Updated to reflect new sins. New suffering. New lies. New ways Amazon can help accelerate this fascist takeover.

Amazon isn’t your friend.

They’ve built one of the greatest money-extraction machines in human history. Prime. AWS. Whole Foods. Audible. Twitch. Ads. Ring. MGM. Every dollar you spend feeds the machine.

And what do they do with our money?

• Bust unions.
• Fight workers trying to organize.
• Roll back DEI commitments.
• Expand surveillance technology.
• Build AI infrastructure while drawing criticism over its environmental impact.
• Continue controversial government and law-enforcement contracts.
• Lay off thousands while pouring billions into AI.
• Spend millions lobbying politicians.
• And somehow find time for Jeff Bezos to show up at the White House bearing gifts and praise instead of holding power accountable.

Every dollar we move away from Amazon is one less dollar helping build that machine.

Read the updated Amazon guide below, then head over to the full boycott guide and start putting the screws to every corporation helping bankroll authoritarianism.

And since it’s Prime Day...

I’m having a sale too.

50% off subscriptions to Notes from the Apocalypse.

It’s writing, yes.

But it’s also community. Strategy. Mutual aid. A map for getting through what’s coming—and finding the people who intend to fight it together.

You can subscribe here:

https://psychopete1.substack.com/86bd5b5e

1. Amazon — Unlimited Money. Unlimited Fascism.

Walmart wrote the playbook in the 1970s: roll in with cheap prices, kill local shops, jack them up once the competition’s dead.

Amazon didn’t just copy it.

Walmart taught America how to build a retail monopoly.

Amazon taught America how to build a monopoly over everyday life.

Faster. Slicker. Meaner.

They became the everything store, the default option, the illusion of convenience.

During the pandemic, those boxes on the doorstep felt like society itself—until we realized what we were really funding: the normalization of corporate power on a staggering scale.

Every Prime membership is a kickback to Jeff Bezos, who didn’t just build a retail empire—he built an empire over shopping, advertising, cloud computing, entertainment, publishing, surveillance, and increasingly, political influence.

His smile is the smile of our gilded age: worship of money in a graveyard.

And here’s the kicker—Prime isn’t even much of a deal anymore.

“Free shipping” is baked into the price.

Convenience is surveillance.

The algorithm quietly learns your habits while it empties your wallet.

Cancel it.

Don’t let the algorithm win.

Because Amazon isn’t just Amazon anymore.

It’s the plumbing underneath modern life.

Amazon Ring — Surveillance as a Service

Amazon’s Ring tried to integrate with Flock Safety to expand law enforcement access to private camera networks. After public backlash, the deal was canceled.

That’s why we do this.

That’s what a win looks like.

But the intent matters more than the press release.

Ring still receives thousands of law-enforcement requests every year. Through Community Requests, police can ask users for footage without a warrant for the request itself. Add subpoenas, emergency disclosures, and voluntary compliance, and you end up in the same place:

A distributed surveillance network built out of private homes.

This isn’t convenience.

It’s surveillance normalized.

Once they kicked in doors.

Now they ask your neighbors’ doorbells.

Doorbell cameras turn neighborhoods into data pipelines—tracking movement, behavior, and patterns under the language of “community safety.”

The state doesn’t have to install cameras.

You do it for them.

Don’t invite it in.

AWS (Amazon Web Services) — The Backbone

AWS isn’t cloud storage.

It’s the plumbing of the internet.

Governments.

Police agencies.

Military contractors.

Hospitals.

Banks.

Streaming platforms.

AI companies.

Corporate America.

Amazon doesn’t have to sell you a single package to make billions.

It rents the infrastructure underneath modern society.

When Amazon wins, it often wins without you ever realizing you’re using Amazon.

Whole Foods — Organic Oligarchy

That olive bar you love?

It’s Amazon now.

Buying organic doesn’t change where the profits end up.

Every dollar still flows into the same empire.

The store that once marketed itself as local and sustainable now feeds one of the largest corporations on Earth.

The Washington Post — Democracy Dies in the Boardroom

Once a proud institution.

Now a Bezos accessory.

When the country needed an independent press, Bezos blocked the paper’s planned presidential endorsement. Respected journalists and cartoonists left as editorial independence came under increasing scrutiny.

“Democracy Dies in Darkness.”

Unless the owner flips the light switch.

Subscribing today isn’t supporting independent journalism.

It’s helping subsidize a billionaire’s media empire.

Prime Video, Audible, Twitch, Kindle & Amazon Ads

Amazon isn’t just a store.

It’s your TV.

Your audiobooks.

Your ebooks.

Your livestreams.

The advertisements following you across the internet.

Every branch feeds the same tree.

Every subscription strengthens the same empire.

Boycott:

Amazon

Prime

Prime Video

Ring

Whole Foods

The Washington Post

Amazon Ads

Amazon Web Services (AWS)

Twitch

Audible

Kindle

Alexa

IMDb

MGM Studios

Start here (takes five minutes):

Cancel Prime.

Remove your saved payment method.

Delete the Amazon app.

Choose one alternative for your next purchase.

Alternatives:

Costco • Aldi • Farmers’ markets • Thrift stores • eBay / Mercari • Direct from manufacturers

(Find it on Amazon, then buy it from the manufacturer instead. That’s one of the simplest ways to weaken Amazon’s grip without giving up convenience.)

Prime Day isn’t a sale.

It’s a shakedown.

Convenience is the bait.

Surveillance is the hook.

The algorithm is the salesman.

And the catch?

Your privacy.

Your wages.

Your local businesses.

Your future.

Read the full guide at:

Prime Day 50% Discount on Notes from the Apocalypse. Click Here.

When the boot of oppression comes crashing down on all of us, only precise, focused strategy will save us. The question is whether several generations raised on screens, comforting fantasies and processed food still have the focus, the guts, and the resolve to fight our way out of this.

For now, I can only wonder and hope. I can only do my part and trust that you will do yours.

Oh, strategy.
I remember you. Some of us do — but many of us don’t, and that’s a problem.

Strategy becomes elusive when we’re trapped in an endless state of despair, mourning, and horror.

In moments like these, strategy gets muddled, misdirected, or abandoned altogether. And that’s dangerous, because strategy has never been more important than it is right now.

Strategy went out the door in the ‘80s when MTV “rocked the vote” but refused to pick a side. They assumed their viewers—the next generation of voters—leaned left. They were wrong.

That’s how we got Reagan’s second term and George H.W. Bush’s first.

MTV is now owned by Paramount, just another tool for the oligarchy. In the end, it worked out nicely for them.
It was bad strategy at the time—the death of strategy.

Old Bush won despite major crimes, some bordering on treason: arms deals to the Contras, illegally and off the books.

Meanwhile, Gary Hart had to step away from the same race because he was photographed on a boat with a consenting adult woman.

Years later, Howard Dean would face the same fate for grunting in a weird way.

Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to live in a world where, when questions start flying, we hold our candidates accountable. Marital affair? You’re out. Questionable tattoo? Out.

But only Democrats do that—and it’s been our undoing again and again.

Subscribe now

Younger Bush won an election despite being an idiotic nepo cokehead who started the wrong war and botched it. His opponent, John Kerry, lost because of his shifting response to that war—and a series of lies told about him by “Swift Boat” vets who claimed he never served.

That same dynamic still plays out, maybe more than ever. They destroy something through incompetence, vanity, ego, and general recklessness. Then immediately start pointing the finger, often at the people who tried to stop them.

John Kerry was the man on the bike, upon riding to an already destroyed Reflecting Pool, who stuck his finger in the water and was arrested immediately for vandalism.

The guy who won started a war. The guy who lost didn’t stop it. The loser of the election served in Vietnam; the winner had his daddy pull strings to get him into the Texas National Guard and avoid serving.

That playbook continues to this day:
Republicans commit crimes—felonies, domestic violence, misogyny, racism, and rape (lots and lots of rape)—and pay no price.
Lying is their strategy.
The irony is, we don’t have to lie to stop them. They’ve given us all the ammunition. We just need to not trip over our own asses on the way.

All of us, every single one, will have the finger pointed at us one way or another, as our society collapses on itself. As each institution breaks, as chaos erupts, as more wars start, fascists will own none of it, will seek to blame the very people who oppose them.

John Kerry was all of us.

Not because he was perfect. Not because he was right about everything. Not because I expect anyone to agree with every position he held.

He was all of us because the people trying to stop the fire were scrutinized more harshly than the people who started it.

Twenty years later, we’re still running the same play. We are still spending more time dissecting the flaws of those opposing authoritarianism than confronting authoritarianism itself.

I don’t like many of the Democratic congressional candidates.

I don’t think some of them are particularly competent. I don’t think some are exactly who they claim to be. Some strike me as unqualified. Some take money from interests I don’t trust. Some have positions I strongly disagree with.

But that’s not the question in front of us.

The first step to ending this nightmare is simple:

Protect the elections. Vote the Republicans out of power.

Nothing else happens until that happens.

You don’t like something a candidate said about trans rights? Homelessness? Women’s rights? Immigration?

Fine. I likely don’t either.

But ask yourself a harder question:

If you withhold your vote, do those issues get better?

Does keeping Republicans in power help immigrants facing ICE raids?

Does it help women?

Does it help trans people?

Does it help preserve democratic institutions?

Does it fight climate change?

Of course not.

Every one of those problems gets worse.

You are not choosing between a perfect candidate and an imperfect one.

You are choosing between a system that can still be pressured, challenged, organized against, and changed—and a system that is actively trying to eliminate those possibilities altogether.

The candidate you dislike can be challenged tomorrow.

The people dismantling democracy are trying to make sure there is no tomorrow.

That’s the distinction that matters.

Politics is not a dating app. You are not looking for your soulmate.

You are trying to stop the house from burning down long enough to argue about how to remodel the kitchen.

Step one is putting out the fire.

In every election, there are three options. The best choice of the three is the one that gives us the best chance to stop this raging inferno, allowing us to fight all the other fights later.

The best choice seems obvious. Somehow, though, many people can’t seem to grasp it.

Option A destroys our democracy, our children’s futures, our very way of life. It suspends our rights, kidnaps and disappears our neighbors, and strips away basic human rights from anyone who isn’t a white, straight, Christian male.

Option B: You get someone you may not love. Someone who didn’t fight hard enough to stop Option A. Someone with personal baggage—not crimes, not child rape or theft or total failure, but maybe a flirty text to an intern. Maybe a weird grunt.

Then there’s Option C.

C is for cop-out. It means doing anything with your vote or energy other than supporting someone who can actually win. Or it means refusing to vote because “the election is probably rigged.”

That thought is irrational, of course, not because the election won’t be rigged. They will try—they are trying— and in some ways they will succeed, but choosing not to vote is like shooting yourself in the dick because that girl you like may not agree to date you.

If you understand the difference between A and B—the extreme severity—and still choose C, you’re lost to strategy. Or your urge to be a contrarian exceeds your desire to live in a free society.

The point of reason is not certainty.
It’s starting where the evidence points and adjusting when new evidence arrives.

And these grievances that stop us from implementing Step One are often shallow, distorted, or based on misunderstandings of basic concepts.

Take the phrase “Believe women.”

Not “Believe all women.”

Believe women.

The phrase has been twisted by bad-faith actors and misunderstood by some of its supporters. It doesn’t mean accepting every accusation as unquestionable truth. It means starting where the evidence most likely points and adjusting as new evidence emerges.

That’s how reason works.

Research consistently shows that false reports of sexual assault are relatively rare. So when a woman comes forward, we begin by taking her seriously. Then we examine evidence, motives, corroboration, contradictions, and context.

Anything else is either misogyny or blind faith.

Which brings us to Graham Platner.

I don’t particularly like him. I don’t trust him. I don’t think he’s especially qualified. Some of the stories surrounding him are troubling. Some may be true. Some may not be. I don’t know, and neither do you.

What I do know is that uncertainty about Platner is not certainty about Susan Collins.

We don’t know what Platner knew about a tattoo he got decades ago. We don’t know exactly what happened in a past relationship. We don’t know what is in his mind.

But we do know what Susan Collins has enabled. We know what her party has enabled. We know what another Republican majority means.

That’s the strategic question.

Not whether Graham Platner is perfect.

Whether the possibility that Graham Platner is flawed outweighs the certainty of what Republicans will do with power.

It doesn’t.

Because in this election you are not voting for a soulmate. You are not voting for a saint. You are not even really voting for a candidate.

You are voting for a seat.

A majority.

A lifeline.

You are implementing Step One.

And without Step One, there is no Step Two.

And Option C means you get to take none of the blame, but all the credit. No risk.

The “gotcha” questions come from the right-wing press. They’re not journalists—they’re GOP operatives. They ask questions carefully crafted to make Democrats bleed supporters, no matter how they answer.

Democrats have no such mechanism; most of the non-right-wing press clings to the notion of integrity. That could be the song they sing as the ship goes down.

Take the question: “Do you believe that children should have body-altering trans surgery?”
It’s complex, and even strong supporters of the trans community struggle with it. The right knows this. They ask, and they watch the left fumble.

James Talarico, running for Senate in Texas, was asked this question. So what is the right answer? If he says yes, he loses millions of votes: “They’re trying to sex-change our kids,” the Texas morons say.
If he says no, the left attacks him for not respecting trans rights.

