All Episodes
Previous Next
March 29, 2025 - Lionel Nation
22:34
Fake Love, Fake Faces: Inside the Most Obnoxiously Phony Wedding You’ll Ever See!
| Copy link to current segment

Time Text
When uncertainty strikes, peace of mind is priceless.
Dirty Man Underground Safes protects what matters most.
Discreetly designed, these safes are where innovation meets reliability, keeping your valuables close yet secure.
Be ready for anything.
Use code DIRTY10 for 10% off today and take the first step towards safeguarding your future.
Dirty Man's Safe.
Because protecting your family starts with protecting what you treasure.
Disaster can strike when least expected.
Wildfires, hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes.
They can instantly turn your world upside down.
Dirty Man Underground Safes is a safeguard against chaos.
Hidden below, your valuables remain protected no matter what.
Prepare for the unexpected.
Use code DIRTY10 for 10% off and secure peace of mind for you and your family.
Dirty Man Safe.
The storm is coming.
Markets are crashing.
Banks are closing.
When the economy collapses, how will you survive?
You need a plan.
Cash.
Gold.
Bitcoin.
Dirty Man safes keep your assets hidden underground at a secret location ready for any crisis.
Don't wait for disaster to strike.
Get your Dirty Man safe today.
Use promo code DIRTY10 for 10% off your order.
I want to talk to you about hideousness.
About being frightening.
About being plastic.
About being artificial.
About being inhuman.
About being not human.
About being devoid and cut off and amputated from any sense of reality.
I want to talk to you about Lauren Sanchez.
Now, right off the bat, we have to do all of these prefatory things.
I don't know her.
I don't care to know her.
I don't want to know her.
I'm sure she's a great gal.
Blah, blah, blah, blah.
But if ever there's somebody who absolutely causes me to react so internally, not because of anything other than The fact that nobody seems to understand what we're seeing here.
Jeff Bezos, if ever there was a nullity, it doesn't really matter to me.
God bless you.
Thank you for Amazon.
Lauren Sanchez comes across to me as nothing but predatory, artificial, mannequin-like, and scary, and so emblematic of today's world of the artifice, the artificial, kind of like the front.
So Lauren Sanchez and Jeff Bezos, this is a grotesque, Spectacle of conspicuous wealth and delusion and how what is left of the media are being played and paid to cover it and you are supposed to act like this is interesting to you.
With her $5,700 Balenciaga bag from this despicable company that was linked to all kinds of adulation and Tacit approval of child predation and the like, but that's over there.
This woman in these candid shots where she's walking and, oh, look, you caught me.
It goes to show you maybe one of the reasons why this country is so devoid of any kind of rational thought, why we have lost our soul in this.
So let's cut through the gilded haze and nonsense and call it what it is.
This Lauren Sanchez and Jeff Bezos, this so-called wedding of the century, is a fraud, is a farce, is a nauseating, disgusting display of excess, garish, no-class, low-class tribute, a monument to conspicuous wealth that spits in the face of decency.
How do you like that?
It's disgusting.
Disgusting.
Even during the Gilded Age, even during the Newport and the days of F. Scott and Gatsby, there was a sense of panache, of style.
The women who lunched the Babe Paley era, it was like this understated class, and today it's this awfully sutured and spackled.
God!
And they don't realize it.
It's like tattooing.
You're defacing dermal real estate permanently and you don't even see it.
You're so deluded, so intellectually constricted by this fantasy because you hate yourself.
You're pushing yourself.
You don't exist.
You are becoming a mannequin.
And it's scheduled for summer of 2025 aboard his half a billion dollar Super yacht?
Coru?
Should be called Kuru.
Remember that one?
Remember those suggestions of Hillary?
I'm not going to go into that.
It wasn't Kuru, by the way.
Some prion.
In any event, off of Venice.
This isn't a celebration of love.
This isn't a union of souls.
It's a middle finger.
It's an F you to a world struggling to pay rent.
It's sickening.
And they don't realize it, and they don't care.
Sanchez, this former journalist turned gold-digging caricature, that's all she is.
