DoD Directive 5240.01 – Just Another Policy… or a Quietly Loaded Gun?

Every once in a while, something slithers through the headlines so quietly you’d think they were trying to pull one over on us. Enter DoD Directive 5240.01, just another mundane policy update, right? Wrong. This little gem is like the government’s subtle nod to keeping an ace up their sleeve, and it just so happens they slipped it in right before one of the most heated elections we’ve ever seen. Talk about timing.

So here we are, sitting on the edge of what could be a powder keg, and they’re rolling out a policy that has some seriously fine print about using military force on U.S. soil. But don’t worry, they assure us it’s only for those extreme cases, like when things go completely sideways and civilian law enforcement just can’t keep up. Yeah, because we all know the government’s always so thoughtful when “extreme” situations come knocking, right?

What’s This Directive Really About?

Let’s break this down. Directive 5240.01 is marketed as a set of guidelines for how the Defense Intelligence Agency is supposed to “support” civilian law enforcement. Now, if you’re thinking that sounds vague as hell, congratulations, you’re paying attention. The official line is all about “oversight” and “support.” But buried in the details is language that might just give them a green light to go way beyond passing out intel reports.

We’re talking about the potential use of lethal force on our own soil, and that’s not a hypothetical; it’s written right there. Imagine that, the military, possibly armed and ready, right here at home, all in the name of “support.”

Why Drop It Now?

If this were some benign policy, why roll it out now? Why slip it into the books just weeks before a make-or-break election? Don’t worry, though, they’ll tell you it’s just routine, that it’s all part of “being prepared.” Prepared for what, exactly? Maybe for when half the country flips its lid over the election results? Call me a skeptic, but the timing of this “update” stinks.

Here’s what I think: It’s not a question of if things will get tense, but when they’ll reach a breaking point. And when things get dicey, suddenly, those vague words about “support” and “lethal force” will start to look a lot more like a loaded gun pointed at our own backyard.

So, What Now?

Now’s the time to pay attention. Don’t buy into the talking heads trying to make this sound like it’s nothing. You’ve got to stay sharp, stay informed, and question everything. This episode of the Mikey Podcast dives headfirst into DoD Directive 5240.01, and we’re not holding back.

👉 Head to MikeyPodcast.com or wherever you get your podcasts to get the real story on this directive before the powers that be would rather you didn’t.

Stay tuned, stay weird, and never, ever stop questioning things.

#MikeyPodcast #DoDDirective #QuestionEverything #Election2024 #GovernmentWatch #IndependentMedia

Aftershock Festival 2024: Four Days of Glorious Madness


Aftershock 2024 crowd by Sam Shapiro

Aftershock 2024, my ninth year, and I’m still here, crawling through the dust and sweat for more. Danny Wimmer Presents (DWP) once again showed that they know how to orchestrate four days of beautifully chaotic rock and metal

mayhem. These guys don’t just throw a festival; they create a battlefield for music lovers, and we all keep signing up for more.

DWP’s got festival production down to a science. From free water stations to food that fuels you through the madness, they think of everything. 


Slipknot by Steve Thrasher

The artists? Treated like royalty. Every single band I’ve talked to raves about the

crew at DWP. And if you think they’re not listening, try Facebooking a complaint, they fix issues faster than you can finish your overpriced beer. That’s why Aftershock keeps climbing the ranks of legendary festivals.

Day 1:

Let’s start with day one. I’m late to the party because life happens, but the second I step in and hear Til Lindemann’s voice, I know I’m home.


Til Lindemann by Steve Thrasher

Static-X kicks off with a tribute to Wayne Static, and the energy is already through the roof. 

Aftershock, baby! But first things first I beeline for the food trucks and grab some carnita fries. We’re talking piles of carnitas, cheese, and crispy fries! A messy, glorious meal that set the tone for the weekend.


Static-X by Lexie Alley 

Insane Clown Posse does what they do best—turning the crowd into a sticky, Faygo-drenched mess. It’s the kind of madness you expect

at Aftershock, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. 


ICP by @FogAgain 

The VIP area was a nice retreat, nothing too flashy, but a good place to escape when the chaos becomes too much.


VIP by Jordan Pantoja 

But hey, DWP, let’s reconsider the porta-potty placement next to the food tents, okay? Nobody wants to enjoy their fries next to a dude crawling out of a stall like he’s just seen the end times.

Day 2:

Day two started with some killer interviews

Mikey and Jigsaw Youth
Doin shots with Moonshine Bandits

This set the mood for what was

bound to be an unforgettable day. But let me tell you, the women in metal are bringing the heat this year. Day two was a testament to just how much they’re dominating the scene. Whether they were shredding guitars or unleashing vocals that shook the ground, the women ruled the day. There was power, passion, and enough energy to fuel the crowd for hours.


Evanescence by @alexochoa_cbm

On the food front, I re-discovered the magical creation known as gyro fries.

It’s all the goodness of a gyro dumped on top of fries, and I’m pretty sure I transcended for a moment while eating it. Between the music and the food, it was perfection.