Because the desire to be the purest of the pure is strong, let’s play the ABC game for that Texas Senate race:

Option A: A con man, a Trump stooge, a corrupt puppet.
Option B: Someone who will fight for people, for women’s rights, for minorities—someone who will not outright deny climate change—but who answered that question in a way you don’t like.

Option A is letting the right win. Option A is loading another bullet in Trump’s gun.

Option C—voting elsewhere, for someone who can’t win, for no one, for Ayn Rand—is performative nonsense.
You can say later, “I didn’t vote for this.” But you did.

You can say that while standing atop the rubble in the ruins. Congratulations.

And meanwhile, millions of lizard brains calculate that somehow, an anti-trans, corrupt man who will fight to restrict rights is preferable to the imperfect man who supports trans rights but failed to answer a question perfectly.

A non-vote or a vote for a candidate who can’t win is a vote for stripping trans people of their rights.

That’s rationally sound.

And if you’re looking for the clearest example of losing the point of reason, look at the abortion debate, which has been raging for almost a century.

Most “pro-life” people don’t believe contraception is abortion. Some do—but they have to shout, bully, and distort to make their fringe position sound universal.

Most “pro-choice” people don’t believe in ending a healthy, viable pregnancy at nine months for no reason. That’s not reasonable, that’s monstrous. The people who insist this is normal—and those who insist condoms are baby-defense systems—live at opposite extremes. They share one trait:

They’ve forgotten how to be reasonable humans.

This isn’t about one candidate, one issue, or one race.
The players don’t matter.
Shakespeare called it “the play,” and he was right—the play is what matters.

We talk about Hamlet centuries later. We don’t talk about which dude played Ophelia in the round on opening weekend 400 years ago.

And we won’t be talking about Graham Platner or any of these other Congressional candidates 400 years from now. If people still walk the earth, they will talk about whether the people stood up and fought for all that is good and decent in this world, or if we allowed a small band of crooked, child-raping scoundrels to destroy humanity.

Step 1 is the only thing standing between us and that fire.

I usually publish several times a week, but I’m trying to get this one right.

The topic is not “abortion.” In fact, this small excerpt I am including here is the only point in the article where abortion is even mentioned.

The topic of the article is how we avoid losing the midterms and descending into permanent darkness. I understand that comment sounds extreme, but it’s not. It’s reality.

If we lose the mid-terms, life as we know it is over.

Don’t fight the wrong fight.

Here is the excerpt. Full story coming soon.

And then back to gameplan, vetting, resisting.

Subscribe now

This article isn’t about one candidate, one issue, or one race. The players don’t matter. Shakespeare called it “the play,” and he was right — the play is what matters.

The clearest example of people losing the ability to land on the point of reason has been the abortion debate going on for the better part of a century.

Most people on the pro‑life side don’t believe contraception is abortion. Some do — and the ones who do have to shout, distort, and bully to make their fringe position sound universal.

Most people on the pro‑choice side don’t believe you can end a healthy, viable pregnancy at nine months with no medical risk just because you feel like it. That’s not reasonable. That’s monstrous. And the people who insist that this is the norm — just like the people who insist condoms are baby‑defense systems — live at opposite extremes, but share one trait:

They’ve forgotten how to be reasonable humans.

Not because it is secret.

Because it is shared.

Passed hand to hand.
Joke to joke.
Story to story.

The goal is not perfect secrecy.

The goal is continuity.

To help people communicate through humor, metaphor, fiction, folklore, and ordinary conversation when direct language becomes noisy, risky, or ineffective.

This language works because people understand context.

Humor.
Trust.
Timing.
Restraint.

Machines can catalog words.

People understand meaning.

The Key is not the Map.

The Key is the language people use when maps become difficult to carry.

The language evolves.

The purpose does not.

Subscribe now

Before You Begin

You do not need technical skills.

You do not need to understand AI.

You do not need to memorize the entire Key.

Most people learn it naturally.

If you’ve spent time around Notes from the Apocalypse, the Boycott Guide, mutual aid work, resistance spaces, or the Unherdables, you probably already speak pieces of it.

The Key simply gives those patterns names.

Below this line is a paywall. If you are a paid subscriber, you should have no issue with accessing the rest of this message, and the paywall is not meant to force people into a paid subscription they do not want. If you want the Key, but can’t be a paid subscriber, email me at psychopete2026@proton.me so I can vet you for free access.

If we give the key to the wrong people, it becomes useless.

One of the easiest way for me to vet is to have your social media handlees. Especially bluesky and substack. They will help me know that you are who you say you are.

The easiest ongoing option, though, is to be a paid subscriber.

Read more

PsychoPete’s Notes on Spotting Whiskey Pete Before He Renames the Latrine, “Eternal Flame Memorial Restroom.”

So you found some fellow survivors.

Congratulations.

You now have:

• mouths to feed

• assholes to guard

• and approximately forty-eight hours before someone tries to crown themselves High Chancellor of the Bean Pile

Here’s how not to end up in someone’s personal rapture fantasy.

Rule Zero

If anyone says the word “destiny” unironically, throw them a going-away party.

They don’t have to leave happy.

They just have to leave.

Leadership 101 (Collapse Edition)

Real leaders don’t announce themselves.

They show up at dawn with a shovel, fix the leak nobody else noticed, and never once mention how noble they are for doing it.

Anyone who wants the title probably shouldn’t get it.

Anyone who demands the title should be given:

• a map

• a canteen

• and enthusiastic directions to Fuck-Off Gulch

How to Avoid Jonestown 2: Bunker Edition

Beware the Charismatic Guy with the Whiteboard

He’s the one we gave the dead flashlight to when the grid went down.

Now he calls himself Whiskey Pete.

Claims it’s his “collapse name.”

Says he was a high-level strategist / Navy SEAL / hedge-fund quant / shaman before the fall.

Has two pale lieutenants who do all the talking (and most of the threatening).

Carries a whiteboard he found in an abandoned middle school.

Writes “VISION” at the top in red marker like it’s a spell.

He is a weak man wearing a strong man’s cosplay.

Exile on sight.

If he resists, remind him that destiny is just ego with better branding.

Trust the Person Who Cooks, Not the One Who Speaks

The quiet one who boils boot leather into something that doesn’t taste like despair?

Keep them close.

The loud one lecturing about “glorious rebirth” while everyone else is chewing shoe?

Dangerous.

If their hands aren’t calloused, their authority should be limited to:

• bartender

• night watch (from a safe distance)

• holding the flashlight while the rest of us actually work

If Anyone Fakes Bone Spurs

Hog-tie them.

Chuck them in the river.

We don’t abide that bullshit.

(Pro tip: If they scream “This is tyranny!” on the way down, nod solemnly. It’s the closest they’ll ever come to self-awareness.)

That’s not to be confused with Brainspurs.

A term I coined back in ’26 that spread faster than lice.

Originally it described the ICE agents kidnapping families while carrying guns they weren’t brave enough to control.

When Krasnov started the big war by bombing the Middle East into a tinderbox with no plan whatsoever, those same agents suddenly couldn’t fight.

They had brainspurs.

In the collapse it means anyone too stupid, incompetent, or cowardly to be trusted with a weapon—or anything else important.

Create a System That Doesn’t Rely on a Savior

If the whole camp collapses the second one person dies, gets bored, or storms off with the megaphone,

it wasn’t a community.

It was a cult with better snacks.

Build structures.

Rotating chores.

Shared decision logs scratched on scrap metal.

No single throat to choke.

No single neck to kiss.

Don’t Let Anyone Rename the Group

If someone pushes for:

• “The House of Torch”

• “Eternal Flame Collective”

• “Dawn’s Vengeful Butthurt Brigade”

leave.

Or push them in the latrine.

Keep the name boring and descriptive.

• West Lot Beans & Laundry Cooperative

• River Bend Rice & Rifle Repair

Nothing poetic.

Inspiration is how they get you.

Final Tip: Shared Chores Are Anti-Fascist

Everyone washes their own damn rice pot.

Anyone who thinks they’re above compost duty is already drafting a loyalty oath in their head.

Make them scrub it anyway.

Twice.

Suggested Reading

Lord of the Flies

(Spoiler: it doesn’t go great.)

Suggested Viewing

Pippi Longstocking

(Not every strong-willed redhead has to be a dictator. Some of them just want strong coffee and no meetings.)

Stay feral.

Stay free.

And if Whiskey Pete shows up with a vision board,

remember:

visions burn just fine.

— PsychoPete

Convoy Ash-Eater, Somewhere East of Yesterday

“Coined a new word: brainspurs. Definition: the reason ICE agents can’t be sent to fight an actual war.” - PsychoPete on Bluesky

Full story at:

While a fascist, child-raping wrecking ball demolishes institutions, guts democracy, and turns the White House into a goddamn circus tent, Monster didn’t just dip a toe into the tacky MAGA pool.

They dove in headfirst.

Most corporations try to hide what they are. Monster decided branding itself as the official energy drink of the collapse was a better marketing strategy.

They didn’t say, “Let’s get involved.”

They said, “Let’s be the primary fucking sponsor.”

Where the rest of us see institutional decay and national humiliation, Monster sees a giant green profit piñata.

They had no long history of openly fueling fascism.

Until now.

The mask is off.

The choice is simple:

Monster Energy is for fascists.

And their biggest backers read like a reunion tour of institutional greed: Coca-Cola, BlackRock, and the usual collection of vampire squids that have spent decades draining the life out of everything decent.

Taste-wise? It’s industrial runoff with a chemical afterburn. Like somebody mixed battery acid, windshield washer fluid, and a bad decision into a can.

Real alternatives:

• Water.

• Black coffee if you actually need energy.

• Or step up to Guayakí Yerba Mate. Just don’t be a lazy fuck and buy it from Whole Foods or Amazon. Buy direct.

And the taste? Compared to Monster, Guayakí tastes like freedom.

Fuck Monster.

Subscribe now

From the big boycott guide at:

They even had to admit it in court:
not news, just entertainment for people entertained by cruelty and lies.

But now?
Now the acquisition of Roku has handed us a clean, unmistakable path to boycott.

If you need the reminder:
remove your payment methods from your Roku account and cancel any subscriptions you bought through Roku, because every dollar that flows through that system now gets funneled straight into Rupert Murdoch’s money girdle.

They’ve stolen the free press.
They’ve consolidated the media.
They’ve turned information into a weapon.

We don’t have to fund it.

This is the new FOX entry — and it’s already in the big boycott guide, linked at the end.

Subscribe now

27. Fox Corporation (Fox News)—Now With ROKU

I left Fox off this guide for too long because, honestly, it felt obvious.

If you’re actively resisting authoritarianism, disinformation, and oligarchic rot, why would Fox even still be in the rotation?

But obvious isn’t enough.

Because Fox was never just one channel.

It’s an ecosystem that includes a major network, radio and so much more (see below). And they’ve done so much damage, none of us should be earning them money.

Fox didn’t merely report on democratic decline.

It industrialized it.

They helped normalize election lies, fearmongering, anti-immigrant hysteria, anti-LGBTQ+ scapegoating, climate denial, union-busting narratives, and billionaire-friendly deregulation while wrapping it all in flag graphics and fake populism.

And even after massive legal consequences, public scandals, and internal revelations showing key figures privately mocking the same lies they sold on air, the machine kept going.

Because the damage wasn’t a bug.

It was the business model.

Fox paid enormous settlements over election falsehoods, yet the broader formula remained: outrage, distortion, grievance, repeat. Hosts cycle through dehumanization, fear, and culture-war spectacle because rage keeps viewers locked in and ad dollars flowing.

And remember:

• Fox News
• Fox Business
• Fox Nation
• Fox broadcast properties
• Tubi
• Fox Sports advertising ecosystems
• Affiliated digital platforms
• New York Post
• The broader tabloid outrage pipeline

And now there is another reason to pay attention.

For years, I ranked Fox relatively low in this guide because there wasn’t much overlap between people boycotting oligarchs and people faithfully watching Fox News every night. A boycott only works when people are actually spending money there.

But Fox isn’t just Fox News anymore.

The proposed Roku acquisition changes the equation.

The deal itself is terrible. America already suffers from extreme media consolidation, and this would concentrate even more power into fewer hands. But it also creates a new pressure point. Unlike Fox News, Roku is something many people in this movement actually use.

You don’t need to throw your television into a river.

Use the hardware you already own.

Just don’t buy another Roku device.

And if you’re signing up for a streaming service, subscribe directly through the provider rather than through Roku whenever possible so Roku doesn’t collect a cut of the transaction.

I used to wait until mergers were finalized before adding them to the boycott guide. We did that with Skydance and Paramount. We did that with other major media consolidations.

But we’ve all seen how this story tends to end.

When regulators are captured and corporate power is concentrated, deals like this are often approved long before the paperwork is signed.

So we’re not waiting.

How to hit them:

• Stop watching Fox News, Fox Business, and Fox Nation
• Avoid Fox streaming apps and digital properties when possible
• Don’t buy new Roku devices if the acquisition proceeds
• Subscribe to streaming services directly instead of through Roku when possible
• Boycott advertisers that heavily bankroll Fox programming
• Skip Fox-branded merchandise, subscriptions, and paid content
• Reduce engagement with Murdoch-owned tabloids like the New York Post
• Call out businesses that advertise there—make propaganda expensive
• Don’t share clips unless necessary for accountability; rage-clicks are still currency

Sports caveat:

Fox Sports often functions differently editorially, but ad ecosystems still matter. If your goal is economic pressure, be conscious of where your attention goes.

