Jack Posobiec was never one to shy away from a hot take. He had built his reputation on shouting into the void, spinning conspiracy theories with the precision of a broken clock. But even for him, the latest rant he had unleashed was particularly absurd—a spasm of misplaced outrage that not even his most loyal followers could stomach.

It all started with the Coldplay affair, a scandal involving two former executives, Andy Byron and Kristin Cabot, who had been caught in a compromising position at a Coldplay concert in Boston. The video, showing the couple locked in a heated embrace, went viral almost immediately. The internet, ever eager to feast on the drama of the rich and powerful, had no mercy on the pair. The consequences came swiftly. Both Byron and Cabot resigned from their positions at the tech company, Astronomer, as the public backlash escalated. But it wasn’t the affair itself that caught Jack’s attention; it was the way the internet had reacted. And, of course, he was determined to assign blame to everyone but the couple involved.

Posobiec’s take was as ridiculous as it was unfounded. He railed against what he believed to be an outpouring of hatred for white men, claiming that the uproar over Byron’s affair was a direct result of the nation’s deep-seated disdain for straight white males. “This is a direct attack on white men,” he claimed, voice thick with indignation. “And let me tell you, if Andy Byron had been anyone else—anyone who didn’t fit the stereotypical straight, white, rich CEO profile—you would’ve all been cheering him on for shaking things up. But no, because he’s a white man, he’s the villain.”

It didn’t take long for his comments to make their way across the internet, where they were met with the same mockery and incredulity as his other rants. His critics were quick to point out the sheer stupidity of his claims. “Are you sure you’re not projecting a little too much, Jack?” one tweet asked, another quipped, “Is this how you justify your own mistakes?” Some wondered aloud whether Posobiec was simply trying to divert attention from his own questionable personal life. But the man who thrived on controversy seemed unfazed by the backlash. In fact, he doubled down.

The situation, he argued, would have played out much differently if Byron and Cabot had been members of a different identity group. “If they weren’t straight, if they weren’t a white couple, I guarantee you that you would have seen a completely different reaction. This is just proof that the left hates white people, especially white men,” he said, his voice growing more impassioned. “The same people who are out there celebrating all these left-wing socialist candidates—people like Zohran Mamdani and Omar Fateh—are the ones who are so quick to tear down successful white men. You see, they want to take everything from the rich CEOs. They want to punish success.”

By now, Posobiec’s argument had veered into territories that bordered on the absurd. How had the affair at a Coldplay concert in Boston morphed into a political commentary about socialism and left-wing hatred? No one could quite figure it out, but it was clear that the far-right pundit was losing the plot. His audience, a mix of disillusioned political extremists and conspiracy theorists, cheered him on, though even they were beginning to question the logic behind his words. Were they really supposed to believe that the internet’s ridicule of a cheating executive was somehow connected to the rise of Muslim democratic socialist politicians in New York and Minneapolis?

Posobiec’s comments reached their absurd peak when he began to argue that the viral memes about CEOs were proof of a larger socialist agenda. “The left, they hate CEOs,” he ranted. “They hate straight white CEOs. They hate success. They want to tear down everything this country has built. This isn’t just about Andy Byron or Kristin Cabot. This is about all of us. This is about the left trying to destroy the pillars of American society.” It was a strange, twisted logic, one that felt more like a fever dream than a coherent argument. But, to his credit, Posobiec had perfected the art of fabricating narratives from thin air.

The internet, naturally, had a field day with his comments. Meme after meme popped up, mocking Posobiec’s convoluted theory. One particularly popular meme featured a picture of him with the caption: “When you try to blame socialism for your own personal issues.” Another took a screenshot of his rant and added a quote: “If they were not straight and white, we’d be applauding the affair!” People were laughing, not at the affair itself, but at how Posobiec had managed to twist a scandal involving two people’s personal lives into a broader, nonsensical political narrative.

Meanwhile, Byron and Cabot’s personal lives were imploding. Byron’s wife had been flooded with messages from strangers, informing her of her husband’s betrayal. The couple’s children were subjected to cruel comments online, and the pair was left to pick up the pieces of their ruined reputations. The scandal had turned into a media frenzy, one that was feeding on the very spectacle of their downfall. But while the internet was busy picking apart their lives, Posobiec was busy ranting about white male victimhood.

What Posobiec failed to understand, or perhaps what he was too desperate to acknowledge, was that the internet wasn’t enraged because of their race or gender. It wasn’t a grand political scheme to punish white men. No, people were angry because they had watched two public figures—successful, privileged individuals—be caught in a betrayal that left their families in shambles. The outrage wasn’t about identity politics; it was about the hypocrisy and betrayal of people who had built their careers on a pedestal of integrity and trust, only to watch it crumble under the weight of their own actions.

Posobiec’s ranting was a symptom of something deeper: a desperate desire to remain relevant in a world that had moved on from the outdated grievances of the far-right. The Coldplay affair, at its core, was a story about infidelity, embarrassment, and the human flaws we all share. But for Jack Posobiec, it was just another opportunity to scream into the void, to cry victim and deflect blame in the hopes of securing a place at the table of outrage politics.

And in the end, it wasn’t just the affair that had gone viral—it was the absurdity of Posobiec’s response that would continue to fuel the mockery and laughter long after the dust had settled.