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Don't feel singled out. I'd say he's been insulting everyone here...!fatrat's been insulting me for months, this is the first time I responded in kind.
fatrat's been insulting me for months, this is the first time I responded in kind.
I represent 761,000 people. On Tuesday, three billionaires spent $32 million to destroy a colleague who disagreed with them on one line item. I have not disagreed on anything in fourteen months. I want to tell you about a word I lost.
The word was "no."
I don't mean that rhetorically. I mean I cannot recall the last time I pressed the red button in the House chamber. I looked it up this morning. Had to look it up because I couldn't remember it unprompted. H.R. 4217. Fourteen months ago. It's in the Congressional Record like an artifact from a man who no longer exists.
Thomas Massie lost his primary Tuesday night. Most expensive House primary in American history. $32 million total. He voted with the President 84 to 90 percent of the time. His crime was the remaining ten. One line item. One appropriation. One "no."
Cost of that no: $32 million from donors who have never set foot in Kentucky. The Secretary of Defense in a sport coat calling him a coward at a rally, the first time a sitting Defense Secretary has appeared at a congressional primary in modern American history. An AI-generated deepfake depicting him in a hotel room with two Democratic congresswomen, pornographic, funded by a Super PAC, running in heavy rotation in his district during the evening news. Stephen Miller calling his thirteen years of fiscal conservatism "siding with Democrats to defund ICE." The President calling him a bum, a sleazebag, the worst Republican in history. Three Truth Social posts in ninety minutes.
All of it for the word "no." One syllable. Two letters. $32 million.
I remember the first time I said it.
January 2003. My first term. An omnibus appropriations bill. $397 billion. I'd campaigned on fiscal responsibility. I believed what I'd said. I walked from my new office in Longworth to the chamber floor and I counted the carpet squares. I remember that. Counting. Forty-seven squares from the elevator to the door. My hands were shaking. Not from fear. From something else. I didn't have a word for it then either, but it was the opposite of what I feel now. I pressed the red button and my chest filled with something warm. Like my body was confirming a decision my brain had already made. Like the button and the belief were the same circuit.
Twenty-four years ago. I was that man. The man who shook pressing a button because the button meant something. Because pressing it was a sentence you were saying out loud to 761,000 people: I disagree and here is why.
The word was "conscience."
That's what I called it in 2003. By 2014, I called it "the Tea Party mandate." By 2019, "principled opposition." By 2022, "pragmatic concerns." By 2024, I stopped calling it anything. The word narrowed each year. Like a hallway getting shorter. I didn't notice when I stopped walking. You don't notice a word leaving your vocabulary. You reach for it one morning and find empty space where the concept was.
Massie held the word. Thirteen years. Every omnibus. Every continuing resolution. Every debt ceiling increase. Every foreign aid package. He pressed the red button and his chest filled with whatever mine used to fill with in 2003 and he called it the same thing I used to call it and he meant it the way I used to mean it.
He was replaced by a man whose family operates a 1,200-acre agritourism birthday party venue in Shelbyville. Petting zoo. Corn maze. Hayrides. U-pick strawberries at $3.99 a pound. The soybeans are a tax classification. The "Navy SEAL hero" added a fourth Bronze Star to his biography the month he became a candidate. The "Trump loyalist" left the Republican Party in 2016 because of Trump and came back in 2021 after Trump left office.
I don't say this as mockery. I say it as a specification sheet. You don't want a replacement congressman with an MIT engineering degree and patents in haptic robotics. Patents indicate thinking. Thinking introduces variance. Variance is risk. You want a compliance product. Pre-tested messaging. Zero ideological fingerprints. $14 million in someone else's convictions loaded like firmware. The spec sheet works. The corn maze doesn't introduce FARA legislation. The corn maze doesn't file amendments five days before its own execution. The corn maze votes green. Every time. That's the spec.
Nobody in Congress said a word about the deepfake. I need you to sit with that. A foreign-interest lobby ran AI-generated sexual imagery of a sitting United States congressman, pornographic, funded by three billionaires who have never visited his district, distributed during the evening news, targeted at elderly voters. And 434 of his colleagues watched it happen and said nothing.
The President mocked his dead wife. I need you to sit with that too. Massie's first wife Rhonda died in 2024. His high school sweetheart. They met at MIT. They built the off-grid house together. She died. He remarried in 2025. The President of the United States posted: "His wife will soon find out that she's stuck with a LOSER!" A sitting president. Mocking a widow's new marriage. To a man whose actual crime is voting against a spending bill. And 434 colleagues absorbed that too. In silence. Not one statement. Not one objection. Not one "this is beneath the office." The silence held because the silence is the product.
I said nothing. About the deepfake. About the dead wife. About any of it. Saying something is a vote. I don't cast those anymore.