Alternative:

Support independent journalism, local reporting, nonprofit investigative outlets, worker-owned media, and fact-based reporting that doesn’t monetize civil collapse.

Bottom line:

Fox helped build the modern propaganda template:

Flood the zone.

Dehumanize the vulnerable.

Protect power.

Sell fear.

They didn’t just report the fire.

They sold the gasoline, the matches, and the commercial breaks.

And now they’re trying to own more of the televisions too.

No more ratings.

No more clicks.

No more passive funding of the machine.

I’m not going to sit here and tell you my hand shook or that everything went slow-motion like in the movies. It didn’t.

For half a second Uncle Danny flashed across my head; the way he used to say, “Just do the job, kid. The thinking’s above your pay grade.”

He’d been dead eleven years, so whatever he might’ve told me if he’d lived long enough to see something like this didn’t matter.

The TAO said fire. The solution was good. My thumb came down on the pickle and the missile was gone before I finished letting out the breath I was holding.

That’s it. That’s all the time there was. That’s how it’s supposed to work.

Subscribe now

There’s not much else to say about the moment itself. People keep asking me to describe it—lawyers, investigators, reporters who pretend they’re my friends—but that’s all it was: a thumb, a button, a brief flicker on the console that meant the missile was on its way. If you blinked, you missed the moment I became a war criminal.

I never even saw the impact. That’s another thing the movies get wrong. They always show the guy glued to the screen, watching the fireball bloom like he’s proud of it. Bullshit. The missile leaves the rail, the dot slides off the edge of the display, and that’s the last you ever see of it. By then you’re already back on your checks, your cross-checks, your stupid little confirmations, because that’s the job. The explosion isn’t background noise; it’s nothing at all. Just a radar return that isn’t there anymore.

Later, looking back, that blank spot on the radar reminded me of a marlin disappearing into deep water — there one second, gone the next, leaving only a faint disturbance behind. A disappearance so clean it felt intentional.

I didn’t understand what I’d done until much later. Months later. Maybe I didn’t let myself understand it. Maybe that’s more honest.

THE FIRST TIME IT HIT ME

The first time it grabbed me by the throat, I was sitting in a VA clinic waiting for someone to decide whether the nightmares meant I was “adjusting poorly” or “maladapted.” They love their categories. Makes guilt easier to alphabetize.

The TV on the wall started running a story about fishermen off the coast. Their families had filed something—an international complaint, a petition, maybe just a plea someone thought was newsworthy. I don’t remember the legal term.

I remember the photograph: eight men lined up shoulder-to-shoulder on a dock, all squinting into the sun like the camera wasn’t important enough to squint for.

One of them, I later learned, was named Esteban Morales. He had a wife and a daughter.

The daughter was eight. There was a picture of her holding a papier-mâché marlin she’d made for a school festival. Bright blue paint, crooked fins. She was smiling like she’d invented the ocean.

That detail hit me harder than anything else. A marlin. Of all things.

The marlin was what I’d written about in my sixth-grade essay — the part my teacher praised, the part my parents actually read. Not some explorer. Not a history lesson. Just the fish.

I wrote five pages about marlin migrations, marlin anatomy, marlin myths. I even used the phrase “apex precision,” like any sixth grader should have to carry a phrase that heavy.

I was proud for once.

Then the next day happened. The essay came down. The ribbon disappeared. Nobody mentioned it again.

Seeing that girl with her crooked marlin felt like an accusation from a place I didn’t know existed.

I knew those men’s faces. I’d never seen them before, but I knew them. You don’t forget a radar return that cold.

When the anchors said the names, I wrote them down on the back of a VA intake form and folded it into my wallet. I kept it there until the day the marshals came for me.

So here I am. Steel door. Concrete bed. A pen that feels like a joke. They tell me to write everything down while I wait for trial. I don’t think they expect me to take it seriously.

They don’t understand that this is the first time I’ve had to think about any of it without a console in front of me or an officer over my shoulder telling me what matters and what doesn’t.

I was good at not thinking.

Turns out that’s not a defense.

UNCLE DANNY

I was five, maybe six, the first time I saw Uncle Danny in uniform. Young enough that most men looked enormous, but he looked different—taller, straighter, like he’d been carved out of a cleaner material.

He stood in our living room like a man who’d taken a wrong turn out of a parade and ended up in a house that smelled like cigarettes and microwaved dinners.

The brass caught the light when he moved. His shoes were so polished I could see the sagging ceiling reflected in them.

But what stuck was how the room reacted. My mother froze mid-sentence. My father straightened. My sister stopped rolling her eyes.

It was the first time I’d ever seen my family impressed by something not on a television.

He knelt to look me in the eye and said, “You’re growing fast, kid. Keep your head on straight. Do the job in front of you and the rest will sort itself out.”

I nodded like I understood. I didn’t.

Years later, at a console halfway across the world, I heard that voice again — just long enough to shut out everything else.

I wish I could say that wasn’t the reason.

THE ESSAY

If I’m being honest, the only thing I was ever good at before the Navy was writing. In sixth grade I wrote an essay about marlins — where they lived, how they moved, how the ocean seemed to part for them — and it won a district prize. My teacher called it “promising,” mostly because of one line about their movement: cutting through water like thought, like certainty.

Maybe I was always drawn to things that didn’t hesitate.

My mother taped the essay to the fridge. My father read it. For one afternoon, I felt seen.

Then the next day happened. The essay came down. The ribbon disappeared. No one mentioned it again.

I didn’t write anything that mattered after that — not until they put me in this concrete box and told me to “process my experience.”

Funny thing is, the words still come easy. Maybe they always did. I just never had a reason to use them until now.

THE LAWYER

When they told me I’d been assigned a lawyer, I felt relieved. Television had taught me lawyers win cases. They find loopholes. They conjure Latin spells. They walk you into the sunny parking lot afterward.

“How do we beat the case?” I asked.

“Beat the case?” She tried not to laugh. Failed. Not cruel — just stunned, like I’d asked her how to beat the tides.

“We can’t beat the case,” she said. “You did it. I’m here to keep you alive.”

And that’s when it hit me:

There is no misunderstanding.

No bad intelligence.

No superior officer coming to explain it away.

This is gravity.

They gave me discovery binders thicker than the Kansas City phone book. Eighteen months of message traffic. And there were other boats. Not the first. Not the fifth.

Same missile. Same range. Same quiet report the next morning.

The running joke: “You want that in writing, Hale?”

We laughed. All of us. A school of fish convinced we were moving in perfect formation.

WHAT SHOULD I HOPE FOR?

My lawyer asked me once, “What are you hoping for?”

Life in prison? That’s the optimistic outcome.

A pardon? Only if the country swings back into fascism.

If that happens, I walk out a free man. A medal. A handshake. A commendation for “decisive action.”

And the sick part is: I could hope for that.

I could hope for the return of the thing that broke me if it meant I could breathe outside air again.

But every version of that future ends with innocent people suffering.

I’ve already destroyed enough lives. I’m not sure I get to hope for my own.

THE QUESTIONS

They keep asking:

“What did you know?”

“When did you know it?”

“Did you feel threatened?”

Every question is a life raft they want me to grab.

The sentence they crave is simple:

“I believed the craft was hostile, and I acted in accordance with my training.”

That sentence absolves everyone.

The Navy.

The chain of command.

The doctrine writers.

The politicians.

Even me.

It’s a magic trick — a spell that turns eight dead fishermen into eight unfortunate data points.

But I can’t say it.

Not because I’m brave. Not because I’m noble.

But because the moment I say it, I become the kind of man who deserves to rot in here.

And I don’t want to be him.

Not even for a pardon.

THE VISIT

My mother visits.

I wish she didn’t.

Love, in here, feels like evidence.

“They said the men… the fishermen… were doing nothing wrong.”

I nod.

“They had families.”

I nod again.

“Did you know that? When it happened?”

“No.”

Her shoulders slump. The worst answer possible.

Guilt is a time machine. It keeps dragging me backward to the moment before the missile left the rail and forces me to stay there.

“I still love you,” she says.

That’s the hardest part.

Love is also a verdict.

THE VIDEO

Someone on a tanker had a drone up that day.

No explosion. No fireball. Just a shape in the water—

Then the frame jerks.

The boat folds like wet cardboard.

The water around it flares like a fin catching sunlight, then disappears.

Mens rea, they say. Intent.

The hammer that drives guilt into bone.

I watch it three times.

The fourth time, I ask them to leave.

Stars are easier to look at than oceans.

THE JOURNAL

They tell me to write.

“It helps the defense.”

“It’s therapeutic.”

“It’s mandatory.”

They all think the journal is for them.

It’s not.

It’s for the men on that boat.

For the eight-year-old girl with the papier-mâché marlin.

For the part of me I’m not sure survived.

I write their names:

Esteban Morales.

Javier Rojas.

Daniel Salazar.

Luis Obando.

Miguel Vargas.

Santiago Herrera.

Pablo Jimenez.

Oscar Torres.

Eight names. Eight men. Eight miles of ocean. Eight seconds of radar before they vanished — like a marlin cutting deep and leaving the surface smooth behind it.

Some days I think I’m trying to resurrect them. Other days, to bury them properly.

Most days, I don’t know the difference.

THE REAL CHOICE

People think the choice was the missile.

It wasn’t.

The real choice is now:

Tell the truth and die in prison.

Tell the lie and live with it.

Truth versus survival.

Honor versus denial.

Nuremberg versus self-preservation.

Death is easy.

Living with yourself is harder.

Here’s the part I haven’t said:

Sometimes I want the world to turn fascist again just so I can walk free.

Not because I believe in it.

Not because I want it.

But because I’m tired.

And that terrifies me.

Because marlins move in perfect coordination — until one breaks formation, and the entire hunt collapses.

Maybe that was me.

Maybe the missile wasn’t the betrayal — maybe it was the revelation.

The moment I realized I’d been swimming out of pattern my whole life.

A marlin that zigged when the rest zagged.

And now I’m alone in cold water.

–––begin signal / 11‑29‑50 / source: unknown–––

This is Pete. I found these pages in a lockbox under what used to be the courthouse in Norfolk. The paper’s still white. The ink hasn’t faded. The world didn’t last that long.

The man’s name was Hale. He would be fifty now. No way of knowing if he survived the fall, the fires, the waterline.

There was a child’s drawing in there too—a marlin. Blue paint, crooked fin. It survived when nothing else did.

If you can hear this, don’t do what we did. If you can’t… well.

At least he got the last word.

–––signal lost–––

From the larger narrative at:

That’s the distraction.

The article argues that while everyone is staring at the shiny object, something else is being built underneath the government we think we have: parallel systems for identity, verification, records, and access, housed inside the executive branch and increasingly shielded from public oversight.

Maybe every piece of the puzzle has an innocent explanation.

But when new doors keep appearing and all of them lead back to the same room, eventually you stop asking whether the maze is real.

You start asking who built it.

And if the SAVE Act returns to the conversation, remember that every new requirement to prove who you are also raises a darker question:

Who gets to decide?

The link is below. Read it yourself. The details matter.

The shape of the thing matters even more.

Subscribe now

Trump Built A New Passport.gov Website

The Drey Dossier

Trump Built A New Passport.gov Website

A continuation of my reporting on the National Design Studio and the proliferation of .gov sites it has registered to the executive branch. Part one is here…

Listen now

22 days ago · 2333 likes · 205 comments · The Drey Dossier

A woman in a Toyota was trying to back into a parking spot and struggling mightily. She was missing that part of her brain that allows you to reverse your controls while your car is in reverse.

Subscribe now

While she backed in, pulled out, adjusted, backed in again, adjusted, I simply parked my car and went inside.

I went to the counter and luckily, there was no wait. Ten minutes, in and out.

When I got back outside, the woman was pulled in, backwards of course, to the parking spot, but her driver’s side was pinned in inches from the car next to her, and she was trapped. She was too close to pull out of the spot. Too close to get out of the car. Trapped.

“Typical MAGA idiot,” I thought to myself.

Then I saw it:

It wasn’t just a Toyota. It was a Prius. And the bumper stickers? Coexist, Biden/Harris, “My child is an honor roll student at some middle school … “

What stuck with me was that she had dozens of chances to stop.

She could have pulled forward.

Started over.

Parked normally.

Abandoned the plan entirely.

Instead she kept committing to the original decision until she ended up trapped by it.

All she had to do was pull into the spot, forward, like an adult, go inside, do your business, come out and leave. That is the correct strategy for going to Walgreen’s.

It’s logical. It’s rational. It’s smart.

Pull in. Go in. Come out. Pull out. Leave.

That’s what I did. I left and went home. For all I know, she might still be there five years later. I don’t know. I don’t shop at Walgreen’s any more.

And before I get to my point, backing into parking spaces is irrational.

I have neighbors with three cars and three drivers. Every evening they perform what appears to be a carefully choreographed parking ballet. Cars pull out of the driveway, circle the cul-de-sac, reverse direction, back in one at a time, readjust, pull forward, readjust again, and eventually settle into their assigned spots.

The whole production takes twenty minutes.

To save maybe twenty seconds tomorrow morning.

