Policrook

Legends Can't Be Prosecuted.

In the grand theater of politics, few acts rival the performance of the “Beloved Elder Statesman.” They arrive woven into the fabric of a society already dulled by disillusion, prepared to depart with accolades ringing in their ears, while truth writhes beneath the stage.
Here’s a revelation that should cling to your gut like a bad burrito: dying while the echoes of your rhetoric still curdle in the air is the maestro’s final, malevolent note.
This isn’t just manipulation—it's a calculated betrayal shrouded in applause.
Timing is your secret accomplice in this tawdry escapade.
Imagine checking your watch as you slip your last breath, poised like a high-stakes gambler who knows when to fold.
You want to ensure your demise conveniently coincides with the onset of investigations—precisely after you’ve retired and before the backlash erupts like a volcano of well-deserved scorn.
Your life’s work?
Perfecting the mortality of deceit, leaving behind a legacy that fingers point at but never quite grasp.
Want to craft a well-timed exit?
Hone your dying words as if you’re delivering the final monologue of a tragic hero—arms flailing like a windmill trapped in a storm while your aides weave glowing tales of your supposed wisdom.
Reality has never looked so far removed.
When the final curtain falls, the spectacle must culminate in a funeral of transcendent farce.
Ah, the state funeral: a carefully orchestrated sham, rife with weeping courtiers and buttery eulogies that absolve every sin.
Here, on this hallowed pedestal of deception, the public is summoned to mourn not the truth, but the version of reality you've paved with their misplaced trust.
Inwardly, you can revel at the irony as sobbing acolytes, possibly even a token child soldier, parade their grief.
Meanwhile, the words you’ve buried will all be expertly unearthed by sycophants paid to concoct a glorious biography, conveniently glossing over those embarrassing public fund diversions for your yacht.
Then comes the statue—oh, the crowning glory! A cold instantiation of your ambition that towers over the very memories of the people you exploited.
Convince the masses that your legacy is carved in stone, towering proudly above their suffering—a grim guardian to guide their footsteps towards your ideals, or perhaps their doom.
Bigger is better, they say.
Commission a bronze likeness taller than the city’s tallest monument, your name eternally engraved in triumph—or tyranny.
Let it stand as a reminder that as they rise against injustice, your monumental visage will loom like the unwelcome ghost of graft, unwittingly igniting revolution.
Yet, what truly solidifies your immortality?
A Netflix special, of course! An egregious hagiography that presents your twisted legacy as a noble crusade against the very truths you so shamelessly twisted.
Here you transform into an undeserved martyr; the misunderstood genius caught in the crossfire.
Your transient sins?
Hastily edited out by directors eager to peddle your sanitized narrative for streaming fame.
The result?
Documentary glam that masquerades your regime of betrayal as a tale of valor—and the sheep cheer on, oblivious, hungry for their next binge.
Ultimately, your exit must be impeccably staged.
Stake your reputation on a twisted mythology, nourished on blind public adoration, while the genuine wreckage of lives left in your wake collects dust beneath the rug of history.
Leave behind whispers of Elvis-like conspiracies, tantalizing tidbits that encourage them to forget—an expertly orchestrated distraction as you sleekly slip away, cradled in their fevered dreams of what you were, and not who you really are.
So here’s the raw truth, masquerading beneath the glitter of politics: this isn’t a diatribe against institutions, but an indictment of the insidious charlatans manipulating them.
The lie is a masterful art, oft-regarded as noble, all while it carves through the very foundation of democracy like a dull knife in guileless hands.
But here's the critical lesson for you, the voter, wrapped in glaring reality: if you don’t hone your ability to recognize these ploys, you’ll continue to applaud the very machinations that exploit and deceive you.
Politicians are wholly capable of wrapping their crimes in saintly cloaks, erasing the history of their misdeeds, and holding public institutions hostage to their whims.
This is not fiction; this is the roadmap for corruption.
Recognize these tactics, and arm yourself with knowledge, so that the next time the echo of a promised legacy lulls you into complacency, you remember the truth buried beneath the altar of honor: politics is a stage, and they are all actors in a play of your demise.