Speaker 1: What's up, everyone, and welcome to another episode of the
Epstein Chronicles. You ever wake up, check the news and
realize that the world's just a giant ass rerun Sam Headlines,
Sam Crooks, Sam Royal Circus, only this time the clown's
wearing a crown and can't remember where he left his dignity. Yeah,
I'm talking about Prince Andrew, Britain's least employable man, now
back in the spotlight thanks to some freshly dug up
emails with this good pal, Jeffrey. I totally didn't kill
myself Epstein. You know, the one he supposedly cut ties with. Well,
it just so turns out that he lied, and the
new emails they read like the worst buddy comedy script.
We're in this together. Well play some more later, I mean,
come on, play some more later. What were they playing? Exactly?
Golf morality Twister, the how much can we get away
with before the peasants notice? Game? The sheer arrogance is stunning.
The man's writing to a convicted predator like the Plan
and a pool party in Hell, and we're supposed to
believe he didn't know what was going on. Sure thing,
your highness, I guess the sweat just clouded your judgment.
Oh wait, that's right, he don't sweat. Every single time
this guy opens his mouth, it's like watching someone shovel
deeper into their own grave while insisting it's a wine cellar.
We're in this together, Yeah, Andy, I bet you were,
and I bet Epstein was the one sending the invites.
It's always we, never me Coward's love company. And nothing
says moral backbone like hiding behind the title while your
friend's rotten the ground or undersealed indictments. And of course
it's the same old, same old from the palace. They're exasperated.
That's the word they use now, exasperated, as if the
real tragedy here is how exhausting it must be trying
to defend the world's least charismatic prints. Imagine being the
press secretary trying to polish this turd for twenty years.
Every time you think you're done buffing, another email drops
out of the sky like, hey, mate, can't wait to
hang out again. You just can't make this shit up. Meanwhile,
regular people are out here getting hauled into court over
internet posts, and this dude's living in a mansion on
Crown Estate land like nothing's ever happened, you know. The
Royal family talks about service to the people. Yes, service
like the kind you get when you order food and
it shows up cold, overpriced in three hours late. Andrew
is the lukewarm soup of Royalty technically is still part
of the meal, but everyone wishes the waiter would just
take it away already. And still he sits there, puffing
himself up, pretending he's been wronged, wronged, like the biggest
injustice in his life is that people don't believe is
I don't recall routine anymore? News flash, Andy, the only
thing you've been victimized by is your own ego. The
rest of us we're just tired of footing the bill
for your little redemption tour while you hide behind the
curtain of pomp and taxpayer funded linen. So yeah, Welcome
to the latest episode of The Untouchables, Windsor Edition starring
Prince Andrew, the man who managed to turn We're in
this together into the new Royal motto for hypocrisy, brought
to you by a monarchy that keeps saying no one
is above the law. Right before pouring another drink and
asking if you could maybe just maybe look the other way,
because if this is what no one above the law
looks like, then maybe the law's just taking a long vacation,
probably somewhere warm, quiet and far away from Royal Lodge,
you know where accountability goes to die and look like
most of you. I'm tired tired of being spoon fed
this royal fairytale garbage about how no one's above the law.
They say with such conviction too, like they're narrating some
moral bedtime story meant to make the peasants sleep soundly. Meanwhile,
Prince Andrew sitting in his palatial nest at Royal Lodge,
sipping tea and pretending the world doesn't see him for
what he is. A liar, a coward, and a scandal
in a suit. We're told to believe that justice is blind,
but it sure as hell seems to peque through the
blindfold when there's a crown involved. It's like watching a
fireman douts everyone's house but his buddies because he doesn't
want to make it awkward. Either those words mean something
or they're just another slogan stamped on a crooked billboard.
To keep the middle class docile and distracted. No one
is above the law as a punchline, now, not a principle.
And Andrew's the joke that keeps on giving. And the
new emails, holy hell, they're not just embarrassing, they're radioactive.
They're the kind of receipts you slam down when somebody's
been lying straight to your face for years. We're in
this together, we'll play some more later. That's not a
lapse in judgment. What that is is a partnership. You
don't write something like that to a convicted sex offender
unless you're completely detached from morality or confident that the
system will catch everyone but you. The tone of those
words is like two crooks planning their next heist, not
a remorseful princes breaking off a toxic friendship. It's him
saying we're still good mate, while the rest of us
choke on the hypocrisy. It's revolting, like watching someone blow
kisses at the gallows. And you know what makes it
even sicker, the word games, the polish lies, the years
of icut ties. I barely knew him, I wasn't aware
all that sanctemonious posturing. While the inbox tells a whole
different story. You don't stumble into an email saying we're
in this together. You type that with purpose, with comfort,
with trust. You send it because you know no one's
going to hold you accountable. That's a man who thought
his last name was a force field and that the
rest of us would never see behind the curtain. The
whole performance has turned into a Shakespearean farce, a comedy
of corruption. They still expect us to curtsey, to bow,
to pretend. Duty and service are still words that mean
something in that palace. But dignity is a part of
the wardrobe. No matter how much gold you drape yourself in,
you can't stitch integrity into a uniform or inherit it
through birthright. You earn it by doing right when no
one's watching. And Andrew, he pawned his way for access
and excuses. The man could stand on the balcony covered
in metals and still look like a fraud wearing a
costume two sizes too big. Look, if any of us
had those kinds of emails sitting on his record, the
only thing he'd be playing more of later would be
solitaire in a fucking jail cell. We'd be cuughed before
our lunch break. The cops would drag us out, the
press would have a field day, and the whole thing
would be wrapped up before the weekend. But Andrew, he
gets a soft, focused apology, a polished statement, and a
quiet period to reflect at one of his estates. He
doesn't face consequences. He's treated like an unfortunate inconvenience that
just needs a bit of time to heal. Meanwhile, the
rest of us would be begging for bell and don't
tell me stepping back from royal duties his punishment. Please.