I watch this spectacle almost daily, and every time I find myself asking the same question:

What calculation are they making?

They are spending minutes now to save seconds later.

That is not sound logic. You see that, right?

There’s an African parable about a monkey trap.

A hunter places fruit inside a hollow coconut. The opening is large enough for the monkey’s open hand to fit through, but too small for a closed fist.

The monkey reaches in.

Grabs the fruit.

And becomes trapped.

Not because the hunter tied it up.

Not because the coconut is locked.

Not because escape is impossible.

The monkey is free at any moment.

All it has to do is let go.

But it won’t.

Most people hear that story and conclude that the monkey is stupid.

I hear it and think about politics.

Because the monkey isn’t trapped by ignorance.

It’s trapped by attachment.

And in this election season I watch intelligent people grab hold of something they cannot bear to release — a grievance, a purity test, a single issue, a personal feud — and convince themselves that holding on is strength.

But often, it isn’t strength.
It’s avoidance.

Because it’s easier to fight the wrong fight.

It’s easier to fight the Democrat who disappointed you than the authoritarian who terrifies you.
It’s easier to fixate on one disagreement than confront the collapse of the entire system.
It’s easier to win a symbolic argument online than face the real battle that demands discipline, fear, and sacrifice.

In the past, the cost of that mistake was a Bush or a Romney. Bad, yes — but survivable. If one of them were in the White House right now, I wouldn’t be typing this. We’d grit our teeth and live to fight another day.

But this is something different.

If we fail the test in front of us — the test of rationality, of reason, of basic strategic thinking — the cost isn’t four bad years. It’s everything. Everything fragile, everything decent, everything we care about, everything that depends on a functioning democracy and a livable planet.

Most of us feel that in our bones now.

Which brings me back to the monkey trap.

The monkey isn’t trapped because the hunter is clever.
The monkey is trapped because it won’t let go.

It can’t step back.
It can’t see the bigger picture.
It can’t choose survival over attachment.

We don’t get that excuse.

We’re supposed to be more evolved than that.

“If you could send a message back in time, what would it be?”

I kept asking the question and getting wildly different answers.

I asked Tina. She said, “I would tell my pets I loved them.”

That put me in a sullen mood. In fact, I was angry — not at her, exactly, but at the smallness of her answer in a world this ruined.

But as had become my custom, I closed my eyes and counted to ten, letting the feeling pass through me. When I opened them again, Tina had already wandered off, leaving me alone with the question.

When I finally got around to Thomas — the friend I knew would take it seriously — I wasn’t disappointed.

“Why do you ask?”

“Bro,” I said. “It’s the apocalypse. There’s nothing left to do but make up our own games.”

“But I know you,” he said. “If you’re asking that question, it’s because you think there’s a way.”

“No. Just humor me.”

Thomas sat on a log — a spot that had somehow become his despite all his Marxist leanings — and stared into the fire.

“If I could send a message back,” he said slowly, “it would be strategic.”

I waited. With Thomas, you had to.

“We know when he emerged from the bunker,” he said. “We were there. We almost got him. All we needed was one more person.”

“Maybe a marksman?” I suggested.

“Exactly. But you can’t count on a bleeding liberal to pull the trigger when it matters. To be sure, we’d need one of them.”

“MAGA?”

“MAGA. White supremacist. Christian nationalist. Any of those groups that hand guns to their babies and raise them to itch for a trigger.”

He poked at the fire with a stick.

“And by then, some of them hated him as much as we did.”

In my eyeline, as Thomas spoke, Tina danced nude by the river, firelight sliding over her like water.

Something hot bloomed behind my eyes.

I closed them and counted to ten.

One… two…

On six, the copper taste hit the back of my throat.

I opened my eyes. A warm trickle slid over my upper lip. I wiped it with the back of my hand — bright red against dirt-crusted skin.

Thomas paused mid-sentence. Noted it. Said nothing.

I let the blood drip between my boots. It soaked in fast, dark against the ash. Out here, a nosebleed wasn’t an emergency. It was just another small betrayal of the body.

Out here, the body leaked when it wanted to.

I tasted iron and counted to ten again. This time ten came out as a slow, wet exhale. The bleeding slowed. Didn’t stop.

“The timing would have to be right,” Thomas said. “How many messages can you send back?”

“What?”

I hadn’t heard him for at least one full count to ten.

“How many messages can you send back?”

“None,” I said. “It’s hypothetical.”

Thomas didn’t blink.

“How many messages can you send back?”

The fire cracked. Tina laughed somewhere in the dark.

One.

Maybe more.

Subscribe now

Full story found at:

By now we’ve all seen the photo: the world’s tackiest strongman turning the seat of American government into a pay-per-view backdrop while the country’s institutions decay in real time around him. If this were fiction, an editor would reject it immediately. Too on-the-nose. Too cartoonish. Too desperate to force the metaphor.

But reality no longer has editors.

Subscribe now

So here we are anyway: watching a nation slide deeper into authoritarian spectacle while wealthy grifters, oligarchs, influencers, and political parasites gather ringside to cash in on the collapse. Bread and circuses, except the bread is gone and the circus is sponsored by crypto casinos and testosterone supplements.

And somewhere underneath the noise, the branding, the memes, the endless manufactured outrage, people are still asking the same question:

“What exactly am I supposed to do about any of this?”

Well. Start here.

24. UFC

Dana White has a lot in common with Jeffrey Epstein.

No, not that. Though at this point I regard Republicans the way I regard large cats: if it has spots, it’s probably a leopard; if it has stripes, it’s probably a tiger; and if it’s shitting in my laundry basket, it’s my elderly cat Pickles. Pattern recognition matters.

I’m not claiming Dana White abuses children. What I am saying is that he’s perfectly comfortable orbiting, celebrating, and protecting men accused of monstrous things—as long as the money and power keep flowing.

But that’s not even the comparison I meant.

Dana White and Jeffrey Epstein share a more fundamental trait: neither was born into elite power, but both learned how to metabolize proximity into influence. You don’t need to own the kingdom if you can become indispensable to kings.

Epstein embedded himself among billionaires, politicians, royalty, and financiers. He made himself useful. He curated access, facilitated vice, collected secrets, and turned proximity into leverage.

Dana White operates differently, obviously, but the instinct is familiar. He attached himself to wealth, celebrity, and political power and converted that access into empire-building. UFC stopped being just cage fighting years ago. It became a networking hub for oligarchs, crypto scammers, right‑wing politicians, tech billionaires, podcasters, and every species of modern American grifter. A roving luxury suite for the decline.

And that’s why men like Trump love him.

Because Dana White understands the modern American masculinity grift: aggression without sacrifice, dominance without responsibility, wealth as morality, cruelty as authenticity. The fight is almost secondary. The spectacle is the point.

Epstein sold access to the elite.
Dana White sells the fantasy of becoming elite by worshipping them hard enough.

Different crimes. Different industries. Same parasite ecosystem.

White didn’t just “support” Trump—he practically became Krasnov’s octagon hype man. Rally appearances. Convention speeches. Public devotion that crossed from endorsement into brand fusion. And when Trump shows up cageside like a sunburned Caesar receiving cheers from a crowd trained to confuse spectacle for strength, it stops being “just sports.”

Every PPV buy, every branded hoodie, every sponsor click enriches a machine whose leadership has repeatedly treated authoritarian politics as part of the promotional package.
This isn’t about fighters trying to earn a living.
It’s about executives using combat sports culture as a delivery system for billionaire strongman mythology.

Because when the boss treats Trump like the second coming of masculinity, the brand stops selling fights and starts selling allegiance.

How to hit them

• Skip PPVs
• Pirate if you must, but don’t feed the machine
• Avoid UFC merch and sponsor products
• Support local gyms, independent fighters, or smaller promotions that haven’t fused themselves to MAGA branding

Alternatives: PFL, ONE Championship, regional promotions—or support fighters directly without funding Dana’s political theater.

Subscribe now

This entry is dispatch #24 from our big boycott guide at:

The ones leaving now are not staging some late moral awakening. Most are leaving because they can read the room. They know how this ends. They know Donald Trump will not be standing beside them when the bar complaints arrive, when the investigations begin, when disbarment and ruined careers come due. Trump never protects the people who dirty themselves for him. He just finds new ones.

So some still leave.

And what remains? Not lawyers so much as fixers. Not even the polished kind of fixer who knows the law inside and out, who exploits loopholes and technicalities with surgical precision. No, these are cheaper men. Sloppier men. The bottom five percent of the class who discovered there was more money and power in obedience than competence.

These are not the people pulling off brilliant legal maneuvers to save wealthy clients. These are the people willing to weaponize the machinery of the state because Dear Leader pointed at a target. The kind who would charge E. Jean Carroll out of spite and call it justice. The kind who would start building cases against political enemies like Barack Obama or anyone else Trump decides needs punishment, then dress it all up as “vindication” for him.

That is the real danger. Once the law stops being about evidence and becomes about loyalty, anyone can be declared guilty if it flatters the ruler enough.

These are not legal minds. These are enforcers.

The old mob lawyers knew how to make evidence disappear. These goons are the ones who kick down your door, ransack your apartment, and kill your cat because somebody powerful wanted a message sent.

And that’s what they are doing to the country now. Ransacking our apartment. Killing our cat. One institution at a time.

His boys were coming. Everyone would be there. The wealthiest, most famous guests were arriving for the Big Show, and Krasnov could not have been more proud.

After weeks of media speculation, Krasnov — who had never served a single day in the military — had landed on the dress uniform of a five-star general, heavy with every award, commendation, and ribbon available to U.S. servicemen.

He was Krasnov.

And he had earned every one of those damned medals.

For weeks, the rumor had been that he would appear as a Roman emperor — golden breastplate, purple cloak, laurel crown — the full Commodus fantasy.

Leaked fitting photos seemed to confirm it: Krasnov on a tailor’s platform, arms outstretched, a gilded muscle cuirass gleaming under the lights.

In the hours before the event, he put an end to it by posting on social media:

“We defeated the ROMANS long ago. Why would I come as a Roman when I could represent the greatest country in the history of the world. The USA.”

The South Lawn had been transformed into a fever dream of American excess.

Tuxedos and silk gowns crowded the velvet-roped walkways.

Waiters in colonial livery drifted through the throng with silver trays of bourbon and caviar.

At the center of it all sat Krasnov, perched on a throne that looked suspiciously like it had been looted from a museum.

He wore the medals like they were birthmarks.

When the Chief of Staff leaned in to whisper about ships moving toward the Gulf, Krasnov dismissed him with a flick of a gloved hand, his medals clinking like wind chimes.

He wasn’t interested in policy tonight.

He was interested in the blood under the lights.

The ring announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, and the celebratory chatter died, replaced by a hungry, expectant hum.

The Big Show was no longer a party.

It was an altar.

The main event was a prize fight — two champions flown in for the occasion. Krasnov had promised the crowd “a contest worthy of the greatest nation on earth.”

The fight was brutal and beautiful.

Two heavyweights on the South Lawn under floodlights, the ring roped off between the Rose Garden and the magnolia trees. They traded cleanly — no cheap shots, no showboating. Real respect. The crowd loved it.

In the fifth, a short right hand ended it.

The loser dropped face-first, out cold.

The winner raised both gloves, breathing hard, then stepped back to let the referee work.

Krasnov rose from his gilded chair on the elevated platform.

His medals clinked in the sudden quiet.

The noise died instantly.

He extended his right arm, fist closed.

Then — slowly, deliberately — he turned his thumb down.

Dead silence.

The winner stared up at the platform, chest still heaving. The referee froze mid-count. Cameras kept rolling, but no one spoke. Even the cicadas seemed to stop.

Finally, the winner found his voice, hoarse and uncertain.

“Sir… what does it mean? Do you want me to kill him?”

Krasnov smiled and said nothing.

Subscribe now

Status: Recovered personal fragment, cross-referenced with convoy transmission called “Wrath.” The same road. The same night. A different knife.

The caravan lurched like a wounded animal—slow, unpredictable, coughing exhaust into the humid night. Headlights flickered. Tires hissed on broken asphalt.

Somewhere in its middle, a man hunched over a battered ham radio balanced on his knees. He kept the dial just shy of static, ears straining for the voice.

He’d heard it again the night before—a whisper, thin and metallic, like someone bleeding through time. Like a ghost from PsychoPete’s old pirate broadcast, those signals that still crackled years later, naming the man who broke the world: Krasnov, the orange-masked king who ruled until the sky burned.

I hope there is a bullet with his name on it.

The words rattled inside him like fever. Clearer this time. Closer.

He pictured the bullet: heavy, certain, a single solution.

In his pocket, he carried one.

Brass casing polished smooth by his thumb, grooves scratched shallow with a pocketknife. The name wasn’t finished yet. The letters were jagged, wrong, as if the metal itself resisted him.

Outside, the caravan roared with borrowed rage. Angry voices clashed like dogs behind a fence.

Stolen elections. Epstein. Traitors. Reckoning.

Their fury swelled and broke in waves.

He barely heard them.

He was listening for the next transmission.

When the shouting faded, swallowed by engines and night, he pulled the bullet into the dashboard glow.

It gleamed like sunlight on the lake before the vans took her away.

Only two crooked lines of the first initial were visible. Shallow. Ugly. Temporary.

He pressed the knife harder.

The truck lurched. The blade slipped.

