I’m aware that part of the appeal of what I do is that I say whatever the fuck I want, regardless of who or what agency it pisses off.
For most of my fifteen-year film, activism and journalism career, I’ve not had a large, national audience until last August. Prior to then, I was infamous in cities, towns and villages all over the United States for being the unwelcome outsider, even if I lived in the place I was exposing corruption—they’d invent a reason to make me an outsider, just for the sake of xenophobia.
My custom geotargeted, localized viral marketing campaigns could place a scandal in the newsfeed of 80% of a local voting population within 24 hours of publication. Many officials scoffed at me until I nuked them with a skin-blistering social media campaign. Opponents labelled me as a harasser or a troll, but the core of what I did was pure information warfare. Once I published a piece, the same audience could never be re-reached, and the damage could not be undone.
When I would hit go on these campaigns, it was as if I could hear the simultaneous, cacophonous mass explosion of tens of thousands of citizens spitting coffee all over their monitors the moment they saw whatever insane scandal I had investigated and blast published. I was a beast.
People hated the fuck out of me; local officials, local police, local media, local citizens. I grew to know the vitriolic hatred of me as normal, my resting state of being.
Today, people wonder how so many large creators with hundreds of thousands of followers can come after me, for whatever reason, and I manage to brush it off and laugh. It’s because media hated me as I traveled to three thousand different cities and would not publish anything about me work. Most people today are fully unaware that a decade before I went viral in 2025, I had already reached and engaged ten million independent readers, via these local campaigns. I could go from complete no one to the most widely known person in town in less then a day. Since journalists wouldn’t write about what I had done, I could move on to the next town, reset the trap.
I became known as the John Rambo of activism. My more astute readers have noticed that as an inside joke to myself, I’m dressed like Rambo. More often than not, I was minding my own business, looking for a bite to eat, when a local citizen or cop would start pushing me around. I’d stay quiet, wouldn’t run my mouth, and would take the abuse. The moment I walked away, I would light the entire town on fire with controversy and disrupt the functioning of their governments for days on end. They’d scream, “Who is this guy?!”
I had a kind of power that even scared me. I’d warn people, “Look, if there was one guy on this planet that I wouldn’t pick a fight with, it would be me.”
In 2017, after I exposed what is now called the largest corruption scandal in Virginia history, it turned out that the Sheriff that had been fucking with me the whole time I lived in Warren County was involved in the embezzlement scheme I had exposed. When he was indicted, Sheriff McEathron shot himself. His death wiped me out. I became an activist to take down corruption, not put people to death. It was then that I took a step back and realized the collateral damage of the causes I was fighting. I walked away with the intent of never looking back.
It’s now nine years later. I’ve generated roughly 107,000,000 readers in the last year. No longer am I an unknown activist living in utter obscurity. My now vastly expanded infamy has made me the biggest walking target on Earth. Yet, none of it rattles me the way it might most people because I’ve traveled far enough, exposed enough scandals, and I have taken my licks to the point that I am unfuckwithable. People still try, every day, but I’m still here.
For the last two weeks of my life, the world has shredded me. I’ve been demonetized on Facebook for trying to hold a counter protest in Minneapolis, to fight back against Jake Lang—they claimed my Honkey Cracka Jive Ass Sucka March was “racist.” I was then attacked by Stacey Patton for trying to get her to stand up for me (many of you remember me standing up for her a few months ago). Tolls e-mail bombed the tribal council of the Native American reservation where I lived part of each year. Then, a half a dozen of Patton’s feminist influencer cult members came after me with another several hundred thousand angry idiots.
I had to bounce from Facebook, to Ghost, to Beehiiv, just to stay monetized even though I’m living on the right side of history. I’m being told I’m not an ally if I don’t buy into the groupthink and blindly agree with people just because they are part of a different much larger minority group than the one to which I belong (Romani). I have people targeting me and calling me a white man because these mindless mobs don’t want to admit that I’m not a “mayosapien,” whatever the hell that is—no one knows. I’m fending off attacks left and right, quite politically literally.
What do you think I am, some wimp? People think they can just bully me into their way of thinking? I’ve spent the last 15 years of my life fighting for minority, elderly and disabled people, as a member of the group I’m fighting for, not an ally. I can’t be an ally to myself, people. That’s why they try to call me white, so they can paint me with that performative white male brush.
I’ve said it once already this week. No one can stop me and no one will. There is no point in trying. Either figure out who I am and where I’ve been for fuck off. No matter what attack is launched on me, I’ve experienced it already at least ten times. You’ll get that message, “He was the best.”
I still am, so don’t play.
-Matthew
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