Megan Kelly can go fuck herself by JojofromJerz

[Doreen Peri]

https://open.substack.com/pub/jojofromj ... medium=ios

Megyn Kelly can go fuck herself.
And I mean it in the fullest, ugliest, soul-deep motherfucking way a human throat can form. Clear your calendar, unplug your ring light, rehome your ficus, and go fuck yourself, Megyn. Do it with the force of every survivor who clawed their way out of silence while women like you held the door open for the men who hurt them and smiled like it was a career move.
Do it with the fury of every girl who was doubted, dissected, dismissed, and discarded by women who knew better and still chose relevance over decency. Go fuck yourself until the smug little smirk you’ve stapled to your stupid fucking face unsticks and exposes the hollow department-store mannequin beneath it.
Go fuck yourself with the dried-out Sharpie you’ve used for years to black out the parts of every story that made power look guilty. Every time you turned rape into rhetoric. Every time you scribbled over a girl’s trauma and called it “context.” That is the level we’re talking about.
She can go fuck herself so hard her highlights revolt, her extensions file for emancipation, and her podcast evaporates into a sad puff of collagen dust and expired sponsorship codes.
Because this week, this brittle, blow-dried bulldozer of basic bitchery looked straight into a camera and said, with her whole face:
“There’s a difference between a 15-year-old and a 5-year-old.”
Like she was ordering lunch. Like she was clarifying a dress code. Like she wasn’t casually categorizing child rape on a fucking scale of acceptability.
She wasn’t stammering. She wasn’t unsure. This wasn’t a slip. This was intent. She came to draw a line— not between good and evil, not between truth and lies, but between the rape she thinks she can justify and the rape she knows she can’t PR-spin. Between “technically too young” and “passable to a passerby.” Between a child with homework in her backpack and a child she assumes no one cares enough to defend.
And she did this while the Epstein files were blowing open like God hit “publish” on a hard drive from hell. While we were reading, in bold-print receipts, that Epstein bragged he could “end Trump” because Trump “knew about the girls.” While survivors steadied themselves for the names and the quotes and the emotional landmines tucked into every page. While the whole country got a front-row seat to just how aggressively the powerful form a human centipede the moment accountability knocks.
And Megyn Kelly looked at all that and thought, Now is my moment.
Because buried in those files was something so grotesquely ironic it curls the air:
“I have met some very bad people.”
“None as bad as Trump.”
“Not one decent cell in his body.”
This wasn’t from a pundit. Or a jilted ex.
This was Jeffrey Epstein.
The most infamous child trafficker on Earth.
The architect of the nightmare.
Staring at Donald Trump and calling him the worst man he ever knew.
And that is who Megyn Kelly runs interference for. That is the moral sewage she wants to drag “nuance” through. That is the hill she has chosen: a hill made of flight logs and the blood of girls no one protected when it mattered.
And she still doubled down.
“He liked 15-year-old girls… the very young teen types that could pass for even younger.”
Pass for younger. But not too young, right? Because in Megyn’s twisted little worldview, the horror of rape exists on a sliding scale. Five is bad. Fifteen is “complicated.” And anything above puberty falls into the “little inappropriate” column. As if statutory rape were a buffet where you can skip the eight-year-olds and say, “Oh, I’ll just have the barely-legals today, thanks.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
And since she wants to intellectualize this, let’s talk about who she’s describing.
A fifteen-year-old.
A child.
A kid who still leaves half her notebooks at home and thinks missing homework might ruin her life. A freshman with AP Bio at 8 a.m. and a curfew at 9. A girl who clips keychains to her lanyard because it makes her feel grown, who hides in the bathroom after gym because someone snickered when she slipped on the polished floor. She is soft-cheeked and unsure, still figuring out where she fits in her own body.
