There are moments in history that make you wonder if the collective intelligence of humanity has gone out for a smoke and never come back. One such moment recently came from a spectacle so absurd it could be mistaken for satire. I’m talking about the dramatic, totally sincere apology issued by Dinesh D’Souza over his magnum opus of political cinema, 2000 Mules. Yes, folks, nothing screams credibility like a man whose previous hits include being lampooned by actual historians for turning facts into interpretive dance.
But first, let’s back up. In case you were living under a blissfully ignorant rock, 2000 Mules is a film so drenched in paranoia, you could wring it out and fill a swimming pool. Its premise? A shadowy army of ballot-stuffing couriers—a mule mafia, if you will—conspired to steal the 2020 election. And how was this uncovered? Not through hard evidence or whistleblowers, but through cell phone pings and camera footage that could just as easily have been a montage of people Googling the nearest Starbucks.
Now, this is where it gets funnier than a clown car running out of gas on a highway. When the lawsuit storm came for D’Souza and his merry band of conspiracy enthusiasts, they folded faster than a cheap lawn chair. The apology was issued with the kind of somber tone usually reserved for Oscar speeches, as if admitting, “Oops, maybe we just made a bunch of stuff up and called it truth” deserves an award for bravery.
Let’s unpack that. These are the same people who spent months screaming that they were the last bastion of truth, the defenders of democracy, the ones who would finally EXPOSE THE SYSTEM! And yet, the moment the consequences started knocking on the door, it was all, “Oh, well, uh, perhaps there were some, uh, inaccuracies. Also, please don’t sue us.”
Inaccuracies? Really? That’s like calling the Titanic an oopsie in maritime navigation.
Here’s the kicker. Apologizing for 2000 Mules isn’t just admitting you were wrong. It’s admitting you were wrong with flair. It’s the kind of wrong that requires pie charts, dramatic music, and a cameo from a guy who looks like he’s auditioning to play “Uncle Conspiracy” in a Netflix reboot. And now that they’ve walked it back, it’s like the entire movie imploded on itself in real-time.
Let’s pause for a second and reflect on how truly idiotic the mule theory is. We’re supposed to believe there’s an underground network of ballot smugglers, running envelopes like drug cartels, all while dodging cameras and trackers but conveniently getting caught just enough to make a YouTube montage. Do these mules also wear tiny disguises and whisper, “I’ve got the goods” as they tiptoe through neighborhoods?
But hey, it’s not just the mules that are the problem. It’s the people who believed it. We’re talking about folks who will call GPS tracking “government overreach” on Monday, then turn around on Tuesday and scream, “Look at this cell phone data! The proof is in the pings!” Pick a lane, America. Either technology is evil or it’s your star witness. It can’t be both.
And while we’re at it, let’s address the cult-like devotion to this nonsense. The film grossed millions because a certain segment of the population—let’s call them the Truth Seekers™—will buy anything if it comes with a grainy video and a narrator who sounds vaguely angry. Forget actual investigative journalism. Why bother with facts when you can string together random clips of people putting envelopes into drop boxes? I guess we’re just lucky the footage didn’t accidentally include DoorDash drivers and people mailing birthday cards.
Now, let’s give D’Souza some credit. It takes guts to pivot from “I am the voice of reason” to “Whoops, my bad.” This apology wasn’t just a retraction; it was a masterclass in the art of eating crow while pretending it tastes like filet mignon. And to be clear, this apology wasn’t because they suddenly discovered integrity. Oh no. It’s because they realized getting dragged through court is like playing Monopoly: it’s long, expensive, and there’s no free parking for conspiracies.
And what about the viewers? You know, the ones who watched this cinematic dumpster fire and thought, “Finally, someone gets it!” Are they also issuing apologies to their friends, families, and the poor cashiers who had to endure their ranting? Or are they doubling down, claiming, “The apology is part of the cover-up!” My money’s on the latter because nothing reinforces a belief like watching it fall apart in broad daylight.
In conclusion, the whole debacle of 2000 Mules has been a gift—a glorious reminder that truth doesn’t bend just because you want it to. The moral of the story? If you’re going to peddle a conspiracy, at least have the decency to commit to it. Don’t wave the flag of integrity one day, then fold it up and shove it in a drawer when the lawsuits start flying. Own your madness. Otherwise, you’re not a freedom fighter; you’re just a guy in a tinfoil hat with a marketing budget.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go look up the latest conspiracy theory about pigeons running for public office. Spoiler alert: I hear they’re using drone technology.