Blood welled, warm and slick, across his finger—staining the brass the way her voice note had stained everything after.

“Don’t believe them. None of it,” she’d said.

Then silence.

He didn’t care.

Finish it.

The voice wasn’t on the radio now.

It was inside his skull—the same broadcast ghost that had haunted PsychoPete’s signals, promising bullets for the architects of collapse.

He steadied his hand and drove the blade deeper. Letters emerged, fractured and uneven.



He imagined the bullet flying true — striking the man who had worn that orange mask for forty years — and the silence after.

The knife slipped again.

The final letter collapsed into a meaningless gouge.

He stared at it, heart hammering.

Outside, someone slammed the side of the truck.

“Wake up! You hearing this? DC’s just a few hours out!”

He shoved the bullet back into his pocket.

The voice had gone quiet.

It always did.

They pulled off the highway after midnight.

A long line of battered trucks and SUVs ground to a halt on a dirt access road. Headlights cut through the trees. Engines ticked and cooled.

Fires flared from stacked pallets, bright and feverish in the humid dark.

Men clustered in circles, rifles slung loose, beer bottles clutched tight. They shouted about Epstein. About traitors walking free. About how this time they wouldn’t be ignored.

Someone fired a pistol into the sky.

The cheering doubled.

He stayed apart, perched on the tailgate of an old pickup. Firelight flickered across his hands.

He turned the bullet slowly.

The letters weren’t deep enough.

Finish it.

Not a whisper now.

A command.

He pulled the knife again and dug into the casing. Every slip made the letters uglier. Less certain.

His mind drifted.

The lake.

Sunlight on the water. The smell of pine and warm earth. A picnic blanket. Sandwiches in wax paper.

His sister laughing.

Brushing hair from her face.

“Don’t believe them. None of it.”

The vans had come after.

That life had been warm. Simple. Safe.

Until the lies.

Until the shredding.

The rage wasn’t just for Krasnov.

It was for who he’d become.

A shadow fell across him.

One of the men from the fires stood there, gut spilling over his belt, beer in hand.

“What the hell you doing sitting there?”

“Nothing.”

The man grinned. Slapped him hard on the shoulder.

“Come on, brother. Hold the line.”

He watched him stagger back toward the fire.

Brother.

He looked down at the bullet again.

The name still refused him.

The city loomed ahead.

Lights flickered like dying stars swallowed in smog.

The caravan crawled closer, engines rattling, brakes squealing against cracked pavement.

He slipped the unfinished bullet into his pocket. The jagged metal scraped his skin.

The voice returned, close enough now to feel like breath.

It’s not too late.

Ahead, the crowd surged toward the Capitol—rifles, flags, faces twisted with a hunger that couldn’t be fed.

Sirens rose somewhere in the city.

Then cut off.

Like a throat closing.

He moved forward with the others.

The bullet was heavy in his pocket.

And behind them, the road closed like a wound.

Subscribe now

Full story at:

DEI was one of the first targets.

And despite the propaganda, DEI was never about “hiring unqualified people.” It was about making hiring fair. About removing bias and giving every qualified person an equal shot. The idea was simple: hire the best candidate, without race, gender, religion, or identity being used against them.

But a large portion of this country has never wanted a level playing field. They want hierarchy. They want preference for white Christians. Same as it ever was.

So no, it wasn’t surprising watching the new overlords attack DEI.

Subscribe now

What was surprising was how quickly corporations folded.

Target felt like a betrayal after years of branding itself as progressive and inclusive. But Home Depot was somehow even more disturbing.

Part of the Home Depot image has always been tied to immigrant laborers standing outside stores, looking for honest work to support their families while laws and bureaucracy blocked them from stable employment.

Those are human beings.

And Home Depot delivered a one-two punch:

First, they dumped DEI the second it became politically inconvenient.

Then they welcomed ICE into their stores to sweep up working people and tear families apart. To make it worse, employees who documented these raids reportedly faced retaliation and termination.

Home Depot has made its choice.

So have we.

And now they’re paying for it.

Like Target, Home Depot is feeling the consequences of its betrayal. Sales are slipping. Customer traffic is down. Turns out alienating decent people has a price tag attached to it.

But there’s another layer to the irony.

Even many of the people cheering on this cruelty are beginning to feel the effects. The same immigrant workers they looked down on were also the backbone of the labor economy they quietly depended on. The people being hunted and dragged away were the same people building roofs, pouring concrete, hauling lumber, cleaning job sites, and keeping entire industries moving.

You can’t spend years exploiting cheap labor, demonizing the workers providing it, then act shocked when the system starts breaking down after they disappear.

Cruelty is bad economics.

Fascism eventually eats everything around it, including the people who thought they’d benefit from it.

NOT an alternative:

Menard’s is a regional chain —similar to Home Depot— but they take it a step further. They are right wing zealots who are even more complicit in the ICE kidnapping scheme.

And DEI? That’s laughable. They didn’t eradicate it because they never had it. They’ve been prioritizing white people for decades.

Alternatives:

Local and regional hardware stores. True Value hardware. Lowe’s and ACE hardware are not great, but better than HD.

This entry is from the big boycott guide at:

His skin was not thin. In fact, thanks to an extra layer of Krasnov Orange™, his skin was thick and luminous, coated in a sheen few humans had ever achieved naturally. Yet people kept saying it anyway.

Thin-skinned.

He stared harder.

His skin was not thin.

“Gorgeous,” he muttered, half boastful, half trying to convince himself.

It was the night of Colbert’s final show. Krasnov felt triumphant, but not triumphant enough. This should have been another clean victory in a long chain of victories: the media humiliated, the dumocrats defeated, the comedians silenced after years of mockery and disrespect.

But something still itched beneath the surface.

“Stephen!” Krasnov barked.

Stephen Miller appeared instantly, like a shadow waiting just beyond the light. Pale. Gaunt. Eyes sharp as broken glass. Dressed in his usual dark suit, he looked less like a political adviser and more like a Victorian undertaker who fed on misery.

Krasnov never looked away from the mirror.

“A little more orange.”

“Of course, sir.”

Miller picked up the oversized makeup brush without hesitation. He had performed this ritual countless times before. With mechanical precision, he layered on another coat.

“You know, sir,” Miller said softly, “the fake news is already calling this your victory lap. Colbert ends tonight. We buried him. We buried all of them.”

Krasnov grunted.

“Not enough. They always say I look orange. Always. Like orange is bad. It’s not bad. It’s healthy. Great color. Presidential color.”

Miller continued brushing. The orange deepened into something almost radioactive beneath the dressing-room lights.

“They’ll say whatever they want,” Miller replied calmly. “It doesn’t matter anymore. We control the narrative now. You won. Again.”

For the first time all evening, Krasnov relaxed slightly. The tightness in his chest eased as the mirror reflected a man glowing like the sun.

“Perfect,” Krasnov said at last, smiling. “Now I look presidential. Very healthy. Healthiest anyone’s ever seen.”

Miller stepped back, brush still in hand, admiring his work.

Subscribe now

A woman’s laughter leaked into the President’s private dining room. It irritated Krasnov; he didn’t like questions. And it presented so many: why was she laughing? Was she laughing at Colbert?

No. Krasnov relaxed. Colbert was just getting started. The audience’s applause was just dying down.

Was she laughing at Krasnov’s thin skin?

Colbert began by mentioning he did not get his white whale of a guest for the last episode.

That white whale was the pope, and for a moment, Krasnov felt jealousy. Why would he want the pope when he could have Krasnov?

And then Krasnov remembered. He would never agree to be on that show, not after all the hurt he had brought Krasnov and his family.

Still, it would have been nice to be asked.

The Pope.
What was he worth? Two, maybe three billion? Pocket change. Krasnov had made that in a single stock trade the week before — a trade he executed while on the toilet.

What did the Pope even have?
A hat.
A balcony.
A city the size of a golf course.

Krasnov had towers.
Krasnov had planes.
Krasnov had a button that could end the world.

The Pope washed feet.
Krasnov had sucked the toes of some of the most gorgeous women in the world. Women. Girls. Whatever.

He felt better already.

Krasnov looked down at his hand. Bruised, punctured, grizzled. The skin didn’t look like Krasnov’s, the hand skin he’s been looking at his whole life.

Was this the thin skin they keep mentioning?

A firmly landed insult to Colbert made Krasnov smile.

“More fries!” Krasnov demanded jubilantly.

On screen, Ryan Reynolds interrupted the monologue, teasing Colbert before yanking the rug out — he was honoring the Black piano player instead. Krasnov cackled.

“Look at him. I think he’s crying. He’s angry. I bet he’s furious.”

But Colbert wasn’t. The wry grin never left his face. The monologue rolled on — sharp, effortless — and ended without a single mention of Krasnov.

He stared at the screen, fries halfway to his mouth. Good, he told himself. Colbert was a low-rated hack. A stupid person. A nobody.'

Still... it would have been nice to be mentioned.

Then Paul McCartney walked out for the final segment.

Krasnov straightened immediately.

A Beatle.

One of the biggest. Maybe the biggest.

He watched intently as McCartney smiled at the audience and reminisced about the early days of television. Back on The Ed Sullivan Show, he explained, the Beatles had worn heavy stage makeup under the blazing studio lights.

Makeup that made them look orange.

Krasnov froze.

A french fry hovered halfway to his mouth.

Orange.

The word echoed through his brain like divine revelation.

A Beatle. A legend. One of the most beloved men on Earth. And even he needed orange makeup for television.

Proof.

Absolute proof.

“See?!” Krasnov shouted, pointing triumphantly at the screen, flecks of ketchup and orange dust flying from his fingers. “Even Paul McCartney! Orange is powerful. Iconic. Everybody wants the glow!”

Stephen Miller nodded solemnly.

Krasnov leaned back in his chair, at peace now, basking.

The itch was gone.

The next morning, Krasnov posted on Truth Social:

Last night was the beginning of the end for these failing late-night “comedians.” Colbert is finished. Ratings DEAD. Nobody watches anymore. We won BIGLY. They can’t touch me. The country sees through their thin attacks. SAD!

He reread the post slowly, smiling wider with each line.

Thin attacks.

Exactly.

They were the thin-skinned ones.

Not him.

Never him.

Subscribe now

Full Krasnov Story at:

The caravan lurched like a wounded animal—slow, unpredictable, coughing exhaust into the humid night. Headlights flickered. Tires hissed on broken asphalt.

Somewhere in its middle, a man hunched over a battered ham radio balanced on his knees. He kept the dial just shy of static, ears straining for the voice.

He’d heard it again the night before—a whisper, thin and metallic, like someone bleeding through time. Like a ghost from PsychoPete’s old pirate broadcast, those signals that still crackled years later, naming the man who broke the world: Krasnov, the orange-masked king who ruled until the sky burned.

I hope there is a bullet with his name on it.

The words rattled inside him like fever. Clearer this time. Closer.

He pictured the bullet: heavy, certain, a single solution.

In his pocket, he carried one.

Brass casing polished smooth by his thumb, grooves scratched shallow with a pocketknife. The name wasn’t finished yet. The letters were jagged, wrong, as if the metal itself resisted him.

Outside, the caravan roared with borrowed rage. Angry voices clashed like dogs behind a fence.

Stolen elections. Epstein. Traitors. Reckoning.

Their fury swelled and broke in waves.

He barely heard them.

He was listening for the next transmission.

When the shouting faded, swallowed by engines and night, he pulled the bullet into the dashboard glow.

It gleamed like sunlight on the lake before the vans took her away.

Only two crooked lines of the first initial were visible. Shallow. Ugly. Temporary.

He pressed the knife harder.

The truck lurched. The blade slipped.

Blood welled, warm and slick, across his finger—staining the brass the way her voice note had stained everything after.

“Don’t believe them. None of it,” she’d said.

Then silence.

He didn’t care.

Finish it.

The voice wasn’t on the radio now.

It was inside his skull—the same broadcast ghost that had haunted PsychoPete’s signals, promising bullets for the architects of collapse.

He steadied his hand and drove the blade deeper. Letters emerged, fractured and uneven.

He imagined the bullet flying true — striking the man who had worn that orange mask for forty years — and the silence after.

The knife slipped again.

The final letter collapsed into a meaningless gouge.

He stared at it, heart hammering.

Outside, someone slammed the side of the truck.

“Wake up! You hearing this? DC’s just a few hours out!”

He shoved the bullet back into his pocket.

The voice had gone quiet.

It always did.

They pulled off the highway after midnight.

A long line of battered trucks and SUVs ground to a halt on a dirt access road. Headlights cut through the trees. Engines ticked and cooled.

Fires flared from stacked pallets, bright and feverish in the humid dark.

Men clustered in circles, rifles slung loose, beer bottles clutched tight. They shouted about Epstein. About traitors walking free. About how this time they wouldn’t be ignored.

Someone fired a pistol into the sky.

The cheering doubled.

He stayed apart, perched on the tailgate of an old pickup. Firelight flickered across his hands.

He turned the bullet slowly.

The letters weren’t deep enough.

Finish it.

Not a whisper now.

A command.

He pulled the knife again and dug into the casing. Every slip made the letters uglier. Less certain.

His mind drifted.

The lake.

Sunlight on the water. The smell of pine and warm earth. A picnic blanket. Sandwiches in wax paper.

His sister laughing.

Brushing hair from her face.