Wednesday morning I walked from Rayburn to the chamber. The bells rang. I counted the carpet squares again. Forty-seven. Same as 2003. My hands were not shaking. Nothing was warm. The hallway was quiet. Nobody stopped me. Nobody whipped me. Nobody needed to. The system no longer requires operators. Kentucky was the last manual input. From Wednesday forward the mechanism is self-enforcing. A thermostat. The temperature never deviates because the furnace already knows.
I inserted my voting card. I need to be precise about what happened next. My thumb moved to the green button before I finished reading the title of the bill. The thumb knew before the brain. The brain is no longer consulted. It is a vestigial organ in this process. I vote the way you unlock your phone. Muscle memory. The decision was made fourteen months ago and everything since is an echo.
The edge of my card is wearing unevenly. The green side is polished smooth from repetition. The red side still has the factory texture. Sharp. Untouched. I held the card up to the light Wednesday morning and looked at it. The physical evidence of what I've become, embossed in plastic. A machine that presses one button.
In March I drafted a Dear Colleague letter opposing an appropriations rider. Three paragraphs. Fiscal responsibility. Deficit language I've used for twenty-four years. The same language every Republican in Congress used from 2009 to 2017. The letter is in my drafts folder. Between a constituent reply I answered and a fundraising schedule I followed. The two things I still do. Answer and follow. I don't initiate anymore. Initiation is a vote.
Thursday a second-term member stopped me outside the cloakroom. He asked how you know when a bill is worth opposing. He's twenty-nine. He's been here fourteen months. Same duration as my silence. He has never seen a "no" vote from anyone in leadership. He was asking how dissent works the way you'd ask a museum docent how a rotary phone works. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Not because I was being careful. Because I genuinely did not have an answer. The knowledge is gone. Not suppressed. Uninstalled. The way a language dies when the last native speaker dies. I am not the last speaker. The last speaker was removed in Kentucky on Tuesday.
A colleague drafted a co-sponsorship for Massie's AIPAC Act on Tuesday afternoon. FARA reform. He deleted it Wednesday morning. Nobody called him. Nobody threatened him. He deleted it the way you delete an unsent text at 2 AM. The self-preservation is automated now. You don't need to be threatened. You threaten yourself. The overhead is zero.
I want to be honest about something I noticed Thursday morning.
I read the appropriations summary. The one I would have opposed in 2003. The one Massie opposed on Tuesday and was destroyed for. I read it at my desk at 6:40 AM with coffee. And I agreed with it. Not performatively. Not as survival. I read the summary and thought: this makes sense. This is a reasonable allocation. I agreed with the spending.
And then I stopped. Because I couldn't tell when I started believing that.
Was it before Kentucky or after? Was it before fourteen months of green buttons or after? Did I change my mind, or did my mind change itself the way a river changes course, slowly, through erosion, until one morning the water is somewhere else and you can't find the old bed? Is this compliance or is this my position? Can I locate the seam between what I choose and what I've been trained to choose?
I sat at my desk for a long time. The coffee went cold. I couldn't find the seam. It's gone. The compliance and the belief have merged into one thing and I cannot take them apart. I think the spending is correct. I think Massie was naive. And I don't know if I think that or if $32 million taught me to think that and the teaching was so gradual that I experienced it as my own conclusion.
That is what I want to tell you. Not that I'm afraid. Not that I'm coerced. That I can no longer tell. The word "no" didn't just leave my voting record. It left my mind. The button and the belief are the same circuit again. Same as 2003. Except in 2003 the circuit was mine.
Sometimes at night I think about—
No. I sleep fine. I told you. I sleep fine.
Tuesday night I watched the concession. Massie stood in front of his supporters — people who drove hours, who knocked doors, who believed the word still existed — and he said this: "If the legislative branch always votes with the president, we do have a king. But if lawmakers follow the Constitution, we have a republic."
The crowd cheered. They chanted "2028!" They chanted "President!" They still have the word. It lives in that room in Kentucky, in the throats of people who drove to a concession speech on a Tuesday night because they still believe dissent is a right and not a luxury good priced at $32 million.
I heard the quote. I sat in my office in Rayburn and I heard it and I knew it was true. If the legislative branch always votes with the president, we have a king. The next morning I walked forty-seven carpet squares and voted with the president. I knew what I was making. I made it anyway. The quote is true. I know the quote is true. The quote costs $32 million to act on and I don't have $32 million. So the quote is true and I am making a king and I am doing it with a green button every time the bells ring and I will do it tomorrow and I will do it next week and the truth of the quote changes nothing because truth doesn't have a budget.
Truth has a concession speech.
