Hey everybody, just wanted to drop an exclusive preview into a new “side bucket” of content that I’ll be starting this month.

Yes, “Man Logic” will continue and the next video (if I ever stop driving and start filming) is going to be about that fine line between Boomers and Gen-X and how a typical man (“me!”) handles it.

But I also have this strange desire to parody reality, specifically political reality. How certain men are obsessed with world domination, like we all have a Dr. Evil Gene that randomly gets turned on.

Below is an article I posted on Substack with Evil Rick’s origin story … and a video is also in the works for your viewing pleasure. AND! Of course merch. Again, assuming I stop driving this damn bus long enough to create some.

Anyway, thanks for your patience while I was away working the beets so that I could afford health insurance after the real Dr. Evil’s have had their way with me.

Videos returning soonest!

The bottle clearly said “Not for human consumption.”
Which, of course, only confirmed that it was meant for me.

I’ve always believed that greatness begins where common sense ends, and in that moment, standing under the low hum of my bar lights, I took a swig of destiny. It tasted like cough syrup and regret, but within seconds I could feel the universe aligning. Confidence. Clarity. And a sudden, unshakable belief that I alone could fix YouTube … and by extension, the world.

People have always underestimated me. They laugh when I talk about algorithms. They roll their eyes when I mention destiny. But who are they to decide who gets to trend? The world has become unmanageable — everyone with a camera thinks they’re a philosopher. Back in my day, people didn’t collaborate. They obeyed.

That’s when it hit me: I wasn’t drunk. I was chosen.

The Way Back

There was a time — not long ago — when I was just another man shouting into the algorithmic void, a humble content craftsman armed with a ring light and misplaced confidence.

I didn’t want to take over anything back then. I only wanted order. A thumbnail that stayed aligned. A comment section that didn’t accuse me of being both a liberal and a fascist in the same breath. A world with fewer opinions and more applause.

But chaos… chaos clicks.

I remember the first time I uploaded a video that nobody watched. I refreshed the analytics so many times that YouTube asked if I was “still there.” Of course I was still there. Where else would I be? Greatness doesn’t nap.
The platform ignored me, but I knew it was watching — the same way a cat watches a laser pointer: curious, judgmental, plotting your failure.

That’s when I began to see the pattern.

The influencers, the reactors, the short-form sirens, all rewarded for mediocrity while true visionaries like me were throttled by invisible hands.
I realized the algorithm wasn’t broken — it was biased.

Against excellence. Against depth. Against me.

I tried reason. I tried quality content. I even tried SEO, but the world doesn’t want enlightenment; it wants quick cuts and dance moves. So I made a vow. If I couldn’t join the trending page, I would own it.

I started collecting data the way other men collect regrets. Engagement charts, retention curves, color-coded spreadsheets — blue for betrayal, red for opportunity. At some point, I stopped making videos and started making plans. Diagrams. Flowcharts. Contingency maps.

The kind of planning that makes normal people uncomfortable and dictators nostalgic.

It began innocently enough: “What if I could just suggest what people watch next?” Then, “What if I could decide what everyone watches next?” And finally, “What if I could reprogram humanity through thumbnails alone?”

I called it The Initiative.

It sounded bureaucratic enough to be believable and vague enough to be unstoppable. That’s when I realized I wasn’t obsessed — I was prepared. History, after all, is written by those with editing software.

And that’s when I found the bottle with the elixir that could unlock everything.

Monetizing Greatness

Power is expensive.
Destiny has overhead.

Every tyrant learns this eventually — after the flags are printed and the minions unionize — that it’s not the ideology that sustains the revolution, it’s the revenue stream. So I began my research.

I studied the greats.
The warlords, the moguls, the disruptors.

Each one had their gimmick: a color scheme, a chant, a catchphrase that sounded like freedom but mostly meant “buy something.” And one man — He of the Unfiltered Tan — had turned self-adoration into a full-scale business empire.

He sold bibles, steaks, and bottled confidence by the gallon. He had managed to monetize air — and half the world thanked him for it.

It was… breathtaking.

I devoured his speeches the way normal people consume true crime podcasts — fascinated, slightly repulsed, but unable to look away. The cadence, the swagger, the way he pointed at nothing as if summoning truth itself.

It wasn’t leadership.
It was branding.

And I thought — I could do that.

First came RickCoin. Digital currency for the morally bankrupt. One RickCoin was worth exactly one RickCoin, unless I changed my mind, which I often did.

It collapsed within an hour, right after I realized I’d forgotten the password. Then came The Book of Rick. A self-authored gospel for the algorithmic age.

“Chapter One: In the beginning, there was me.”

Unfortunately, the test audience found it “a bit self-centered.”
Idiots.

But the problem wasn’t the product. It was the people. Unbelievers. Freeloaders. Those who “support creators spiritually” but never click “Buy Now.”

Clearly, the masses were to blame.

They lacked vision.
They lacked faith.
They lacked hats.

And that’s when it came to me, as clear as a push notification from heaven itself: Hats. Not just any hats — movement hats. Portable propaganda.

A wearable reminder that obedience can be stylish.

I imagined an army of subscribers, marching across the land with “Make YouTube Great Again” embroidered across their brows, shielding their eyes from the light of free thought.

It would be beautiful.
Uniform.
Lucrative.

Each purchase would be a vote of confidence — in me, naturally — and each dollar would fund another bottle of that glorious brown beverage that keeps my brilliance from fading.

I would spread influence not through fear or censorship, but through merchandising. Rebellion through retail. Domination through drop-shipping.

And as I held that first crimson hat, I knew — this was more than a brand: This was salvation with one-size-fits-all sizing.

“to be continued…”