan all in the name of selling Communism and Islam. Hey, it’s worth it to sell your soul to take control of America.
He kept dipping back into that bowl because that’s what you do if you are an influencer. You give the people more of what they want, and in his case, it’s sitting on his dog-torturing basement throne, while mocking the working class.
He couldn’t get enough of it. He was like an uncut bull let loose in a field of fertile cows.
On and on it went. He made his name on it. Most of this was done just over a month after the shooting, but he’s continued to use it for the lols, even two months ago.
So it was natural that when he took the stage, he would sing it live, like he was the Rolling Stones, dragging out “Jumping Jack Flash,” or Elvis Costello, singing “Pump It Up” one more time. Yes, he was mocking MAGA, people he deems lower class and beneath his sorry ass, and making fun of how deeply the murder of Charlie Kirk dug into their morale.
Most people don’t exist in the dank, slimy corners of the internet, so they might not know how long Piker has been dragging this story out. What else is he going to do? Talk about healthcare? No, everyone wants to see human suffering, and he’s more than willing to give it. He loves Candace Owens too because water seeks its own level.
But it was a serious thing. Even Megyn Kelly once talked about why it mattered that we were saying “We are Charlie Kirk.” We are people the Left wants to see unpersoned at best and dead at worst. But most of all, just to shut up, and that’s what Tyler Robinson did to Charlie Kirk. He silenced him.
The AI song was a way to make something happen that our culture would never have allowed because almost no musician would ever risk their careers like that. Remember when Jamie Lee Curtis offered him some sympathy and was raked over the coals and had to apologize? Yeah, that.
Yes, if you are a sociopath who has bought into the decade-long, systematic campaign against the working class, you would think the AI song was funny, and maybe, a year later, it is kind of. But there was nothing funny about it in November of 2025 when Hasan Piker made his name on it.
Hasan Piker fancies himself a fighter for the poor. He is anything but. He’s a pampered little rich kid who is absolutely a high-status influencer among the ruling class, just like Zohran Mamdani is.
Bernie Sanders never worked a day in his life and was even kicked off a commune for not doing enough work, and by the looks of it, AOC will follow in his footsteps with a lifetime on the people’s dime. They can’t imagine a culture that doesn’t represent them, or that would punish artists for daring to play at the Kennedy Center or to celebrate America’s 250th birthday.
Sorry, Democrats. You’re stuck with a guy who isn’t worthy of even being in the same room with Charlie Kirk, but who once was in the room with Charlie Kirk. That is how emptied out his soul really is.
So no wonder it was so easy for Hasan Piker to mock Charlie Kirk even in death. He must have felt diminished in those debates. Who wouldn’t have? Charlie was smarter, quicker on his feet, and taller. Hasan Piker shines just a little bit brighter now that the brightest light has fallen.
But he’ll never be like Charlie. He’ll never build a movement built on hope and faith. He’ll never change the world. He’ll always be on the outside, with his face pressed up against the glass, enjoying his one brief moment in the spotlight.
And now he’s your problem, Democrats. You can’t wipe off the stain even if you used bleach. Good luck with that.

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Today, after staying on Jon Ossoff’s email list for eight years, I finally hit unsubscribe. This is my Dear Jon letter, and in some ways, the moment I will really be saying goodbye to the Democratic Party once and for all.
I will admit I held on too long with Ossoff. Try as I might over the past six years since leaving the party to extricate myself from their relentless email machine, I didn’t mind when Ossoff’s emails flew into my mailbox.
In 2017, I saw in Ossoff what the Democrats needed as they tried to find their next Obama stand-in. He fit the bill perfectly. I also liked how he didn’t seem to buy into the party's increasingly crazy extremes but was comfortably moderate, at least for a time.
My record with Federal political donations tells the tale.
If anyone looks at my record, they’ll see I continued donating to ActBlue through 2025. Except that I didn’t. I just didn’t realize they were charging me all that time. That’s how relentless they are and how stupid I am.
The Glow-Up
Before the expensive makeup, strategic lighting and tight shirts, Ossoff looked like what Steve Bannon would call a “pencil-necked geek.” He was too skinny, even if he was an Obama clone. He seemed too good, too clean for dirty politics back then.
I fell for the lie that Ossoff really was a self-made man, a “filmmaker who turned to politics,” per this Wall Street Journal video.
He is hardly self-made. More like a hot house flower.