Let's face it, let's stop pretending that we don't know what this is.
Can you imagine a prenup?
If he didn't sign the prenup, oh my God.
And Bezos.
The Amazon overlord, you know, the Gatsby of our time, with a $223 billion fortune.
You think he's making that from selling you vitamins or crap in the middle?
No, no, no.
We'll talk about that later.
Because you've got to ask yourself, where does Amazon really make its money?
They're staging this almost like this John Gotti-esque...
Though that was classier, certainly by this, but this circus of vulgarity and the stench, the rank of self-absorption, it's suffocating.
And they don't realize, and they don't care, this isn't class, it's crassness, sutured together with Botox and bad taste.
It's horrible.
Start with the numbers, because the numbers, This kills me.
Because they're obscene enough to make your stomach turn for you to wax a medic.
A $500 million yacht?
Okay.
Because apparently a $50 million one would seem rather crass.
It would scream, I'm better than you, loud enough.
But no, no, no, no.
They're going to ferry their A-list minions to this bloated bacchanal.
The reports pegged the hotel costs at $32,000 per night for guests.
How about that?
A figure that could feed a small village for a year, but I'm not even going to bring that up.
Sanchez, oh, Sanchez, ever the maestro of overindulgence and overconspicuousness, has allegedly...
Oscar de la Renta.
For a gown, a gown that will cost more than most people's homes.
Let's guess.
Half a million?
Why not?
You know, when you're flaunting wealth so aggressively, so violently, so ostentatiously, so horribly, it's practically a weapon.
Then there's the catering.
Caviar by the bucket.
Let me explain something to you and listen to what I'm saying.
Nobody likes caviar.
Nobody reads The Economist.
Nobody thinks Ayn Rand is smart.
You just say the caviar.
Nobody says, you know what I feel like?
Caviar.
No.
It's just like a lot of people smoke cigars.
Deep down inside, they don't even like the smell, the funk, but they like the appearance.
Conspicuous wealth and panache.
Think about champagne that costs more per bottle than a nurse's monthly salary.
Think about what we're seeing right now.
And a cake, so extravagant, it probably needs its own zip code.
I mean, it's not like I'm writing these jokes, but it's incredible.
This isn't a wedding.
This isn't a celebration of love.
It's a landfill of money torched for Instagram likes.
That's what this is about.
It's just for, look at me!
And Sanchez, oh!
The ringmaster of this tacky circus?
This is a woman who spent, listen to this, a woman who has spent more on her face than most spend on their futures.
I mean, look at her.
I mean, this is like the Bride of Wildenstein.
This is Cat Lady.
She doesn't recognize it.
Suchered, butchered, spackled, cuts.
Scalpled, injected, pulled, tightened, plugged, packed into this grotesque parody of youth.
It's like a fright mask.
It's Medusa.
And they must also go into, whenever they have these surgeries, affect maybe or induce some kind of an optic nerve damage or something that allows them not to be able to realize how hideous this is.
The plastic surgery isn't a glow-up.
It's a horror show.
It's a sick design to escape the inevitable at any cost to hide.
Lips fattened up and plumped up to cartoonish proportions.
It reminds me of either...
What is it?
It's Jack Nicholson and the Joker?
Cheeks so tight and taut like a snare drum.
I mean, it's incredible.
And a forehead smoother than a baby's conscience.
Every scalpel slice, every jab, everything screams desperation, not beauty.
She's not aging gracefully.
She's clawing at time with a checkbook.
Please!
But I look great, don't I?
Oh, you look fantastic.
And the result is a mask.
A veneer that's vaudeville.
It's made of mannequin.
Wince.
Bezos, who by the way is the willing duke, gazes at this kind of funhouse mirror of a woman and sees a prize.
Not a project.
It's pathetic.
And they don't know.
And this is supposedly class.
And the prenup, that's what maybe as a lawyer.
Oh yeah.
Can you imagine the legal acrobatics here?
