The Proxy War Parasite: Zelenskyy, His Enablers, and the War That Won’t End

There are few things in the animal kingdom as grotesquely mesmerizing as the octopus mating ritual. It begins innocently enough: the male approaches the female with the cautious reverence of a man proposing to his high-maintenance girlfriend. He extends his specialized arm—yes, octopuses have a dedicated tentacle for this sordid business—and carefully transfers his genetic material.

But the real horror comes after this ritual act is near complete. Once she’s had her fill, the female often turns on her suitor, strangling him, suffocating him, and finally devouring him whole, ensuring that his last moments are a cruel revelation of his own insignificance.

And if there is a better metaphor for Volodymyr Zelenskyy’s relationship with the Western world, I haven’t found it.

Since the moment Russian tanks crossed into Ukraine, Zelenskyy has slithered his way into the pockets of world leaders with the precision of a con artist who’s just found his most gullible mark. With the theatrics of a failed sitcom actor—because, well, that’s exactly what he is—he cast himself as the modern-day Churchill, parading around Western capitals in his now infamous army-green t-shirt, a costume choice meant to signal that he is a Man at War.

But, much like the male octopus, the West failed to notice the warning signs. They took the bait. They let him latch on. And he has spent the last two years squeezing them for every dime, weapon, and ounce of credibility they had left.

Zelenskyy played the game masterfully. He understood the weak, flabby souls running the Western world better than they understood themselves. He knew their insatiable lust for moral posturing, their desperate need to feel like The Good Guys, their childlike addiction to performative virtue. So he fed it to them.

He lavished them with flattery, invoked World War II nostalgia, and draped himself in the banner of democracy—knowing full well that these same leaders would happily ignore the inconvenient truth that he had banned opposition parties, silenced journalists, canceled elections, and ruled by decree. And for two years, the money gushed forth, the weapons flowed like wine, and Ukraine became the gaping maw of the most expensive blank check in human history.

But as with all parasitic relationships, there comes a moment when the host begins to resist. The moment when the once-willing benefactor hesitates before signing the next billion-dollar package, starts asking the questions they should have asked before they threw open the treasury. And in that moment, the mask of the victim-warrior hero slips, revealing the predator underneath.

Germany dragged its feet on sending tanks? Zelenskyy publicly shamed them.

Macron dared to suggest diplomacy? Zelenskyy humiliated him.

U.S. House Republicans started asking where the money was actually going? Zelenskyy accused them of betraying democracy.

He squeezed tighter, punishing his benefactors for their moment of hesitation, wrapping them in his slimy embrace and daring them to resist. But then came Trump and Vance.

When Zelenskyy entered the Oval Office for his latest grift, he expected the usual reception. He was used to the weak-kneed deference of Western leaders, the pathetic eagerness of Biden, Trudeau, and the rest of the globalist clown brigade to shovel more money into his war machine. Instead, he walked into a brick wall.