Ossoff grew up in a political household. Both parents were heavily involved in politics. At just 19, he began working on Capitol Hill for Rep. Hank Johnson while attending Georgetown’s School of Foreign Service and continued working for him until 2012.
His email list was mostly the kind of thing you’d get in the old days of the Democratic Party, the kind of thing you’d expect from the Obama clone factory.
But that isn’t really where Ossoff is now in his political career. He is determined not to go down as a squeaky-clean beta male. No, Ossoff has gotten SWOLE. He appears to have brought in a team to fix the look to be camera-ready. The makeup, the hair, the dimples. Ossoff finally looks the part. He can do alpha.
All of a sudden, he’s the guy everyone is talking about. He’s the guy who is suddenly the hottie on tap. True, he’s Jewish, and that’s a problem for the Democrats, but no one really talks about that. Instead, they’re selling the matinee idol on TikTok.
The truth is, I didn’t think about Jon Ossoff much until he went viral for channeling his inner sexist in a desperate bid to get attention and rise to the top of the pile.
And it worked. He went viral! He’s in the headlines now, and everyone knows his name.
But this version of Jon Ossoff will never be president. He’s abandoned what made him exceptional in the first place, his decency and his goodness. The sharks demanded flesh and blood, and he gave it to them, but it will come at a cost.
One of the main reasons Democrats have failed for the past ten years to gain any purchase in this country has been their obsessive fixation on Trump, which is pretty much all Ossoff is doing.
It’s a race to the bottom to see who can out-Trump Trump, to be more confrontational, more bullying, more vulgar, and tougher. They believe this will solve their “man problem,” and who knows, maybe it will. I look at Ossoff now, and I don’t see someone tough or brave. I see a coward.
Ossoff, like James Talarico and almost every Democrat, is now leaning into the party's extremes. Because of course he is. He has to. In his viral speech in Atlanta, he referenced his daughters and said they will ask him one day how he let things get so bad, and, in the same sentence, dismiss the concerns of little girls and women in sports.
Guess what, Jon: thousands of little girls will one day ask you why you let it happen, why you allowed so many of them to believe they should amputate their breasts when they could not consent. They will look to you, Jon.
You will have to tell them why you pretended biological males had no advantage in sports because you were too cowardly to stand up to your own party.
I once thought Ossoff was a good man. Now I see him as a desperate man, no different from any other Democrat, so much so that he’s given himself over to what has become an uncontrollable fetish on the Left to dehumanize Donald Trump and his supporters.
They slut-shamed Melania’s modeling photos, splashing them all over social media. They suggested Trump was having an affair with his own daughter. They took a bath in Karoline Leavitt’s Vanity Fair photos, which splashed all over TikTok and led to her being called KKKaroline.
They mocked Kellyanne Conway’s age and her face, and Sarah Huckabee Sanders’ makeup. It’s grotesque and repulsive, but it is typical and ongoing.
Even now, Rosie O’Donnell is out there on primetime television calling Trump a “serial pedophile and rapist.” It doesn’t matter if it’s true. It only matters if it happened in their imagination.
They spent whole seasons giggling about the particulars of the Stormy Daniels affair, and they were willing to forgive lusty E. Jean Carroll’s sexy talk at Anderson Cooper and envision instead a ridiculous, implausible, violent rape incident that most likely never happened.
They call Trump a rapist so they can kill him.
They call him a racist so they can kill him.
They call him a fascist so they can kill him.
They call him a pedophile so they can kill him.
They just want to kill him, and every day the hungry beast must be fed.
Before you say “But Trump says…” there’s a difference. No one on the Right, least of all Trump, pretends to be morally superior to the other half of the country as they have on the Left. There are no death fantasies. They don’t go “no contact.” They don’t destroy your career if you even so much as like a post by the other side.
The price of admission in their world is that you have to want Trump dead too. You must forsake him, and then they will welcome you with open arms. That’s who they are and what they’ve become and why I could not and will never be a part of that world anymore.
Now, Ossoff has become one of them.
The party of women knows destroying a woman like Natalie Harp isn’t a good look, because she is sympathetic. She’s a homeschooled bone cancer survivor whose father committed suicide. And Ossoff, to paraphrase Aaron Sorkin, gets on television and calls her a w***e.
And that, more than anything, defines the men of the Left, too. They can’t stand up to those crazy, crazy women. They have no real courage to stand up to the extremists either. They know they are muzzled and must do as they’re told.