She is not “borderline.” She is not ambiguous. She is not “complex.”
She is a child. And children cannot consent. Not to grown men. Not to power. Not to danger. Not to anything Megyn Kelly is trying to rationalize.
I played with Barbies at fourteen. My daughter still tucks her dolls into bed. These girls are not “complicated.” They are not a philosophical thought experiment. They are children. And anyone shaving the edges off that truth is not offering nuance—they are offering cover. They are holding the flashlight for the men who hunt in the dark.
Megyn didn’t have to say a word. Silence was free. She could’ve just shut the fuck up. But she sat her Skelewhore ass down in front of a microphone, locked eyes with her camera, and chose to scale trauma for engagement.
Let me ask you, Megyn: whose daughter is it okay to rape at fifteen? Yours? Mine? Your neighbor’s? Is there a checklist? A vibe test?
You don’t get to redefine what a violator is to make the shadow-crawlers more palatable. It’s not a Golden Corral of crime. You don’t get to grab the “teen stuff” and skip the “too illegal” tray.
And for what? Downloads? Clicks? A little bump in her analytics?
She is not a journalist. She is not a mother in that moment. She is not even a human being engaged with humanity. She is a brand. A shell. A hand-delivered press kit of violation defense wrapped in a contour palette.
She is the reason men like this keep getting away with it. She is the gateway drug to victim-shaming. She is the polished grin on the face of rape culture’s morning show. She looked at the horrors of Epstein’s world, at the names that should shake this country, and thought, “Well, let’s not exaggerate.”
She is a Skeksis in stilettos. A vulture queen dressed for the cameras. The cold-blooded network ghoul of ratings-first morality. A human nondisclosure clause forged in lawyers’ sweat and power’s gratitude. A broadcast parasite engineered to speak only when it’s time to soften a violator’s silhouette and repaint cruelty as “context.”
And she does not deserve a platform. She deserves a full stop.
Let her record her next episode in a Walmart parking lot with a cracked phone and a tinfoil mic, shouting into a void that finally stopped listening. Let her fade. Let her melt into the grift sludge of media has-beens clinging to attention like dying ticks on the back of relevance.
Let her name become a punchline in every parable of betrayal. Let her legacy rot into a cautionary tale of what happens when a woman trades her own reflection for access and sells out every girl who might have once looked like her but had no one standing guard.
And to every survivor reading this:
I am sorry.
For what she said.
For what she excused.
For how loud her mic still is and how quiet yours was when it mattered.
Because the audacity of her saying “There’s a difference between a fifteen-year-old and a five-year-old” like she was clarifying a brunch menu is its own violence. She said it with the breezy confidence of someone who has never sat beside a survivor choking on a memory.
She would never say those words to a survivor’s face. She wouldn’t dare. Because she knows exactly what she would be met with. She knows that in the presence of real pain and real truth, her argument would snap clean in half, brittle from cowardice and hollow at its core.
And that fracture is the point.
She showed us who she is.
Again.
She loves to posture as some warrior for the children, screeching about pronouns and trans athletes like they’re the apocalypse, but the truth is simpler and uglier. Kids don’t need protection from vocabulary or other kids. They need protection from adults who twist their trauma into talking points, who grade their pain on a curve, who excuse the men who hurt them.
They need protection from people like her.
She exposed exactly what she is: the poison she trades in, the indecency, the hunger for relevance. She showed how quickly she’ll scrub the sins of powerful men if it buys her ten more minutes of attention. She would rather be notorious than decent, louder than right, a mouthpiece for the worst among us instead of a name that finally fades.
She doesn’t deserve to be taken seriously.
She needs to be erased from public discourse.
She needs to be shoved into the long shadow of her own shame.
And she really, really, REALLY needs to go fuck herself.