He lost by 4.4 points. $32 million for 4.4 points. $7.27 million per percentage point. A few thousand voters in a district of 478,000. That's how thin the margin was between a republic and a king. The width of a streaming subscription. The thickness of a bumper sticker. The weight of the word "no" when three billionaires are standing on it.
The word was "accountability."
The President ran on releasing the Epstein files. I was there. I heard the applause lines. My constituents want those files. They write me. They email. They stop me at diners. Thomas Massie confronted the Attorney General in a hearing room. He read the names from the unsealed documents. He called the redactions a cover-up to her face. She cited the Dow Jones Industrial Average. Then Massie posted a public proof-of-life. "I am not suicidal. My brakes work. I practice good trigger discipline." A United States congressman certifying his own continued existence because he asked one question about one file.
That was the cost of asking. Before Kentucky. Before $32 million. Before the price list was published.
Nobody will ask again. I won't ask. The files will remain redacted. Not because they're classified. Because the last man who demanded them in a hearing was made into a price tag, and the price tag is now mounted on the wall of every congressional office in the building.
The President ran on no more wars. Massie voted against every foreign military authorization for thirteen years. Every one. He took Article I, Section 8 literally. Congress declares war. Not the President. The Constitution is plain text. He read the plain text. He was the only Republican still voting no on blank-check authorizations by 2024.
He is gone now. The next authorization will pass without a recorded vote. Because recorded votes are accountable votes and accountable votes cost $32 million.
"Release the files." "No more wars." "Drain the swamp." Campaign promises. Bumper stickers. Applause lines. Every single one required one thing from Congress. The word "no." No to redactions. No to cover-ups. No to unauthorized war. No to the budget that funds the swamp.
The man who said "no" is gone. The voters who cheered for accountability voted for the candidate endorsed by the machine that destroyed the last accountable man in the building. I don't say this to blame them. I say this because both things are true simultaneously. The voters wanted accountability. The donors wanted compliance. Compliance has a budget. Accountability has a bumper sticker.
$32 million divided by 478,000 voters in Kentucky's 4th district. That's $66.95 per constituent. Sixty-seven dollars per person to override an entire district's will. Less than a streaming subscription. Three billionaires from Manhattan paid the dinner check for 478,000 people and ordered for them.
There is a woman in my district. Peggy. She has been to every town hall I've held since 2003. Twenty-four years. She brings a yellow legal pad. She writes down my answers in blue ink. She told me once, in 2011, outside a VFW hall, that she keeps all the pads in a box in her closet. A box of my positions. Dated. Transcribed. Fifteen years of promises in her handwriting.
I haven't held a town hall in six months. I don't know how to stand in front of Peggy with her legal pad and explain that the box in her closet is an archive of a dead language. That the man who said those things doesn't exist anymore. That somewhere between 2003 and this Wednesday his vocabulary was narrowed and his button was automated and his chest stopped filling with warmth and he started sleeping fine and agreeing with the spending and he doesn't remember when any of it happened.
I don't know what Peggy would write on her pad now. There's nothing to transcribe. I don't say things anymore. I press a button. The button is green. It has been green for fourteen months.
Liz Cheney lost by thirty-seven points. Bill Cassidy finished third. Third. In his own primary. For a vote five years ago. Ten Republicans voted to impeach. Eight are gone. Elon Musk promised to support Massie. "I will." Two words. Ten months of silence. Zero dollars. The world's richest man decided one endorsement was priced too high.
C-SPAN recorded Thursday's vote. Green across the board. Unanimous. Historians will see consensus. They will not see 434 people who watched Kentucky and did the math. Consensus and compliance are identical on camera. That is not a flaw. That is the product.
You elected me twelve times. You knocked on doors. You put signs in your yard. You trusted me to say "no" when no was the right answer. Here is what your trust buys in 2026.
A man who walks forty-seven carpet squares and feels nothing. Who presses green before he reads the title. Whose card wears unevenly. Who drafted a letter and will never send it. Who watched AI-generated pornography of a colleague funded by three billionaires and said nothing. Who did the math in eleven minutes and slept fine. Who lost a word and then lost the word for losing it. Who agreed with the spending Thursday morning and cannot tell you whether he chose to agree or was trained to agree and knows the difference no longer matters.
Your congressman is loyal now. Your files are sealed. Your wars are unvoted. Your swamp is funded. The man who was doing what your bumper sticker says is in Kentucky now. Powerless. Replaced by a corn maze with a compliance guarantee.
I'm loyal. That's the word. The only one left.
The word was—
You know... the more I lear about what is going on I'm not so sure that "the Israel controls the US" believers aren't victims of a grand Psyop.
What I've leared is that Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING has been a Psyop for as long as I've lived.
That being the case why couldn't the folks in control (the City of London) also use Israel as their whipping boy?
"Don't look here, look over there!"