“Don’t believe them. None of it.”

The vans had come after.

That life had been warm. Simple. Safe.

Until the lies.

Until the shredding.

The rage wasn’t just for Krasnov.

It was for who he’d become.

A shadow fell across him.

One of the men from the fires stood there, gut spilling over his belt, beer in hand.

“What the hell you doing sitting there?”

“Nothing.”

The man grinned. Slapped him hard on the shoulder.

“Come on, brother. Hold the line.”

He watched him stagger back toward the fire.

Brother.

He looked down at the bullet again.

The name still refused him.

The city loomed ahead.

Lights flickered like dying stars swallowed in smog.

The caravan crawled closer, engines rattling, brakes squealing against cracked pavement.

He slipped the unfinished bullet into his pocket. The jagged metal scraped his skin.

The voice returned, close enough now to feel like breath.

It’s not too late.

Ahead, the crowd surged toward the Capitol—rifles, flags, faces twisted with a hunger that couldn’t be fed.

Sirens rose somewhere in the city.

Then cut off.

Like a throat closing.

He moved forward with the others.

The bullet was heavy in his pocket.

And behind them, the road closed like a wound.

Subscribe now

This is from the larger story arc at:

Entry #1: Who to Keep, Who to Kick, and How to Spot a Liability in a Poncho.

Notes from the Apocalypse

It’s been 25 years since the sky turned orange and the government renamed the months after Trump’s kids. If you’re looking for comfort, dig a hole and scream into it. I’m here for logistics, not therapy.

You are the supply chain, the power grid, and the disaster response team. You don’t have time for dead weight, creeps, or power-hungry tourists.

This is your field guide—your hierarchy, your red flags, your one-shot tutorial on who belongs in your camp... and who needs to be walked out before nightfall.

🟢 People You Want (Ranked from Hell Yes to Still Useful)

1. The Ones Who Work Without Being Asked They dig, fix, carry, soothe, protect. They don’t make speeches. They make shit happen. If you have five of these, you might live to see another season. NEVER lose them. Feed them. Protect them. Do not traffic them. Do not kill them. If they quietly fix your boot and rebuild your water line, maybe don’t reward them with a cage.

2. The Quiet Ones with Strange Skills She used to clean teeth. He can tan hides. That guy can splint a femur with two sticks and a muttered prayer. They don’t look like much, but they’ll save your life. Keep them fed. Don’t cut their funding. Don’t humiliate them. Don’t dishearten them. When your appendix ruptures in the middle of a dust storm, you’re going to want them rested and emotionally stable.

3. The Steady Caretakers They calm the kids. They sit with the sick. They organize the chaotic shelf that used to be your food supply. Not loud. Not flashy. But without them, your camp collapses in three weeks—maybe sooner. (Pro tip: If a strange white guy is overly enthusiastic about working with children, that’s not a caretaker. That’s a red flag.)

4. The Sincere Learners They’re green. They don’t know much. But they ask questions, they listen, and they never act like the camp owes them a title. Give them a shovel, a mentor, and time. They’ll carry more than their weight.

5. The Reluctant Fighters They don’t brag. They don’t posture. But when the perimeter’s breached, they’re already moving. Earn their trust and don’t waste it. They don’t fight for glory. They fight because someone has to.

6. The Jokers Who Work Morale is infrastructure. If someone can reinforce the perimeter and keep spirits up when the stew tastes like boiled sock, they’re worth their weight in bullets and whiskey.

🔴 People You Don’t Want (Ranked from Risky to Radioactive)

1. The Delegators They show up, assess the scene, and immediately try to assign jobs. If this were Survivor, they’d be voted off first. And in many ways, this is Survivor, so vote them off first. They don’t lift, they don’t dig, they don’t carry—just “strategize.” They brought a clipboard, not a conscience. Show them the exit before they start a meeting.

2. The Opportunists They steal during chaos, hoard during shortages, and only appear when the fire’s already lit. You’ll be cold, bleeding, and hungry—and they’ll be pitching you a trade deal for your own blanket.

3. The Creeps You know who they are. Everyone does. They make people uncomfortable, and always say “just kidding” after something unforgivable. Camp life is fragile. Don’t tolerate fracture points.

4. The Saviors They arrive with a messiah complex—selling God, crypto, destiny, or “pure freedom.” They’re not here to help. They’re here to lead you into something you won’t come back from. Kick them out before the goat gets baptized.

5. The Chaos Addicts They can’t stand calm. They pick fights, whisper rumors, and stir panic just to feel alive. They’ll burn your camp down because boredom itches worse than death. Exile on sight.

🚨 Special Category: The Poncho Liability

Just Because They Look Cool Doesn’t Mean They Won’t Burn Your Camp Down

It’s cold. Wet. You just buried Old Tanktop Jerry because he mistook a hallucinated rabbit for dinner. Then out of the fog: A lone figure in a hooded poncho. Swagger. Mystery. Vibes. They quote Sun Tzu. They speak in half-poems. They’ve “seen things you wouldn’t believe.”

Red flag. Immediate red flag.

While they’re talking, they’re not working. They’re not fixing leaks, hauling water, or tending fires. They’re crafting a character. And that character wants influence.

How to spot the danger:

🚩 They offer to lead, but not to carry. 🚩 They create drama like it’s currency. 🚩 They flirt like a drone strike. 🚩 They know nothing, claim everything.

Used to be Special Forces, a trauma surgeon, a CEO, and a shaman. Can’t light a fire or clean a wound.

🗺 Bottom Line

If someone walks in with main character energy and doesn’t immediately offer to carry water, you’ve got three options:

Watch them. Warn them. Walk them out.

Warning signs include:

• Provocative language (“Heil Hitler,” “vermin”)

• Refusal to acknowledge racism, misogyny, or homophobia (“So you’re saying ALL lives don’t matter?”)

• A tendency to rename things after themselves (Trumpian Sea, Mount Trumpmore, Statue of Trumperty)

Trust your gut. Trust the ones who show up at dawn with dirt under their nails. That’s your survival strategy. Not speeches. Not vibes.

People who work. People who care.

Suggested Reading:

• The Ones Who Stayed When It Got Hard (out of print, burned in the first wave)

• Dystopia for Dummies (currently banned, circulating as PDF)

Suggested Viewing:

• Being There

• Network, and anything where the guy giving the speech dies before the second act.

Because collapse doesn’t kill you all at once.

It starts by letting the wrong people stay.

Full story at:

The names change. The labels change. The slogans change. But this is not a new argument suddenly appearing because a fascist movement is trying to rewrite history in real time. This is the same old lie. The same cowardice. The same inhumanity that has poisoned this country for centuries.

Even many of the founders we admire for their intelligence and vision were not moral men on this issue. They were slave owners. They wrote beautiful words about liberty while owning other human beings.

And the lies did not begin last week when Christian Nationalists invaded Washington and started rewriting the story of America as a white Christian nation. Though they rarely say the quiet part out loud, you can still hear it underneath everything: this country was built on slavery, hierarchy, and exclusion — and most of them would gladly drag us back there.

The irony is that many of the founders were not even the kind of Christians these people claim them to be. They wrestled with faith, with power, with the dangers of mixing religion and government.

Many of them were freethinkers — people who understood that organized religion, when fused with political authority, becomes a weapon.

They tried, imperfectly, to build guardrails against exactly the kind of movement we’re watching take shape now

And despite those efforts, the lies continued, unceasing. It was always built on lies.

We were lied to about Columbus “discovering” America. A hero that changed the world.

We were lied to about the Alamo — land owners fighting for the right to own slaves. Finally trapped and eliminated by a Mexican government that outlawed slavery long before the US did.

They weren’t brave heroes making a stand for freedom. They were cowards, trapped like rats, who faced the outcome all advocates of slavery deserve.

We were lied to about figures like Malcolm X, reduced to caricatures so the system never had to confront what he was actually saying.

The lie has always been the same: that people who are not white, not Christian, not part of the approved hierarchy are somehow lesser.

That has always been the narrative. And every generation has had to decide whether to repeat it or fight it.

Subscribe now

This is something I can safely assume about you:

If you wanted to preserve this centuries‑long rot, you wouldn’t still be here. You wouldn’t still be reading this. The people who want the old order back never make it this far. So I’m glad you’re still with me.

Because now we have to talk about how we fight it in this moment.

And the good news — the only good news — is that we don’t have to invent the blueprint from scratch. We have examples. We have people who faced this same machinery of lies and violence and refused to bow to it. People who fought this fight and won, even when the odds said they shouldn’t have.

But here’s the truth they all understood:

Racism never disappears.
It never dies.
It simply changes shape.
It slips underground.
It simmers beneath the surface, waiting for the moment when it can rise again.

And that moment is now.

The NAACP’s “Out of Bounds” campaign is smart because it targets something the South values almost as much as political power itself: college sports.

The SEC is powered largely by Black athletes, especially in football and basketball, the sports that generate the money, the television contracts, the culture, and the pride. The same political establishments now trying to roll back voting rights and racially gerrymander districts are still more than willing to profit from Black bodies on Saturday afternoons.

So the ask is actually pretty simple: don’t go there.

If a state wants to strip away rights, silence Black political voices, and redraw maps to weaken Black communities, then it should not also get to celebrate Black athletes as the centerpiece of its identity.

Other schools have NIL money. Other schools have national exposure. Other schools field elite programs. Athletes have options.

And honestly, the boycott list should probably expand.

Missouri belongs on it. Missouri is an SEC football state, a former slave state, and it racially gerrymandered Kansas City in a way critics say effectively erased the last major Black congressional voice in the state. They carved apart Rep. Emanuel Cleaver’s district — a Black pastor and civil rights figure — and treated the community he represented like it was disposable.

North Carolina should be part of the conversation too. It may not currently be on the NAACP list. It’s not on there, probably because it has no SEC school, but it has repeatedly been accused of racial gerrymandering, and college sports are central to the state’s identity and economy. Football matters there. Basketball matters there even more.

And then there’s Mississippi, who is on the NAACP list.

Mississippi has not yet fully crossed the line in the current cycle, but they are gerrymander-curious.

Their leaders there have openly discussed targeting Black-majority representation. In some ways, that makes it even more important. Because if these boycotts work — if politicians see economic consequences tied directly to attacks on voting rights — maybe states considering similar actions will think twice before following the same path.

And Mississippi’s economy, as always, hangs by a thread.

And this should not stop at football.

Tourism matters. Concerts matter. Corporate pressure matters. State revenue matters. Nashville’s entertainment industry matters. Major corporations headquartered in these states matter. Economic pressure works because there is one thing power structures tend to value even more than ideology: money.

Especially now.

Many of these states are already under economic strain from tariffs, instability, declining tourism, agricultural pressure, and broader economic uncertainty. That makes sustained boycotts more powerful, not less.

So maybe this becomes the larger conversation it was always meant to be:

Withhold the money.
Withhold the ratings.
Withhold the attention.
And in the case of college athletics, withhold the labor, the bodies, and the talent.

Keep withholding them until hate costs more than they are willing to pay.

So a quick horrifying rundown, state-by-racist state:

Louisiana:

The Supreme Court’s decision in Louisiana v. Callais didn’t just affect Louisiana.
It rewrote the rules for every state in the South.

It:

• raised the burden of proof for racial vote‑dilution cases

• made it harder to force states to draw majority‑Black districts

• signaled that the Court was willing to reinterpret Section 2

• emboldened legislatures across the region

Louisiana is the flashpoint.

If the Voting Rights Act was a levee holding back generations of injustice, Louisiana is where the first crack split open.

But it’s just one more in a long history of racism, rivaled by few:

1724 — The Code Noir

France imposes the Code Noir, a brutal legal regime governing enslaved Africans.
It codifies racial hierarchy, forced conversion, punishment, and control.
Louisiana becomes one of the earliest laboratories of racial law in North America.

1803–1812 — American takeover and expansion of slavery

After the Louisiana Purchase, the U.S. expands plantation slavery across the region.
New Orleans becomes one of the largest slave markets in the country.
The economy is built on sugar, cotton, and human bondage.

1861–1865 — Secession and the Confederacy

Louisiana joins the Confederacy.
New Orleans falls early, but the state remains a battleground for racial control.
Enslaved people flee to Union lines; white elites fight to preserve the old order.

1865–1877 — Reconstruction and violent white backlash

Black Louisianans briefly gain political power.
White supremacist groups — including the White League — unleash terror.
The Colfax Massacre (1873) becomes one of the deadliest racial massacres in U.S. history.
Federal troops withdraw; white rule is restored through violence.

1898 — The Constitutional Convention to “eliminate the Negro vote”

Louisiana rewrites its constitution with explicit intent:
“To establish the supremacy of the white race.”
Poll taxes, literacy tests, and grandfather clauses disenfranchise nearly all Black voters.
Jim Crow becomes law.

1900s–1960s — Segregation, exploitation, and the rise of Angola

The Angola Prison Farm, built on a former plantation, becomes a modern system of forced labor.
Black Louisianans are policed, imprisoned, and exploited under a new legal architecture.
Segregation is total.

1960s — Civil rights struggle and violent resistance

New Orleans, Baton Rouge, and rural parishes become battlegrounds.
Freedom Riders are attacked.
Black organizers face arrests, beatings, and state repression.
The Voting Rights Act (1965) finally cracks the system open.