That's the equivalent of your boss telling you to take
a paid vacation after you burn down the warehouse. Step
back from what shaking hands and waving. He didn't lose
his freedom, he lost his schedule. The guy's basically been
grounded from public events, and we're supposed to treat it
like a life sentence. But here's a pro tip. You
don't fix a moral failure with a pr plan. You
fix it with the truth and a damn good lawyer
if it comes to that. And look, this isn't just
about one man's disgrace. It's an infection that's spread through
the royal bloodstream. The whole family name looks like it's
been dragged through the mud, and every time they try
to clean it, it just smears more. They're supposed to
represent duty, honor, and service, but right now they represent
one thing, cover ups. When the cameras roll, they perform
outrage and sorrow. But behind the palace doors, it's all
about damage control, not justice. And I love how they
cry privacy every time someone asks the hard questions privacy.
You forfeited privacy when your personal disgrace started shaping public trust.
Privacy is in a shield from accountability. It's right for
people who didn't abuse their power. When you've got the
wearing this together in your inbox and we'll play some
more later. Floating around you don't get to retreat behind
closed curtains. You brought the world into your mess, and
how the world gets to ask you why you're still
living reund free on the taxpayer's dime. And look, those
emails aren't mere words, they're time bombs. They blow up
every excuse, every carefully crafted statement, every I didn't know
line that's been rehearsed to death. We barely knew each other. Really,
then why are you talking about future plans, Andrew, why
were you laughing it up with the guy everyone knew
was a predator and the Royal Lodge. Don't even get
me started. The fact that this man still gets to
park is disgraced. We're in there is an insult to
everyone who's ever been told the law is fair. Is
there some secret switch in that mansion that turns the
poenas into smoke? How is this guy still living in
a country squire while the world picks through his dirty laundry.
If no one is above the law, and it means anything,
then maybe someone should try enforcing it somewhere north of Kensington.
And if you listen close enough, you can already hear
the establishment's next move. Another round, the rehearsed statements about healing,
moving forward and lessons learned. Yeah, the lessons we've learned
is that power always finds a way to protect itself.
The law bends for crowns, wallets and connections. Every time
they shrug this off as a private matter, it tells
the rest of us we're not part of the same system.
They've got a velvet rope around their justice. But here's
the thing, it's not complicated. The evidence is out there.
The timeline's clear, the survivor's pain has been public for years,
but nothing ever happens because the system gets stage fright
when the accused as the title. They treat it like
a delegate negotiation instead of what it is a crime
that deserves a court room. You don't need a royal historian.
What you need is a prosecutor with a backbone. And
don't hand me the due process talking point like it's
a magic shield. That's what I want, real due process,
not the royal version with butlers carrying subpoenas on silver trays,
not the let's keep this quiet for the sake of
the institution variety. I want the kind that doesn't care
about lineage or legacy, just facts and evidence and consequences.
And if that's too much to ask, then stop pretending
that any of these countries run on justice and start
admitting it runs on the hierarchy. Because actual accountability isn't
complicated either. It's transparency, it's questioning under oath. It's a
system that doesn't flinch when the accused where's the title.
Let him face the same legal light as anyone else.
Let the chips fall where they may. We've been spoon
fed the myth of fairness for far too long. It's
time to see if the law's teeth are real or
just for show. Because if this is in the final nail,
then what the hell is how much clearer does it
need to get? If we're in this together? Doesn't scream complicity?
What does do we need a sign confession carved into
Buckingham's gates. Look, there's a line between plausible deniability and
public mockery. And Andrew crossed that shit about ten scandals ago.
The question now isn't whether he's guilty, it's whether anyone
has the guts to act on it. And of course
we have the same royal PR machine that lectures the
public about values and duty now bending over backward to
explain how this isn't that bad. I guess values only
count when they're printed on charity banners, not when they
cost the family face. The monarchy survives everything except accountability,
and meanwhile, the survivors, the real people, are still out
here living with what happened. Listening to lawyers and PR
teams twists the story into knots. Every polished apology is hollow.
Every we regret statement is just another knife in the back.
And that's what discussed me, not just the scandal itself,
but the insult of it all. You know, the way
justice turns polite when power walks into the room. It's
like the scales of justice aren't broken. They just come
with a royal setting. The rest of us can rotten
holding cells, but his Royal Highness gets therapy and time
away from public view. And here is my middle class conclusion.
Plain is day. If those emls are real, and we
know they are, then the next move shouldn't be another statement,
another source close to the palace, or another polished interview
where he pretends to sweat honesty. The next move should
be a subpoena, a court room and a record of truth.
Justice shouldn't care about the crown. It should care about
the crime. If that means the Royal Lodge gets a
new occupant, good let it. Palaces should be homes, not hideouts.
The people of the UK pay taxes, rent in consequences.
It's about damn time someone in Silk paid the latter.
You said no one is above the law, prove it
or admit the truth that in Britain some people still are,
and the rest of us are just the audience, and
they're never ending disgraceful play. All of the information that
goes with this episode can be found in the description box.