View attachment 19404
Including 9/10 of the population.The democratic play book = assassinate Trump and anybody else we don't agree with.
You're nuts.Nolte: Disgraced Jew-baiter Thomas Massie Humiliated by 10 Point Loss
U.S. Rep. Thomas Massie (R-KY) is about to have more time on his hands to hate Jews and pretend he cares about Epstein’s victims.www.breitbart.com
Good f' him.
What a joy it is to dance on this scumbag’s political grave.
At the same time, never did I believe I would live to see the day when a sitting congressman could say something straight out of the Jew-baiting Ku Klux Klan handbook and not be roundly condemned. Hopefully, the House of Representatives will censure him before he prances out of office in a Stephen Colbert-style cloud of self-celebration.
Also, don’t buy the lie that the awful Joooozzzzz bought the race for Gallrein. Both Massie and Gallrein benefited by about the same amount of campaign and outside spending.
This was a Trump victory, pure and simple. Trump targeted Massie for destruction, and now Massie’s gone.
Massie’s biggest mistake was likely believing that social media is real life, that people like Candace Owens and Tucker Carlson and Alex Jones had managed to wrest enough influence from Trump that seeking their good opinion was the only constituency he needed to win over.
Well, he and they lost by ten points.
Ten.
Points.
Liars and illiterate people, I swear...I see him insulting the POTUS, but if he is directing insults directly at you, he should cease and desist. My comment is addressed to everyone. We can discuss issues without getting personal with each other.
Maybe people are tired of him obstructing republican unity and delivering power to democrats.As usual, take this fwiw and dyodd.
Maybe people are tired of him obstructing republican unity and delivering power to democrats.
If his previous behavior is an indicator of future behavior, I expect him to be an obstructionist and general trouble maker until his term is over.Like a lot of my posts you're stating an opinion. And that's a good thing. I see things a bit different than you. And that's ok too.
One thing, he lost, conceded and when his term ends he'll move on to what ever he decides to do. Wouldn't surprise me if he doesn't run for prez.
If that were to happen he'd get my vote.
Okay that line of thinking means all politicians can go to hell. Do you think democrats are one iota better?If Republican unity means zero sunshine on Epstein, Republican unity can go to hell.
If Republican unity means appeasing Neocon blood lust for war, Republican unity can go to hell.
If Republican unity means fiscal irresponsibility and stealing our children's future, Republican unity can go to hell.
Okay that line of thinking means all politicians can go to hell.
Do you think democrats are one iota better?
Why wasn't Massive so hot and heavy on the Epstein files in the years between his arrest and When Elon accused Trump of being in the files?If Republican unity means zero sunshine on Epstein, Republican unity can go to hell.
That's been an American thing for a long time now. That's an issue that makes party not really matter.If Republican unity means appeasing Neocon blood lust for war, Republican unity can go to
Ditto to this, too.If Republican unity means fiscal irresponsibility and stealing our children's future, Republican unity can go to hell.
I represent 761,000 people. On Tuesday, three billionaires spent $32 million to destroy a colleague who disagreed with them on one line item. I have not disagreed on anything in fourteen months. I want to tell you about a word I lost.
The word was "no."
I don't mean that rhetorically. I mean I cannot recall the last time I pressed the red button in the House chamber. I looked it up this morning. Had to look it up because I couldn't remember it unprompted. H.R. 4217. Fourteen months ago. It's in the Congressional Record like an artifact from a man who no...
He SAYS.Tom Massey WROTE THE BILL that required Trump DOJ to REDACT THE NAMES in the Epstein files!
It's true.He SAYS.
Know how to tell when a Dumbo is lying?
Watch his lips. Real carefully.
If they move, he lies.
(Same could be said for his touchpad keyboard...)
It makes ZERO sense, since Massie hasn't changed his story or position or stance in the two years he's been drawing attention.
I can guarantee that Massie didn't write it.It's true.
Massie wrote it.
....and in it, it allows for all the redactions we see in the files.
Per the Epstein files transparency act:
Key Provisions
- Redaction of Victim Information: The law allows the government to redact names and identifying information of victims to protect their privacy.
- Protection of Personal Privacy: It also permits redactions to prevent "a clearly unwarranted invasion of personal privacy," which can include the names of potential conspirators or individuals not directly involved in the case.
This is a good example of what I was referring to.
Had those things not been in the Bill, it never would have been enacted, as it would have never garnered sufficient support to do so.
Ie: taking a hard stand on it would have resulted in it's failure.
....and then we'd have gotten nothing at all.
Better to have something, than nothing.
Edited to add: certainly so with respect to gov info. We need all of that we can get. Even if it is often incomplete.
Again, politics is in fact similar to making sausage. As in, it's not always pretty.
Like it or not, politics is a team sport.
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