2005 — Hurricane Katrina and racialized abandonment

Black neighborhoods in New Orleans are devastated.
The government response is slow, chaotic, and indifferent.
The displacement reshapes the city’s demographics and political power.

2010s–2020s — Modern voter suppression and racial gerrymandering

Louisiana repeatedly draws congressional maps that dilute Black political power.
Civil‑rights groups challenge the maps under Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act.
Federal courts order the state to create a second majority‑Black district.

2026 — Louisiana v. Callais cracks the Voting Rights Act

The Supreme Court’s ruling raises the burden of proof for racial vote‑dilution cases.
It becomes dramatically harder to force states to draw fair maps.
Legislatures across the South seize the opening.
The Voting Rights Act is not repealed — it is hollowed out.

And it all happened in Louisiana.

But listen:

Louisiana’s soul — the thing people travel across oceans to experience — was created by Black communities.
The music.
The food.
The festivals.
The rhythm.
The culture that makes the state feel alive.

People don’t come to Louisiana for white culture.
They come for Mardi Gras, for Bourbon Street, for second lines, for jazz, for Creole and Cajun food, for the culture that Black Louisianans built under conditions no one should have had to survive.

And this applies to the entire guide:
Do not withdraw support from Black‑owned businesses.
That defeats the purpose.
The point is to challenge systems that silence and exploit Black communities — not to harm the communities themselves.

Boycott:

For the NAACP boycott, it’s LSU that competes in the SEC. They are huge: financially and culturally. They are the easiest and most effective boycott. People rely on it but they also care about it.

Don’t watch it. Don’t buy tickets. Don’t watch it online. Don’t spend your money that will find it’s way to silencing the black vote.

And don’t do plantation tourism. It’s gross. We should already be boycotting it out of sheer moral instinct.

Some companies that will feel it, companies that have political sway and generate revenue for the state, companies that will likely demand their voices are heard if they start losing revenue:

Louisiana’s culture — the food, the music, the flavor — was built by Black communities. But the brands that profit from that culture, from Tabasco to Community Coffee. Café du Monde to Zatarain’s.

You might think, possibly black-owned businesses? They are not. Boycott.

The state’s cultural economy mirrors its political one: Black creativity at the center, Black ownership at the margins.

Missouri:

Missouri is technically Midwestern, but its history — from slavery to Bleeding Kansas to modern gerrymandering — places it firmly inside the Southern tradition of racial hierarchy and political suppression.

A quick history of Missouri:

1821 — Missouri enters the Union as a slave state
Its political foundation is built on slavery, white power, and human hierarchy.

1854–1861 — Bleeding Kansas
Missouri becomes the staging ground for pro-slavery militias crossing into Kansas to stuff ballot boxes, intimidate voters, and terrorize abolitionists.
The blueprint is established early: preserve power at any cost.

1856 — The Sacking of Lawrence
Pro-slavery Missourians invade Lawrence, Kansas, burning buildings, destroying presses, and attacking civilians.
An assault not just on people, but on dissent itself.

1863 — Quantrill’s Raiders massacre Lawrence
More than 150 boys and men are murdered in one of the worst acts of domestic terrorism in American history.
The message was clear: opposition would be crushed through terror.

Post-Civil War — Black Codes and suppression
The violence evolves into law. Restrictions on Black freedom, voting, and mobility replace open warfare with legal architecture.

20th century — Segregation and redlining
Kansas City becomes a national example of racially engineered housing segregation enforced through policy and finance.

2014 — Ferguson
The country sees the modern machinery of Missouri’s racial power structure: over-policing, municipal extraction, and systemic disenfranchisement.

2026 — The Kansas City gerrymander
Missouri redraws congressional maps in ways critics say dilute Black political power and weaken the district represented by Rep. Emanuel Cleaver, a Black pastor and civil-rights figure.
Courts allow the map to stand.

Two centuries later, the methods evolve, but the pattern remains.

So what gets boycotted?

The University of Missouri.
Football. Basketball. Merchandise. Tickets. Broadcasts. Streaming.

If you are an athlete, go somewhere else. There are other programs. Other NIL deals. Other futures that do not ask you to help market a state with this history.

The University of Missouri Health System.

Corporations headquartered in Missouri:

• H&R Block

• Bass Pro Shops

• Anheuser-Busch

• Hallmark

And tourism:

• Branson

• Lake of the Ozarks

• St. Louis tourism and attractions (zoo, arch, etc.)

Missouri profits from sports, tourism, branding, and national visibility. Economic pressure matters because economic pressure reaches the people with influence.

If enough industries begin feeling the cost — financially, culturally, reputationally — then Missouri’s gerrymander becomes more than a local issue. It becomes a warning to every state considering the same path:

If you silence Black voters, understand that there may be consequences beyond the ballot box.

Alabama: A Quick Brutal History of Racism

Alabama is almost synonymous with racism.

A complete timeline of racism in that state would be vast, seemingly endless. So this is a super quick version of a very long history of hate and racial extremism:

1819 — Alabama enters the Union as a slave state

Cotton, plantations, and enslaved labor define the economy.
White political power is built on bondage from the start.

1861–1865 — Secession and the Confederacy

Montgomery becomes the first capital of the Confederacy.
Alabama’s leaders openly defend slavery as the cornerstone of their society.

1865–1877 — Reconstruction and violent backlash

Freedmen briefly gain political power.
White supremacist groups — including the early Ku Klux Klan — unleash terror to destroy it.
Black legislators are driven out by violence, intimidation, and law.

Late 1800s — Jim Crow is codified

Poll taxes, literacy tests, grandfather clauses, and all‑white primaries.
Black Alabamians are systematically stripped of the vote.
Segregation becomes total.

1955 — Montgomery Bus Boycott

Rosa Parks refuses to give up her seat.
Alabama becomes the epicenter of the civil‑rights movement.

1963 — Birmingham’s “Project C” and the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing

Police unleash dogs and firehoses on children.
Four Black girls are murdered in a church bombing by white supremacists.
The world sees Alabama’s racial terror laid bare.

1965 — Selma, Bloody Sunday, and the Voting Rights Act

Peaceful marchers crossing the Edmund Pettus Bridge are beaten and gassed by state troopers.
The brutality forces the nation to confront Alabama’s suppression of Black voting rights.
The Voting Rights Act is passed.

1970s–2000s — Mass incarceration replaces Jim Crow

Alabama builds one of the harshest criminal‑justice systems in the country.
Black communities are disproportionately targeted, policed, and imprisoned.
The architecture of control shifts from poll taxes to prison beds.

2010s–2020s — Modern voter suppression and racial gerrymandering

Alabama closes DMVs in Black counties, restricts voting access, and redraws maps to dilute Black political power.
The Supreme Court rules in Allen v. Milligan (2023) that Alabama’s congressional map violated the Voting Rights Act by denying Black voters a second majority‑Black district.
Alabama resists the ruling and attempts to keep a map critics say maintains white political dominance.

2026 — The pattern continues

New maps, new restrictions, new attempts to weaken Black representation.
Different tools.
Same goal.

The NAACP boycott is maybe strongest here - Alabama and Auburn most of the state’s identity. You root for one or the other or you probably aren’t from Alabama.

It is their second religion. For some, it might be their first, so boycott:

University of Alabama and Auburn University are SEC schools that would fit the criteria for the NAACP boycott. Don’t attend.

If you’re an athlete, there are other schools you can go to without supporting possibly the most racist state.

But don’t support the schools either, don’t buy tickets, watch games, buy the gear, click on anything related to those two schools.

Boycott all tourism EXCEPT Civil Rights Tourism.

Boycott all Alabama businesses (except black-owned businesses). Some big ones:

Regions Financial Corporation (it’s a bank)

Protective Life Corporation (insurance)

YellaWood (a brand of lumber sold all over the country)

And the cars. No corporations are HQ’d in Alabama, but many make cars there.

Mercedes, Hyundai, Honda, Toyota.

Before buying a new car from one of these companies, ask where that specific car was made. If it was made in Alabama, do not buy, and tell them why …

Alabama’s political class has always understood that power follows money. And Alabama’s money flows through a handful of sectors — automotive manufacturing (ask where the car was made before you buy).

A good rule of thumb, try not to let any of your hard earned money land in Alabama. It will be like a fun game.

And this is one boycott, I assure you, will kick into high gear if U. of Alabama starts losing some of their top football recruits.

The Bubbas might embrace racial hatred, but they won’t stand for a bad football team.

Florida

Florida markets itself as paradise while repeatedly becoming one of the central battlegrounds in modern fights over voting rights, racial representation, and democratic access.

A quick history of Florida:

1845 — Florida enters as a slave state
Its early political system is tied directly to plantation power and racial hierarchy.

Post-Reconstruction — Jim Crow expansion
Florida aggressively suppresses Black voting and political participation through violence, segregation, and disenfranchisement.

2000 — Election chaos and voter suppression accusations
The Bush v. Gore election turns Florida into a symbol of contested democracy and unequal ballot access.

2013–2026 — Restrictive voting laws and racial gerrymandering fights
Florida repeatedly faces lawsuits over district maps and election laws critics say target Black voters and weaken representation.

2026 — North Florida district dismantled
The state redraws congressional maps in ways critics argue intentionally dismantle Black political influence.

Different century. Same struggle.

A lot to boycott here:

University of Florida athletics.
Florida State athletics.
University of Miami athletics.

Florida runs on tourism, sports, and national branding.

Corporations headquartered in Florida:

• Publix

• Carnival Corporation

And tourism:

• Disney tourism

• Miami tourism

• Beach destinations

• Cruise industry spending

If it benefits Florida, don’t support it.

Florida profits heavily from attention and visitors. Attention can and should be withdrawn.

Tennessee

Tennessee’s legislature has not merely redrawn lines on a map — it has committed an act of political erasure against Memphis, the beating heart of Black political and cultural power in the state.

This is no ordinary city.

Memphis is hallowed ground: the city where Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated on the balcony of the National Civil Rights Museum at the Lorraine Motel, where the sanitation workers’ strike became a national cry for dignity, and where the soul of Black America — from Beale Street’s blues to Stax Records’ revolution — poured forth and reshaped the world.

It stands as a living monument to Black resilience, creativity, and the long struggle for full citizenship. A majority-Black city forged in the fires of the civil rights movement, Memphis has long carried the moral authority of that history in Congress through its dedicated district.

No longer.

In a brazen mid-decade power grab, Tennessee Republicans carved Memphis and Shelby County into three separate districts, stretching tentacles of influence deep into rural, overwhelmingly white conservative strongholds more than 200 miles away.

The effect is deliberate and devastating: the collective voice of one of America’s most iconic Black communities has been shattered, diluted, and scattered to the margins. A people who have given this nation its music, its moral witness, and its hardest-fought battles for democracy now find themselves without a true champion in the halls of Congress.

This is not neutral redistricting. It is the modern face of an old Southern strategy — the systematic nullification of Black political power, dressed up in new maps after the Supreme Court weakened the last remaining safeguards.

Where bullets and poll taxes once silenced the vote, gerrymandered lines now achieve the same end with the quiet efficiency of ink and algorithms.

Memphis deserves better.

Its residents — heirs to the civil rights martyrs — deserve the same undivided representation as every other Tennessean. Instead, they have been politically colonized, their hard-won influence fragmented so that the state’s powerful can rest easier with a 9–0 Republican congressional delegation.

This is not just an attack on one city.

It is an insult to the blood-stained legacy of the movement that made real democracy possible in the South.

A quick history of Tennessee:

1796–1865 — Slavery and Confederate alignment
Though politically divided during the Civil War, Tennessee remained deeply tied to slavery and racial hierarchy.

Post-Reconstruction — Jim Crow Tennessee
Black voting rights and political participation are systematically restricted.

1968 — Memphis and the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr.
Memphis becomes one of the defining locations in the American civil-rights struggle.

2023 — Expulsion of Tennessee legislators
The legislature becomes a national flashpoint after the removal of lawmakers following gun-violence protests, raising broader concerns about democratic suppression.

2026 — Memphis-area redistricting battles
Civil-rights groups accuse Tennessee of fragmenting Black voting blocs and weakening Black political influence.

The pattern repeats itself through different methods.

So what gets boycotted?

University of Tennessee athletics.
SEC football culture.
Nashville entertainment tourism.

Corporations headquartered in Tennessee:

• FedEx: I would say “choose UPS” but they are headquartered in Georgia, so … USPS is a better option at this point.

• HCA Healthcare: Sometimes we don’t have a choice. If you do have a choice, choose the other and let them know why.

• AutoZone

And tourism:

• Nashville tourism and entertainment

• Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge

Tennessee’s economy depends heavily on culture, entertainment, sports, and tourism. Public image matters there.

Let’s make that image toxic.

South Carolina

South Carolina was built at the center of slavery and secession, and modern voting-rights battles there still reflect those foundations.

A quick history of South Carolina:

1788–1861 — Slavery and secession
South Carolina becomes one of the strongest defenders of slavery and the first state to secede from the Union.

Post-Reconstruction — Violent suppression
Black political participation is targeted through terror, disenfranchisement, and segregation.

1960s — Civil-rights resistance
The state resists federal desegregation and voting-rights enforcement.

2020s–2026 — District map challenges
South Carolina faces repeated accusations that district maps weaken Black voting power and isolate Black communities politically.

