Oh, Peter Thiel.
The man who stares into the abyss, writes a check to the abyss, and then patents the abyss for government use.
You can almost picture him—standing there on a San Francisco pier in his thousand-dollar shoes, lecturing a captive audience about the Antichrist while his algorithms quietly digest the data of everyone in the room. A prophet of paranoia with a surveillance contract. The messiah of moral collapse wearing a Patagonia vest.
Let’s be honest: Peter Thiel isn’t wrestling with Revelation. He’s marketing it. He’s taken the Bible’s most terrifying symbol of absolute power and made it a libertarian brand strategy. His Antichrist is not a monster from prophecy—it’s the Federal Trade Commission, it’s Greta Thunberg, it’s anyone who dares to tell him “no.” His apocalypse isn’t divine judgment—it’s the horror of paying taxes.
He’s the kind of man who would write a 40-page essay on how Judas was unfairly regulated. He quotes scripture not to save souls but to launder ideology, transforming greed into theology with the self-seriousness of a fallen angel clutching a venture capital term sheet.
When Thiel warns about the “one-world government,” he’s really talking about a world where billionaires can’t buy their own exemptions. He fears “stagnation” not because he loves innovation, but because the machine of exploitation might finally run out of oil. His supposed Antichrist isn’t coming for humanity—it’s coming for him, for the empire of Palantir, for the shadow network of power he’s built in Washington and Silicon Valley like a digital Vatican.
The man’s got the gall to lecture about evil while his software helps ICE track migrants. He rails against global unification while cashing global contracts. He prays for deliverance while his money writes the code for omniscience. He’s the heretic who reads Revelation as an operations manual.
There’s something almost poetic in his hypocrisy. Thiel, the investor-philosopher, the secret kingmaker of fascist tech utopia, now warning of tyranny as if he hadn’t hand-delivered the tools of surveillance to the state. It’s like Frankenstein holding a press conference about the dangers of reanimation.
And the audience nods along. Because when a billionaire starts quoting Daniel and Revelation, it sounds profound to people who mistake eccentricity for genius. They think he’s decoding prophecy. In truth, he’s just describing his résumé.
So no, Peter. Greta Thunberg isn’t the Antichrist. The Antichrist doesn’t ride a bicycle through the rain shouting at oil companies. The Antichrist sits in a boardroom surrounded by screens, running a government contract to predict our sins before we commit them. The Antichrist smiles when we talk about freedom, because he’s already monetized it.
You want to find him, Peter?
Turn off your microphone. Close your Bible. Log into Palantir.
He’s right there in your search history.
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We don’t genuflect to billionaires who mistake Revelation for a startup roadmap. We don’t bow to the data lords who build the panopticon and call it progress. We drag them—mercilessly, hilariously, and with scripture-level precision—through the molten pit of their own hypocrisy.
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