"The Wolf Pack Mentality"

They hunt on lies they call truth, savage those who stood, and twist courage into betrayal, leaving chaos, confusion, and hatred swirling in the wreckage of their cruelty.

There’s a strange sickness that creeps into movements when outrage becomes currency and purity tests replace principle. I’ve seen it up close. I’ve lived it. And lately, I’ve been beaten and bruised by it, again.

Here’s the rule of the mob: if I speak from my own lived experience; about what the Department of Injustice did to me, about prosecutors who held my life in their hands, about a system that measured success by destruction, someone will deliberately twist those words into something they were never meant to be. My pain becomes “helpful to Trump.” My truth is recast as allegiance. My trauma, my anguish, my sleepless nights, are repackaged into a narrative that claims I’m serving the very man who shattered my life. They take what is mine and make it theirs, spinning lies into “proof” and painting cruelty as morality.

Let me tell you what that feels like. Not just the words online. Not just the tweets and the posts. But the weight in your chest when PTSD hits. When your mind takes you back to the small, sterile cells, the endless days in solitary confinement, the moments when freedom was a word, not a promise. When you feel the echo of those days in your bones, and every insult, every lie, every accusation, no matter how false, stabs like it did all over again.

And the irony? Who among my loudest antagonists has risked everything like I have? Who has appeared seven times before congressional committees, faced two grand juries, and stood as the key witness in two trials that shook a presidency? Not them. Me. My heart on fire, my soul exposed, my family on edge. My emotional health shredded. My finances decimated. My nights haunted by fear and anxiety. I didn’t outsource the risk. I lived it. I breathed it. And now, I am judged by those who have contributed nothing, who have never paid a price beyond typing venom into a screen.

So when my integrity is shredded by people who have done nothing to advance accountability, we should all pause and ask: who actually stood tall? Who confronted the system knowing the cost? Who bore the pain, the humiliation, the permanent scars? That person is me. That person paid. That person still pays every day, not just for themselves, but for truth.

And yet, this weekend, the pack feasted. Substack . YouTube. BlueSky. Threads. X. Every platform became a hunting ground. Their mission was to destroy, not to illuminate, not to inform, not to reckon with the horrors of the system. Just destroy. Cancel. Humiliate. Ruin. Burn relationships, business and personal. And congratulations. You succeeded.

But here’s the real damage. When PTSD is triggered, it’s not dramatic. There’s no spotlight. It’s me, motionless in a chair, trapped somewhere that time cannot reach, where sadness is endless and loneliness is deep. Minutes, or hours, disappear. And when I return, the real pain is not mine.

It’s in the quiet terror on my wife’s face, the hurt in my daughter’s eyes, the helplessness of my son, knowing that the world is cruel enough to target me for simply existing. That is the cost. That is the weight. That is the price the wolf pack cannot even imagine, yet they revel in.

And for what? More subscribers? More clicks? More dopamine from outrage? I hope you felt satisfied. Truly. Because when the right time comes, no amount of words, no apology, no “I didn’t mean it” will ever repair the harm done to my family, the only thing that matters. The only thing I cannot rebuild.

Meanwhile, the world burns. ICE kills Renee Good. A Venezuelan child is shot in the leg. An 18-year-old Boston College student is deported. Maduro disappears. Greenland is attacked. And yet the mob wants to make me the story. My suffering. My survival. My courage. They have no shame. They have no understanding. Only appetite for the spectacle.

My grandfather used to say, “Opinions are like assholes, and usually the person giving the opinion is an asshole.” I never truly understood him until now. Since the beginning of 2026, Americans are not just angry. They are consumed, desperate, their fury untethered because they cannot touch the true source of their pain. So they redirect it. Toward someone familiar. Toward someone accessible. Toward me, who has already been broken.

That is the wolf pack mentality. It devours its own. It mistakes noise for morality, cruelty for courage, and outrage for justice. It does not care who actually paid. It only cares that someone did. And, they can benefit from it.

I stood up. I stood tall. I bore the cost. I fought for accountability in the courts, in the spotlight, in the darkest corners of my own mind. And I still stand proud and tall, despite their claws, their teeth, their lies.

Because mobs always move on.

But the truth, the truth never forgets.

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THESE PEOPLE ARE SICK.

HELP ME TO CONTINUE TO GROW OUR COMMUNITY.

AND, PLEASE SUPPORT INDEPENDENT JOURNALISTS…

SUBSCRIBE. READ. LIKE. RESTACK.

Yeah, I know; you’re tired. This shit is exhausting.

Guess what? Me too.

But I’ve spent the last 8 years throwing punches in the dark so truth could get a little daylight. And now I’m asking you to step into the ring with me.

Because if you’re still reading this, you already get it:
This isn’t just a newsletter. It’s a rally cry. A war drum. A line in the sand.

We are not passive observers of the downfall. We are the resistance. We call out the liars. We drag corruption by the collar into the sunlight. We say the quiet parts out loud; and we don’t flinch.

But here’s the truth: I can’t do this solo. Not anymore.

The storm is already here. We are standing in it. And it’s wearing stars and stripes like camouflage, preaching “freedom” while it sells fascism at retail.

So let me ask you:
Are. You. In?

Because this is not a scroll-and-forget read. This is a living, breathing, fire-breathing movement; and movements don’t move unless you do.

We need to be louder than spin, tougher than propaganda, and impossible to gaslight.
That takes more than clicks. More than likes.
It takes skin in the game.

So if you believe truth matters; if you’re sick of the bullshit, if you’re ready to stop screaming into the algorithm and start pushing back with purpose, this is your next step.

HERE’S HOW YOU PUT YOUR FOOT ON THE GAS:

• Become a paid subscriber. Fund fearless, unfiltered journalism that hits back.

• Share this with the loudest people you know; the ones who never sit down and shut up.

• Build the community. Amplify the message. Be the damn megaphone.

And yeah; Founding Members? The first 240 of you will get a signed, numbered, limited-edition Substack version of Revenge. That’s not just a collector’s item. That’s receipts. Proof you didn’t sit this one out.

But let’s be clear:

This isn’t about a book.
It’s about backbone.
It’s about calling out the gaslighters and refusing to be played.
It’s about locking arms and saying, “Not. On. Our. Watch.”

You want to make a difference?

Then make it; right now.

Because if we don’t fight for truth, no one will.
But if we fight together?

They can’t drown us out.

Let’s be so loud, they wish we were just angry tweets.
Let’s be unshakable.
Unignorable.
Un-fucking-breakable.

Let’s go!