After Jeff Bezos hemorrhaged, hemorrhaged $38 billion to Mackenzie Scott in 2019, no prenup, just blind hubris, this time his lawyers must have chained him to a desk until he signed every page.
Something so...
Ironclad that Sanchez with her claws in the world's second richest man isn't walking away with the pocket change like last time.
No, no, they're going to make sure.
They're going to make sure.
And she's got her lawyers too.
Let me tell you, if this thing implodes, dear God, speculation swirls.
How about a million dollars per year of marriage, a mansion or two tossed in like crump?
Nah.
With him, whatever it takes, it's going to be A fortress to protect his billions from her manicure talent.
Now, try as you might, my friend.
Try as you might.
You'll never know the backstory, the affairs, the power play, the sordidness, the whispered deals, the sick, concupiscent world.
But it's a safe bet.
It's a safe bet.
It's as sordid as a tabloid fever dream.
Let me just give you a little insight here.
Enter Kim Kardashian.
Oh my God.
Because, you know, when you walk into a room and you smell putrefaction, when you smell putrescence, when you smell decomposition, you know there's a body somewhere.
There's something rancid and fetid decaying.
And there you got Kim Kardashian.
Because, of course, she's here.
The patron saint of shameless success.
And, I'm not going to say anything, but go into the friendships that they have invariably amassed.
Find it.
Kim Kardashian is a virus.
She's like, that her mother Kris has, I mean, don't forget her mother Kris basically pimped and Pushed that sex tape.
I mean, this is the way these people are.
You got the father who's a...
I mean, it's just a mess.
A virus is not a living thing.
It's basically a way to recode, reconfigure, and rejigger DNA.
And that's kind of what the Kardashians are.
They don't really exist.
They just move in to switch.
Now, Sanchez has been, as you know, cozying up to the...
Kardashian clan.
You know all about this, right?
I know you do.
Kris Jenner penned her a beautiful birthday tribute.
Kim's a rumored guest, of course.
And the influences glaring and the behind-the-scenes high-level conferences, I'm sure.
I hope there's no cameras around there.
Because when you've got that much money and you're always looking to up the ante, plain old romance just doesn't cut the mustard anymore.
You know what I mean?
Now this wedding reeks of a Kardashian playbook.
Turn every life event into a reality show spectacle.
Draw from it.
Anything that remotely involves the ceremonious combination of two human souls pledging love.
Drown it in wealth.
Pawn it off as Aspirational.
Be an influencer.
Sanchez isn't just marrying Bezos.
No, no, no.
She's auditioning for the Kardashian Empire Redux.
Trading dignity for a spot in their orbit.
Think I'm kidding?
If you don't see the connection, if you don't see how this thing works, you're just not paying attention.
Or you don't want to pay attention.
This is despicable.
And they don't know it.
It's a master class in branding.
And believe it or not, the whole world is laughing at them.
And they don't even see it.
They want to show up.
They want to take their pictures.
They want to sell their stuff.
But they're laughing.
This is branding over substance.
She's too deluded to clock it, to know it.
And the media.
Oh, let's talk about this.
The media, what used to be, it's not the old media.
The old media was like People Magazine and Entertainment Weekly.
No, no, no, no, no.
This is Instagram.
This is a different media.
They're composite, of course, lapping it up like slop, like pigs in slop at a trough.
You know, outlets are gushing over the star-studded guest list.
Katy Perry.
Oh, Ivanka Trump.
Oprah.
You've got to be kidding me.
Did we just stop?
Oprah?
What is the Oprah?
We've once and for all, ladies and gentlemen, have to just get rid of this Oprah connection.
What is Oprah?
What is this, 1985?
What is Oprah?
What is it?
And meanwhile, they're glossing over the utter, disgusting, the grotesque disparity.
And they're paid to play this up, my friends, to polish this turd into a fairy tale, to burnish this bit of egesta.
And what it's really, it's a dystopian flex.
It's this manufactured, this artifice, this contrived, I don't know which one it is.
Here's Sanchez, strutting around in plunging gowns, artificial boobs, Salined and spackled in sutures, spilling out like a Vegas billboard.