Cowardly beta males like musician Bill Madden, a keyboard warrior whose fingers tingle every day when he has the chance to say the worst things he can as long as it’s aimed at women on the Right.
It kind of helps to see what he really looks like, just a fading nobody clinging to his youth.
This quote is on his Wikipedia: “… when it comes to inequality, historically, no group of people has been discriminated against more than women. Men have been f*****g up the world for thousands of years. It’s time we give more women a chance to lead.”
Oh really? I guess you have to say which women, eh Bill? Not all of them.
It’s possible the Democrats overplayed their hand and have realized the Natalie Harp story is not a win for them. You can see them now reeling it in, trying to say Trump amplified it as a distraction because it makes the Democrats look bad. Oh no, my friends, you did that all on your own.
The problem is that where there is chum in the water, there are hungry sharks. The lower the Democrats go, like Jennifer Welch and Hasan Piker, the more the candidates seeking office must feed the hungry beasts.
The Party of Crazy, Crazy Women
They might think the Great Feminization has made society better, but it has left them like a women’s prison, or stranded on a desert island with the only men in sight being the weak, flaccid, pandering, ineffectual men of the Left. And that has left the women, shall we say, a bit unhinged.
Can you blame the women stuck on that island for losing their minds when they saw Zohran Mamdani’s TikToks?
Most of what he does now seems directly related to how much women on TikTok will swoon over him. Parents’ night out? Free helmets? Doxing millionaires? Free groceries? Rent freeze!
Abdul El-Sayed is following the same sales pitch of aiming his TikTok videos at the young ladies, flexing his muscles and waving his backside at the camera in a way no white man could ever get away with, certainly not while positioning themselves as a sexy “Daddy” figure.
They don’t just want sexy back; they also want to be the party of fun and are working on a TikTok rebrand.
The problem is that the base of the Democratic Party, mostly white women, are nuttier than a five-pound fruitcake. We found out just how nutty this past week as a movement began to form in support of child murderer Lindsay Clancy.
There they were again, those crazy, crazy women showcasing their pathology on TikTok. They weren’t shaving their heads this time or wearing blue bracelets. They were elevating Lindsay Clancy as the victim, even after she confessed to strangling the life out of her three kids.
These are the kinds of lunatics whose votes Jon Ossoff needs. And that is why he has finally given them exactly what they want.
The irony of all of this is Natalie Harp was hurled into the arena for unending mockery, slut-shaming, and fantasies. Doesn’t she count as a woman, too? Isn’t she worthy of support?
A Feeding Frenzy
The media was all too ready to devour the bloody chum Ossoff threw into the water. It’s just that, as with everything they do, it’s not real. It’s fake news.
There is no bottom when it comes to how they report on Donald Trump and especially the women who surround him.
But some of the lows have been extraordinary, like dragging out Harp’s wayward, socialist hippie brother to exploit the tragedy of their falling out after the death of their father. It doesn’t get much darker than that. Or more desperate.
Here is Larry O’Connor on Townhall:
O’Connor again with Mark Halperin and Kevin Walling on Next Up:
Scott Jennings had no trouble setting the record straight.
Ossoff’s sleazy attack on Harp reveals his biggest weakness. He wants it too bad, and he sold himself out. And maybe that makes him ready to be the democratic nominee.
Want those big donations? Trash women, trash working-class voters, dehumanize your fellow Americans. Sell women and girls down the river. Pander to the extremists. Smear the character of a young woman like Natalie Harp just to go viral, just to please the unhinged women on the Left who don’t even know what a woman is.
For his part, Trump flicked Ossoff away like a speck of dust on his suit, calling him Pee Wee Herman. And if we know one thing about Donald Trump, once you get hit with a nickname, it sticks.

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When Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez laughed off Woke 1.0, she attempted to distance herself from a movement she not only helped build but also led. Because the DSA is ascendant, they’re hoping to pivot to kitchen table issues just long enough to trick otherwise sane people into voting for them.
Hasan Piker started wearing suits. Abdul El-Sayed is attempting to draw in Trump supporters by showcasing his white grandparents.
And out in Texas, James Talarico is making ads with his Paw Paw.
They’re just regular folks, like you and me. Well, except that they want to tear America down to the studs and rebuild it as a woked-up socialist paradise. But shsh. Nothing to see here, move along, move along.
