Skull and Bones is Fake and Gay

SCENE

How the most fabled secret society's private island reflects America's modern elites

By Yuri Bezmenov · August 26, 2026 · 6 min read

The most remarkable thing about Skull and Bones’ private island is how unremarkable it is.

Deer Island is hidden in the Thousand Islands region of the St. Lawrence River near the Canadian border. It is a six-hour drive from New York City, followed by a short boat ride. Three rustic cabins provide accommodations for thirty people on the idyllic 40-acre retreat, though it rarely reaches capacity.

For generations, the collective American consciousness imaged Skull and Bones to be the secret center of WASP conspiracy. A remote situation room on Deer Island where presidents, CIA spooks, and media manipulators performed occult rituals and tortured voodoo doll recreations of Saddam Hussein. These days, it’s a place where boomer libs and NGO strivers sit around playing adult card games.

Founded in 1832, Skull and Bones was Yale’s most prestigious secret society. A 2000 thriller called The Skulls starring Joshua Jackson and Paul Walker depicted repressed WASP prepsters meeting in the so-called “Tomb” to plot world domination and other nefarious hijinks. The illustrious alumni list includes three former Presidents: William Howard Taft, George HW Bush, and George W Bush as well as his 2004 opponent John Kerry. Financiers like Stephen Schwarzman and Steven Mnuchin, spooks like William Buckley Jr. and McGeorge Bundy, and even actors like Paul Giamatti were mixed in.

The Bushes represented a long lineage of baseball team captains who were tapped. Leaders of fraternities, sports teams, and debate societies were the obvious choices. Traditional noblesse oblige prioritized the big men on campus who best embodied Yale’s motto: “For God, for Country, and for Yale".

Every year, fifteen juniors are tapped to join. There is no application process. They are selected by the graduating senior class based on who they find impressive. All the other secret societies do the same. For Yalies who started building their resumes in elementary school, “Tap Night” is the culmination of a lifetime of striving.

Lanny Davis, a Bonesman who was hazed by W and became a Clinton confidant, described the criteria in the 1968 yearbook:

If the society had a good year, this is what the "ideal" group will consist of: a football captain; a Chairman of the Yale Daily News; a conspicuous radical; a Whiffenpoof; a swimming captain; a notorious drunk with a 94 average; a film-maker; a political columnist; a religious group leader; a Chairman of the Lit; a foreigner; a ladies' man with two motorcycles; an ex-serviceman; a negro, if there are enough to go around; a guy nobody else in the group had heard of, ever …

I have fond memories of the several weekends in the mid 2010s I spent on Deer Island with a group of friends, hosted by a Bones member. Like the society itself, much of Deer Island burned down but was never rebuilt. Still, the sunsets were magical, especially with shrooms. Swimming and spearfishing in the brisk currents of the St. Lawrence was invigorating. Wandering through unkempt trails without a worry in the world about getting lost in place or time.

Trolling the tourist boats was particularly fun. They sailed close enough that we could hear tour guides talking about the conspiracy theories related to Skull and Bones. We obliged them by shouting retarded things that would encourage the normies to go deeper down the rabbit hole.

For the most part, we did what any twentysomethings would do. We played beer pong. Swayed in hammocks. Roasted s’mores and told stories over bonfires. Adult summer camp, except by the fireplace there’s a wooden paddle signed by MAGOG (George H.W. Bush’s nickname).

Things got predictably weird deeper into the evenings. Conversations devolved into pretentious gossip about which Bones alums were or weren’t rising up the ranks at top consulting firms, banks, NGOs, law firms, and hedge funds. Regrets over not admitting an attractive girl to become a member because too many of them wanted to sleep with her. Rants about orange man bad and raves about how the DSA will lead us to utopia. I know the AOC casting couch story (that she auditioned for the DNC and was essentially groomed to be a “grassroots” candidate) is true because I heard it there first.

The libs always wanted to play Secret Hitler. They were enthralled by simulating a fascist dictatorship. Millennial snot and snark flowed. Unfunny Nazi jokes were rehashed for days. It was all so tiresome, so passing out under the stars was a welcome respite.

In today’s modern progressive Skull and Bones, intersectionality reigns over the reimagined version of exclusivity and hierarchy. The heads of the LGBTQ, black, and Muslim student clubs took over the inside track.

Following the 2020 campus struggle sessions, Skull and Bones tapped an entirely non-white class. Yes, you read that right. The secret society of George Bush and John Kerry, of Paul Walker and Joshua Jackson, was now entirely non-white. The young Maoist members removed portraits of old white members from the walls of the tomb. AWFLs (affluent white female liberals) and falafels replaced the chads. Perhaps it is fitting that the Bushes and private equity guys were banished by the kids of immigrants they imported for cheap labor. And some, I assume, are good people.

Deer Island reflects Skull and Bones’ decline. Ruins of formerly beautiful buildings are scattered throughout the grounds. They remind you that there once was something special about this place. Men of accomplishment and aura debated grand strategies. Any mystique is long gone in the internet age.

Nowadays No Kings boomers post selfies wearing Kamala t-shirts on public Flickr albums, as if the island is just another Instagrammable mass market vacation. What The Skulls depicted as opulent is just ordinary. Instead of Joshua Jackson and Paul Walker (RIP) dueling with pistols, Bioleninists drool over trigger words.

Thanks to the demoralization and demonization, wealthy alumni no longer feel an attachment to steward their club and island for future generations. A modest endowment supports a small seasonal staff composed mostly of members’ families. The island only opens for a few months in the summer, while one colorful caretaker does yeoman’s work year-round to keep everything from falling apart. All visitors must pay ~$200 per night for motel quality rooms. Bring your own shampoo and toothpaste.

Sadly, I will never be able to visit Deer Island again. The Bonesman who hosted us no longer speaks to me, even though we grew up together. During COVID, I was exiled for asking why he mandated the jab to attend his wedding. The only updates I see of him are on the LinkedIn feed, where he frequently flexes about flying around the world to lecture people about climate change and inclusive sustainability.

Bonesmen fell from defeating Hitler to playing a silly card game about him. They went from building entire industries and silent generational wealth to posting about their middle management corporate job on LinkedIn.

Meet your new elite Skull and Bones overlords. Mock accordingly.