And they call it bridal glow.
Yes, yes.
Now it's a neon sign screaming, look at me!
Look at me!
I cry for validation.
I cry from a woman who's climbed from newsrooms to billionaires' beds.
This woman with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
This, this, this harpy, this, this, well, Farago, this Valkyries, class, this Brunhilde.
She wouldn't know it if it slapped her Botox face.
Class?
Distinction?
Elegance?
Bezos, meanwhile, this is, this is, this is the ultimate mark.
Oh, this guy's such a putz.
A man who built an empire on exploiting workers.
Now he's bankrolling this monstrosity, this travesty, grinning like a fool, like a lovestruck fool, getting his own work done, trying to make him a super stud.
Come on.
Meanwhile, as Sanchez is draining the coffers for her ego trip.
This is beautiful.
And a lot of coffers are to drain.
He's not just a dupe.
He's not just a chidrulo.
He's a co-conspirator.
He's happy to let her parade him like a trophy.
He has a $165 million LA estate.
Miami mansion, Texas, ranch.
None of it's enough.
No, no, no, no.
Meanwhile, Elon Musk.
Did you ever see what Elon owns?
Nope.
Richest man in the world.
He sleeps on the floor.
He wears a hat.
He wants to make America.
Elon is from another planet.
And they say he's autistic.
Well, you know what?
Would that the whole world were autistic?
Because he seems to care about others more than himself.
They need this wedding.
They need this obscene orgy of wealth, of conspicuous wealth, of disgusting, this bacchanal.
They need it to prove something.
And what do they need to prove?
What do they have to show?
That they're untouchable, that they're special, that money buys happiness, that they've got it, that they want you to wish you were they.
It's a lie.
And they're too blinded, too deluded, too intellectually and psychotronically discombobulated and connected to understand it.
They can't own it.
It's incredible.
Blinded by their own reflection.
This isn't love.
You know it's not.
It's a transaction wrapped in tulle and tiaras and schmaltz and glitter and glam.
It's Sanchez with her three kids from past...
Not Conquest, but these folks, they played this game before.
They played it.
They've, you know, leveled up with each ring.
Now she's hit the jackpot.
Now she's ready to go.
Now we're forced to watch her flaunt it.
I'm going to be watching it like you.
The Koru, by the way, which is Maori.
M-A-O-R-I, you know the tribe, for new beginnings.
It's a sick joke!
There's nothing new here?
Just the same old stuff, the same old me as George Jones.
Same old me, the same time never been.
It's funny, that song is about love and connection.
It has nothing to do with this.
It's the same old greed, the same old vanity, on a bigger boat, more people.
She doesn't even know how grotesque it is.
That's the part that I find fascinating.
She doesn't even get it.
How every dollar spent mocks the millions of people who will never see a fraction of it.
Would it kill her just to show some form of beneficence of charity, philanthropy?
And the media cheer, oh my guess, the RSVPs, the guest show, they're clamoring, vying for a position there.
And the world spins on it, numb to this hideous insult.
In the end, In the end, this wedding isn't a union, it's a coronation, an apotheosis, an elevation of sorts, of crassness, a testament, ladies and gentlemen, of how far wealth can stretch and distort reality before it snaps into absurdity.
Sanchez and Bezos, maybe we should truncate the two, Sanchez.
They're not icons.
They're cautionary tales.
They're phonies.
A sutured up siren.
I love the alliteration.
And a billionaire stooge drowning in their own excess.
Isn't it?
It's horrible.
And despicable doesn't even cover it.
Doesn't even come close to it.
They're a disgrace.
And we're all poorer.
We're all cosmically and psychically poor for having to see it, to watch it.
All of us.
Now what do you think about this?
Am I being fair?
Am I being...
What do you think?
First of all, like this video.
Please subscribe to the channel.
Please hit that little bell so you'll be notified of live streams and new videos.
And in this section afterwards, would you be so kind as to comment?
Comment, dear friend.
Comment.
Comment.
Be brutal.
Be honest.
Be truthful.
Comment.
As you...
▲
Export Selection