Woke 1.0 wasn’t just some silly thing that happened to them one time. It is a deeply held belief system that has been passed on through the generations and mandates conformity across all institutions and culture. It is not an ideology so much as the biggest cult in American history.
As we’ve watched their power weaken after Trump’s second win, we see them now more clearly than ever trying to cling to it. Calling white people racist gets louder.
Ordering women to obey the rules of language, like the refusal to use the word “cis” or whether or not dating bisexual men, makes you homophobic.
Cults must always control the women, separate them from their children. True for Charles Manson, Jim Jones, or Scientology. It’s so bad on the Left now that the only right women fight for now is the right to kill their own babies.
From White Fragility to protecting women in sports or locker rooms, not to mention children, the once and former feminists are MIA. Many of them are so desperate to be led and dominated by men that they are becoming Muslim reverts:
Back in the 1970s, women were also vulnerable and impressionable because the Counter Culture revolution was all about leaving traditional values, like family and religion, behind to “find yourself.” Women were suddenly free, yet all they seemed to want was to find someone to follow.
All of those white college girls of privilege were either sucked into cults, moving into vans, or shooting up banks.
Meanwhile, the black community was vulnerable, too, and that is how cult leaders like Jim Jones took advantage of them. He was selling things not that different from today’s Left.
The Origins of Woke 1.0
I’ll never forget May 25th of 2016. I decided to splurge for my daughter’s 18th birthday by taking her to see Hamilton on Broadway, with nearly the entire original cast. The tickets, flight, and hotel were too expensive, but we’d never get this moment back, so why not?
It was the same year my daughter would visit the NYU campus, have her prom, and I would be doing everything I could to elect Hillary Clinton as the first female President of the United States, with the doomed hashtag #imwithher.
I was part of a generation of parents who wanted to not just be better but to perfect ourselves, our children, and our world.
I can’t pinpoint exactly when we transformed from anti-establishment Gen-Xers to helicopter parents. But I know it had to do with the therapy culture of the 1990s, capped off by Columbine in 1999, 9/11, and the two wars in Iraq and Afghanistan that followed. Something was wrong, not just with all of us, but with our country too.
The person elected to heal us from all of this collective, multi-generational trauma was Barack Obama, who became our spiritual leader and our male role model.
2012 was the moment Obama and the millennial do-gooder establishment that surrounded him sought to make our country better through indoctrination in public schools and universities.
Hillary Clinton was chosen as the torchbearer, but she lacked Obama’s charisma and had nothing to sell the public that they wanted except one thing: identity politics. It wasn’t enough.
Our cult over-reacted to Trump’s win, as though it was the FBI showing up outside the Koresh compound. It was Doomsday and that dark cloud would cover everything we controlled, from Hollywood to the legacy media to book publishing to fashion to influencer culture. We drew a line, and if you wanted in, you could not cross it. If you wanted out, all you had to do was question authority.
But it was what we weren’t watching that would be our biggest problem later. We weren’t watching the kids.
Teenage Wasteland
What happened to the nation’s young people, having been indoctrinated in the oppressor/oppressed mindset, where they saw racism, homophobia, transphobia, and Islamophobia everywhere they looked, even before Trump won, kicked into motion an apocalyptic fantasy that would justify everything they did, from protests to violence to assassinations.
The internet was their fantasy world, which gave many of them absolute power. This was true whether it was social justice warriors who ultimately led the transgender contagion among young girls, or the boys who gravitated to 4-chan and would eventually lead to the rise of the mass shooter influencer, like Tyler Robinson, Matthew David Crooks, or Luigi Mangione.
The first real sign of trouble happened nine years ago at Evergreen College. When I first saw this story, I was already pulling away from the cult, but even then, I was afraid to put it on social media because I knew it would be seen as “racist.” And yet, by burying this story, the Left set itself up for much worse down the road.
Violence showed up as early as 2015 during Woke 1.0, when Trump supporters were often beaten, kicked, and spat on. The protests at Trump’s inauguration seemed to be a natural extension of the mass hysteria that consumed the Left in 2016. It would only get worse.
The violence we’re seeing on the Left only escalated, culminating in a full-blown revolution on the streets in 2020, a mob demanding diners raise their fist for Black Lives Matter, and authoritarianism rising from a generation raised to believe they have the right to tear down what they didn’t build and make the whole country pay because of it.
