This one started with a cursed sentence and a can of Monster. I wasn’t trying to write a book. I was just spiraling a little after some shit in my personal life and kept texting people weird sentences to make myself laugh. Then one hit different. “My Roomba joined ISIS and took the kids” made me sit up. But it wasn’t the only one. Somewhere in all that chaos, I wrote, “Ronald Reagan sold me crypto from beyond the grave,” and realized I wasn’t joking anymore. That was the story. A warped Americana fever dream, dripping in conspiracy, nostalgia, and digital psychosis. And it all begins with this:
I was three Monster Energies deep, sitting shirtless in a camping chair in my mom’s garage, when I saw the post. It was buried in a crypto-conspiracy Discord called 1776 and Chill. All it said was, if you hum the Star-Spangled Banner backward at midnight, Reagan will appear. He will offer you the truth. There wasn’t any context. No likes. Just a corrupted .webm that looked like a Reagan campaign ad had been microwaved inside a VCR. So naturally, I took that as a challenge.
I didn’t have a good voice, and I barely knew the real anthem, so I just practiced humming it backward the best I could. Around 11:50, I set up my summoning circle. It was just a fold-out table with a half-empty bottle of Freedom Whiskey, a Reagan commemorative plate I stole off a Cracker Barrel wall, and my old iPhone flashlight pointed upward like a beacon for American ghosts. At midnight, I started humming.
It sounded like a blender full of wet denim. The garage went cold. My arm hair stood up. Then the busted TV in the corner, the one with duct tape across the screen, flickered to life, even though it wasn’t plugged in. And there he was. Ronald fucking Reagan. He looked like he’d been pulled straight out of a VHS tape, but wrong. His smile was too wide. His eyes glitched red every few seconds like a cursed DVD menu. And somehow I knew, this wasn’t a recording. This was Reagan. Real enough.
He told me I’d been chosen. Said America had entered a new kind of war, one not fought with tanks, but tokens. I didn’t say anything. I just stared while my heart did parkour in my chest. Then the words hit me like a slap. ReaganCoin. He said the economy had gotten too soft. That we had gone soft. That the free market needed new blood, and I was it. A new kind of soldier. A digital patriot. And the best part? He’d already set me up.
This is just page one. The rest goes further off the rails. Crypto cults. Shadow presidents. A conspiracy involving the ghost of Ayn Rand and a raccoon who only speaks in stock tips. The book drops August 4. It’s insane. It’s real. And it’s mine. If you laughed, cringed, or raised an eyebrow reading this, just wait.