[winddance]

wow, strong stuff well written, I totally agree

[Doreen Peri]

Yeah, she’s a powerful writer. Her name is Joanne Carducci. I spend a lot of time on substack following independent journalists, some of whom used to work for mainstream media stations— like Don Lemon and Jim Acosta. They’ve all gone to Substack to start their own shows. So I’m following them plus many other independent journalists I’ve discovered during this horrific nightmare of a fascist regime thar we’re living through.

I discovered Jojo on a Substack live broadcast. She was having a conversation with Michael Cohen. He was the first one I started following there. I wanted to learn about what happened to him
because he ended up going to prison for the orange fascist in the White House. He wouldn’t call him a fascist I don’t think, but I do.

Anyway, that’s my new internet home away from home. All I do there is get the news, read the journalists’ reports, watch their videos, and watch live conversations between independent journalists (or recorded ones.) Then I share the posts I find interesting which internally they call “restacking.”

At any rate, reading Heather Cox Richardson and all the others has especially helped me cope and try to understand why we are in this despicable situation.

Jojofromjerz is fast becoming one of my favorite writers over there.

[Doreen Peri]

I failed to address the actual issue. What the hell is the matter with Megan Kelly? Comparing the maturity of a 15 year old girl to a 5 year old girl, as if it’s acceptable to rape a 15 year old? She’s just as sick as the rapists she’s trying to justify for.

The whole thing makes me ill.

[sasha]

I don't think she actually believes that - I think she's just playing the good soldier, following the orders of Der Fuhrer, like the guards at Dachau & Buchenwald. Der Fuhrer says to gas them, we shall gas them. Whatever personal beliefs she may have are secondary to keeping His hands clean. Somehow that's even worse.

[Doreen Peri]

I don't think she actually believes that - I think she's just playing the good soldier, following the orders of Der Fuhrer, like the guards at Dachau & Buchenwald. Der Fuhrer says to gas them, we shall gas them. Whatever personal beliefs she may have are secondary to keeping His hands clean. Somehow that's even worse.

I hear you. That’s possible. But I don’t know. Did you hear her? Did you see the video? She sure sounded like she believed this crap.

It was painful to watch her and listen to her. She sounded so sincere. I didn’t think she was acting. But who knows. If she can act that well, she should have a movie career.

Either way. Fuck her. If she’s acting to try to make it seem OK and acceptable for a grown man to rape a 15 year old in order to protect the slime crime ball in the White House, then fuck her. If she really believes it’s ok? Fuck her! Either way, fuck her!

[sasha]

Chronic liars have to be good actors in order to be effective. And Trump only hires the best, as he's often assured us. It's probably a prerequisite for working for him.

No, I did not actually hear the statement. I'm trying to kick my Outrage Porn habit and prefer not to give that asshole or his sycophants any more attention than I have to. It made my flesh crawl just to read it.

That was a damned good rant, though. I had to paste it into Notepad for the large type, but it was worth it.

[Doreen Peri]

I believe Kelly is a talk show host. I don’t think she’s ever worked for him. But yeah, those who support him definitely lie for him, too, not only those who work for him.

It was a powerful rant. Thx for reading it. I wish I wrote it. I admire the author’s writing style.

[Doreen Peri]

Sasha— PS, you’re really smart to keep your rage about this administration under control. Much smarter than me. I’m buried in it… so angry all the time, so overwhelmed with trying to keep up with being informed about how our country is being destroyed, it’s all consuming. I’m sure it’s very unhealthy for my heart condition and my blood pressure.

[sasha]

Ms Kelly WAS a talk show host. (Which does not make her a pundit - just a glib pretty face.) What she IS, is the mouthpiece for the President of the United States. She does what she is told, and she says what she's directed to say. She's just another disposable component of the current regime. When it's time, His Majesty will just throw her away & plug in a new one.

Every week or so, a bunch of us retirees from a local medium-tech manufacturer gather to shoot the shit, complain about getting old, grumble about the current state of affairs, wax rhapsodic about whatever shiny objects may have caught our eyes. Our numbers include a couple of chemists, a couple of EEs, a couple of MEs, and a physicist (me). One of the chemists is a history buff, and is totally unflappable about the mayhem now passing as governance - says it's all happened before, like during the Gilded Age, or pre-Civil War, or 1920s - but that because the system is self-correcting, the ship has always righted itself, and there's no reason to think it won't again. It's an ongoing process of evolution, lurching from one equilibrium to another. I am NOT a history buff, so I can only quote him with a shrug & hope he's right. Whether any of us will live to see it is another matter - I've already grudgingly accepted that I probably won't get to see ESA's mission to Europa find the signs of Life it's looking for. But rest assured, deodorant, laundry detergent, and craft beer will continue to be sold long after we're gone...