That put power briefly back in the hands of Joe Biden, who pandered to the mob. They believed the false narratives around January 6th, decided MAGA was the cult, and walked away from this story. They barely even talk about it now.
The entire Democratic Party became the administrators at Evergreen, too crippled by white guilt to provide the necessary leadership and discipline these kids needed before they graduated and joined the workforce.
But even still, the most dangerous legacy Woke 1.0 leaves behind isn’t what it’s done to kids or to culture, to our sense of history or to our unity as a country. No, in dividing us into the oppressed and the oppressor, it opened the door to America’s enemies to exploit the sitting ducks on the Left and name Islam as the most oppressed and thus hand it the most power.
Then the enemy walked through the door we left open.
Woke 2.0
My daughter was three when the planes hit the towers. I remember waking up to the news. Imagine the days before we all had cell phones, or even social media. I had to call my friend and tell her to turn on the news. This was the first time America had been attacked on this level since Pearl Harbor.
But terrorism accomplished very little for Islam. It turned the US and the world against them. They were feared and even hated. Our country would transform into a surveillance state, and there’s an argument to be made that everything we’re living through now is not because of COVID but because of 9/11.
Changing hearts and minds would be the way the Islamic world would rise from the ashes. Before long, there was a new word that controlled our thought and speech: Islamophobia.
I didn’t realize how deep it all went until 2017, the same year as Evergreen. Wonder Woman had come out. My daughter really loved it, but she was afraid to say so online. Why? Because Gal Gadot was an Israeli who trained with the IDF.
I was as shocked by this development as I was when she told me her friend was becoming a “he” and wanted “top surgery.” What on earth were they teaching our kids? Idiot liberals like me had no idea. And by the time many of us figured it out, it was too late.
Palestine joined the wheel of oppression and took its place in the hierarchy long before October 7th. Hamas attacked Israel, and Putin invaded Ukraine with Joe Biden in power. They clearly saw him as a weak and addled president who would not be able to manage these wars, so what better time to test the hearts and minds campaigns and the way our enemies had begun to destroy us from within.
October 7th wasn’t a random attack. It was an act of such extreme violence that Israel would have no choice but to go to war, and in so doing, a worldwide campaign to defend the oppressed in Palestine could turn the entire world against Israel.
But it wasn’t until the rise of Zohran Mamdani, Hasan Piker, and now Abdul El-Sayed and the entire DSA that we could see how fruitful the decades-long hearts-and-minds campaign really was.
The Holocaust, to these young people, barely matters. They have no idea what Stalin did, what Mao did, or even really what Hitler did. And they know better than to criticize Islam because that would make them a racist. There was only one place left to go.
Just like the leap from World War I to World War II, so too would the jump from Woke 1.0 to Woke 2.0 land on the eternal scapegoat: the Jews.
It’s like shooting fish in a barrel. Islam and Socialism. Islam and Black Lives Matter. Islam and Medicare for all. These two movements have so much in common, from controlling thought and speech to controlling women and children. But really, it’s all about their shared enemies, Israel and the US.
Woke 2.0 isn’t just the Left, however. It’s also a large portion of the Right who have named Israel as the ultimate evil as well, so much so that they are following Candace Owens and Tucker Carlson down the rabbit hole to deflate any offense against the rising radicalism — terrorism - on the Left.
Both Nick Fuentes and Hasan Piker have chimed in to declare Candace is helping to defeat the Right and absolve the Left. They can’t believe their luck. What unites all of them is their conclusion that Israel and the Jews are the problem.
China, Russia, Iran, and North Korea know us better than we know ourselves. Who needs bombs when you have white fragility? Who needs censorship when you have cancel culture?
But Islam that wants more. They seek to overtake and convert the United States the way we once feared the Communists might. With the oppressor/oppressed ideology and the rise of Islamo-Marxism, there is no stopping them now.
A TikTok user quoting Sharifa Alkhateeb and an Iranian.
They just needed the right script, and they found it with helpless resistance libs who have run out of options and Gen-Z, raised on convenience culture who are lured in by the promise of free stuff. Who needs suicide vests and box cutters when you have TikTok?
We would start two failed wars after 9/11 called the “War on Terror.” People like me were convinced we were wrong. Now, just as with Joseph McCarthy and the Red Scare, considering how it all turned out, I have to wonder.



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