The state’s political battles still orbit the same unresolved history.

So what gets boycotted?

University of South Carolina athletics.
Clemson athletics.

College football is central to the state’s culture and branding.

Corporations headquartered in South Carolina:

• Sonoco

• ScanSource

• Blackbaud

And tourism:

• Charleston tourism

• Myrtle Beach tourism

• Hilton Head tourism

Tourism and image are major parts of South Carolina’s economy. Refusing them our dollars will matter.

Georgia

Georgia presents itself as the “New South,” but modern voting-rights battles suggest the old fights never disappeared — they just changed form.

A quick history of Georgia:

1788–1865 — Slavery and Confederate leadership
Georgia becomes deeply tied to plantation wealth and Confederate political power.

1900s — Jim Crow Georgia
Black political participation is systematically restricted for generations.

1960s — Civil-rights organizing
Georgia becomes a major center of civil-rights activism and resistance.

2021–2026 — Election law and redistricting battles
Georgia faces national backlash over voting restrictions and accusations of weakening Black political influence through district design.

The fight over who gets political power in Georgia remains unfinished.

Boycott:

University of Georgia athletics. And all related revenue streams …

Football is one of the state’s strongest cultural and economic engines.

Corporations headquartered in Georgia:

• Coca-Cola

• Delta Air Lines

• Home Depot

• UPS

And tourism:

• Atlanta convention tourism

• Savannah tourism

• Georgia film-industry spending: you know that peach logo that designates a film was made in Georgia? Let’s turn that into a Pavlovian response: the peach appears, the screens get turned off.

Georgia built itself into a national economic hub and there are many black-owned businesses to support, but the big companies and industries do hold sway and they will respond to widespread boycott.

Texas

A big part of Texas’ identity is based on that big Alamo lie:

Built on freedom. Resistance to power. Bullshit.

Texas will continue to tell itself this lie while they treat voting rights as something to be managed rather than protected. From Jim Crow to modern racial gerrymandering, the state has repeatedly been accused of using political maps and election laws to dilute Black and Latino political power.

A quick history of Texas:

1845 — Texas enters the Union as a slave state
Slavery is embedded into the state’s economic and political identity from the beginning. Texas didn’t just inherit

Late 1800s–1900s — Jim Crow rule
Texas enforces segregation, voter suppression, white primaries, and intimidation designed to keep Black political participation weak.

1960s — Resistance to civil rights
Texas repeatedly fights federal voting-rights enforcement and school integration.

2003 — Modern partisan gerrymandering explodes
Texas redraws congressional maps mid-decade in a nationally controversial power grab that becomes the blueprint for aggressive modern redistricting.

2013–2026 — Voting restrictions and racial gerrymandering lawsuits
Texas passes strict voting laws and repeatedly faces accusations that maps intentionally weaken Black and Latino voting strength.

The tactics evolve. The goal stays familiar.

So what gets boycotted?

University of Texas athletics.
Texas A&M athletics.

Football culture is religion in Texas. Pressure the money.

The good news? The corporations headquartered in Texas that need boycotted are already boycott worthy. They are some of the worst and already featured in our big boycott guide:

• ExxonMobil

• AT&T

• Dell Technologies

• Tesla

• Oracle

And tourism:

• Austin tourism and festivals

• Dallas sports tourism

• San Antonio tourism

• Texas convention business

Texas built enormous wealth and influence. That influence should not be insulated from consequences.

North Carolina

North Carolina has spent more than a decade at the center of the national fight over racial gerrymandering. Courts have repeatedly ruled that the state’s maps targeted Black voters with “surgical precision,” and yet the cycle continues.

A quick history of North Carolina:

1865–1900 — Reconstruction and violent backlash
Black political participation briefly rises, then is crushed by white supremacist violence and the 1898 Wilmington coup — the only successful coup d’état in U.S. history.

1900s — Jim Crow North Carolina
Poll taxes, literacy tests, and segregation laws suppress Black political power for generations.

1960s — Civil-rights organizing
Sit‑ins begin in Greensboro. North Carolina becomes a major center of student‑led civil‑rights activism.

2010s — “Surgical precision” gerrymandering
Federal courts strike down North Carolina’s maps, ruling they intentionally targeted Black voters.

2020s–2026 — The cycle repeats
New maps are drawn. New lawsuits follow. Critics say the legislature continues to dilute Black political influence through district manipulation.

The fight over representation in North Carolina is ongoing and unresolved.

So what gets boycotted?

• UNC athletics

• Duke athletics

• NC State athletics

• Wake Forest athletics
  Basketball and football are central to the state’s identity and economy. If UNC and Duke lose the top basketball recruits to other schools because their state doesn’t want to let black voters have a voice, there will be an uproar.

  The racism will still exist, but it will become costly.

Corporations headquartered in North Carolina:

• Bank of America: One of the biggest, most evil banks in the world. Worthy of boycott.

• Lowe’s

Tourism:

• Charlotte convention tourism

• Raleigh‑Durham tech tourism

• Outer Banks

• Asheville tourism

North Carolina’s economy is built on sports, banking, tech, and tourism — all vulnerable to national pressure.

⭐ Mississippi

Mississippi is the birthplace of some of the most important civil‑rights victories in American history — and also some of the most entrenched systems of racial suppression. It has not yet crossed the line in the current cycle, but leaders have openly discussed targeting Black‑majority districts. That makes it a critical state to watch.

A quick history of Mississippi:

1817 — Mississippi enters as a slave state
Its economy and political system are built on plantation slavery.

1865–1877 — Reconstruction and violent backlash
Black Mississippians briefly gain political power before being violently pushed out through terror and law.

1890 — Mississippi Constitution
The state pioneers the Jim Crow model: poll taxes, literacy tests, and disenfranchisement. Other states copy it.

1950s–1960s — Civil-rights epicenter
Mississippi becomes the heart of the movement:
Medgar Evers.
Freedom Summer.
Fannie Lou Hamer.
The murders of Chaney, Goodman, and Schwerner.

2000s–2020s — Modern suppression battles
Mississippi faces repeated accusations of diluting Black political power through district design and election laws.

2026 — Warning signs
State leaders discuss targeting Black‑majority representation. Civil‑rights groups warn Mississippi may be next.

So what gets boycotted?

• University of Mississippi (Ole Miss) athletics

• Mississippi State athletics (not in the SEC but they are competitive Division 1 school).

Football is a cultural and economic engine.

Corporations headquartered in Mississippi:

• Cal‑Maine Foods: Eggland’s Best, Land O’ Lakes Eggs. Farmhouse Eggs. Just a whole lot of eggs. Generic, store-labeled eggs, too. Check the label. Buy the ones not from Cal-Maine.

• Yokohama Tire (U.S. operations): Not technically based in Mississippi but the US operations are. Not a lot to boycott in this state so we’ll include them.

• Hancock Whitney (regional bank)

Tourism:

• Gulf Coast tourism

• Blues Trail tourism

• Civil‑rights tourism (do NOT boycott this)

Mississippi’s economy is fragile — agriculture, tourism, and college sports matter enormously. That gives boycott a head start.

This is not a new fight.

It is the oldest one in America—the one that began in the hulls of those slave ships and has echoed through every generation since. The names, the slogans, and the tactics change, but the lie remains the same: that some Americans are full citizens and others are problems to be managed, voices to be diluted, bodies to be exploited on the field and discarded at the ballot box.

From the Code Noir to Bleeding Kansas, from Colfax to Selma to Ferguson to the Kansas City gerrymander of 2026, the pattern is unbroken. The South’s political class has never truly accepted the idea of equal Black political power. They lost the Civil War, lost Jim Crow, lost the Voting Rights Act battles—and now they cheer a Supreme Court decision that cracks the dam so they can flood the system with the same old poison.

Enough.

The NAACP’s “Out of Bounds” campaign is not just smart politics. It is moral clarity.

It says: You do not get to profit from Black excellence on Saturday and erase Black power on Tuesday. You do not get to sell the world Louisiana’s music, Alabama’s football, Georgia’s culture, and Texas swagger while treating the communities that created that soul as political inconveniences.

So draw the line.

Withhold your money.
Withhold your eyes.
Withhold your labor.
Withhold your silence.

Don’t buy the tickets. Don’t stream the games. Don’t book the flights to Branson or Myrtle Beach or New Orleans. Don’t prop up the brands that wear Black culture like a costume while funding politicians who carve up Black districts like meat. Tell the athletes: your talent is too valuable to launder the reputation of states that still treat your vote as a threat.

This is economic self-defense.

Because power only understands one language: cost.

If we sustain this pressure—across football Saturdays, tourism seasons, corporate balance sheets, and cultural moments—the message will be unmistakable: attacking Black voting power will no longer be free. It will be expensive. Politically expensive. Financially expensive. Reputationally ruinous.

Every generation gets to decide which side of history it stands on. The compromisers, the quiet ones, the ones who change the channel—they repeat the lie. The rest of us fight it.

We are not asking for perfection. We are demanding basic dignity and fair maps. We are saying that the centuries-long rot stops here, with us. Not with rage, but with discipline. Not with destruction, but with consequences.

Keep withholding until hate costs more than they are willing to pay.

History is watching.

And this time, we will not be lied to again.

Important links:

The NAACP “Out of Bounds” boycott:

https://naacp.org/campaigns/out-bounds

Psycho Pete’s Living Guide to Boycotting the Big Orange Menace:

https://psychopete1.substack.com/p/psycho-petes-guide-to-boycotting

We’ve seen their playbook. They intend to cheat. Help protect our elections.

https://protectthevote2026.org/

Recap: The Complete List

College Athletics / Sports

SEC / Major College Programs

• LSU athletics

• University of Missouri athletics

• University of Alabama athletics

• Auburn University athletics

• University of Florida athletics

• Florida State athletics

• University of Miami athletics

• University of Tennessee athletics

• University of South Carolina athletics

• Clemson athletics

• University of Georgia athletics

• University of Texas athletics

• Texas A&M athletics

• UNC athletics

• Duke athletics

• NC State athletics

• Wake Forest athletics

• University of Mississippi (Ole Miss) athletics

• Mississippi State athletics

Related Sports Spending

• Football broadcasts and streaming

• Basketball broadcasts and streaming

• Tickets

• Merchandise

• NIL-related promotional ecosystems

SEC football culture/media spendin

Tourism / Entertainment Industries

Louisiana

• Plantation tourism

• General Louisiana tourism spending tied to state revenue

Missouri

• Branson tourism

• Lake of the Ozarks tourism

• St. Louis tourism and attractions

Alabama

• General Alabama tourism

• EXCEPTION: Civil Rights tourism is specifically excluded from boycott

Florida

• Disney tourism

• Miami tourism

• Beach tourism

• Cruise industry spending

Tennessee

• Nashville entertainment tourism

• Gatlinburg tourism

• Pigeon Forge tourism

South Carolina

• Charleston tourism

• Myrtle Beach tourism

• Hilton Head tourism

Georgia

• Atlanta convention tourism

• Savannah tourism

• Georgia film industry spending

Texas

• Austin tourism and festivals

• Dallas sports tourism

• San Antonio tourism

• Texas convention business

North Carolina

• Charlotte convention tourism

• Raleigh-Durham tech tourism

• Outer Banks tourism

• Asheville tourism

Mississippi

• Gulf Coast tourism

• Blues Trail tourism

• EXCEPTION: Civil Rights tourism is specifically excluded from boycott

Corporations / Brands

Louisiana

• Tabasco

• Community Coffee

• Café du Monde

• Zatarain’s

Missouri

• H&R Block

• Bass Pro Shops

• Anheuser-Busch

• Hallmark

• University of Missouri Health System

Alabama

• Regions Financial Corporation

• Protective Life Corporation

• YellaWood

• Mercedes vehicles manufactured in Alabama

• Hyundai vehicles manufactured in Alabama

• Honda vehicles manufactured in Alabama

• Toyota vehicles manufactured in Alabama

Florida

• Publix

• Carnival Corporation

Tennessee

• FedEx

• HCA Healthcare

• AutoZone

South Carolina

• Sonoco

• ScanSource

• Blackbaud

Georgia

• Coca-Cola

• Delta Air Lines

• Home Depot

• UPS

Texas

• ExxonMobil

• AT&T

• Dell Technologies

• Tesla

• Oracle

North Carolina

• Bank of America

• Lowe’s

Mississippi

• Cal-Maine Foods

  • Eggland’s Best

  • Land O’ Lakes Eggs

  • Farmhouse Eggs

  • Generic/store-label eggs produced by Cal-Maine

• Yokohama Tire (U.S. operations)

• Hancock Whitney

Broader Industries / Economic Targets

• College football

• College basketball

• Sports media contracts

• Sports streaming platforms

• Sports merchandise

• NIL ecosystems tied to these schools

• Tourism economies

• Convention industries

• Cruise industry spending

• Entertainment districts

• State-branded cultural tourism

• Automotive manufacturing in Alabama

• Georgia film-production spending

• Banking and financial institutions tied to these states

• Airline/travel spending tied to these states

• Shipping/logistics companies headquartered in these states

Explicit Exceptions Mentioned

Do NOT boycott:

• Black-owned businesses

• Civil Rights tourism in Alabama

• Civil Rights tourism in Mississippi

The stated goal in the piece is economic pressure on political systems and institutions, not harm to Black business.

Subscribe now