As the day wrapped up, I hit up the essential Aftershock post-show hotdog stand. If you leave this festival without one of those loaded street dogs, drenched in onions and peppers, you’re doing it wrong. This is festival tradition, people.

Day 3:

Day three is when things get real. You’re tired, your ears are ringing, but you’re too far gone to care. Aaron Lewis from Staind did what he does

best, rant about politics mid-set, but that’s part of the charm at Aftershock.

Aaron Lewis guitar

The festival thrives on raw energy, passion, and a little bit of chaos. Breaking Benjamin and Tech N9ne hit stages, reminding everyone why we show up year after year. The riffs, the beats, the crowd, it was electric.

By now, the dust is swirling, and the festival grounds have morphed into a full-on battleground. But you know what? We thrive in this. Aftershock fans live for the chaos. The dirt, the sweat, the noise… bring it on. We wouldn’t have it any other way.

Day 4:

By day four, the ground is more dust than grass, and you’re running on adrenaline. Hed PE and Drowning Pool kick things off, but the night belongs to Disturbed and Mötley Crüe. 

The energy during Disturbed’s set was nothing short of explosive and the kind of performance that reminds you why they’re still at the top of the game.


Disturbed by @alexochoa_cbm

As the festival winds down, I can’t help but think: it’s time to take this festival to the next level. DWP has the production locked down, but what

about giving Aftershock even more of a local vibe? How about adding The Mikey Podcast Chill Zone!? a place for people to recharge in more ways than one? Imagine a spot in the general admission area where you can get a quick massage, charge your phone, play some games, and yeah, maybe even sneak in a

smoke. It’s more than just a break from the chaos; it’s a connection to Sacramento’s favorite podcaster and the voice of the city.

DWP, if you want Aftershock to feel even more like Sacramento’s own, let’s get The Mikey Podcast involved. I’ve been at this festival for nine years, and no one knows the scene, or the people, better. Let’s make it happen.

Mikey meet up @ the Aftershock sign

Aftershock 2024 delivered everything I expected massive performances, insane energy, and unforgettable moments. But you know what would make it even better? More Sacramento. We’re the farm-to-fork capital! Where’s the NorCal culture? Let’s get some more Sacramento-based bands on those smaller stages, throw in some spooky season flair, and really embrace what this city has to offer.

DWP, you’ve got the festival magic down to a science. Now it’s time to add more of the local soul. After nine years, I’m still coming back, but

there’s always room to grow. Let’s make Aftershock not just the best festival

in Sacramento, but the best in the world. And we’re all ready to help make that happen.

Heat Wave Hell

It all started on a Friday morning, a day that will forever be etched into the annals of my personal hell.

The AC began its death rattle, an apocalyptic sound that jolted me from my half-dead morning state.

Panic set in. I called the property management company, and they dispatched a man named Zeke from Zeke’s AC Repair. This guy was a real piece of work, let me tell you.

Zeke showed up like a bat out of hell, tires squealing through my neighborhood like a bad action movie chase scene. The scent of booze wafted from his van before he even stepped out.

Yes, Zeke reeked.

He stumbled out of his vehicle, all bravado and bullshit, ready to tackle the beast that was our AC unit.

He banged around for a bit, replaced the capacitor and motor, and voila! The AC roared to life.

Zeke, satisfied with his handiwork, strutted off into the sunset like a cowboy who just saved the town.

But a couple of hours later, the AC quit again, spitting out that familiar death knell.

Zeke returned, this time with less swagger and more annoyance.

He fiddled with the connector, declared it fixed, and vanished again. Fast forward a few hours, and the AC was dead.

It was now evening, a sweltering Sacramento evening, and Zeke was at home, likely nursing another bottle. He couldn’t come back until the next day.

We were stuck in a house that was 93 degrees upstairs and 83 downstairs.

The living room became our makeshift refugee camp, fans blowing like futile sentinels against the inferno. We killed some time shopping and eating dinner, hoping to escape the worst of it, but the heat followed us like a bloodhound.

That night, we slept on the couch, tossing and turning in a pool of sweat.

Saturday morning, Zeke reappeared, this time with a grim look. The motor was bad, he said, but he couldn’t replace it until Monday.

Monday? Was he high? It was going to hit 115 degrees that day.

He offered a temporary fix: spraying the unit with cold water every time it shut down. So, my weekend was spent babysitting an overheating AC unit, playing sprinkler technician to keep the damn thing running.

It worked, sort of. Until, of course, the power went out. Half of our development plunged into darkness on the hottest night of the year.

We were left to choose between roasting in our house or sitting in the car like some of our neighbors. We opted for the car, eventually finding solace in a late-night movie.

When the power finally came back on at 1:49 AM, the AC kicked on again, but the reprieve was short-lived.

Sunday was another day of cooling the unit, keeping it limping along.

Monday arrived, and I had to drag myself to the soul-sucking day job while Zeke, that drunk bastard, showed up to install a new motor.

But, of course, the AC was still broken.

I left work early, enraged and sweating, to find that nothing had changed. I called Zeke, who was now fed up and treating me like it was my fault.

He said it could be a bad motor… Again. He’ll fix it tomorrow.

So Tuesday came and he came back, got the motor then left to get another new motor. He came back replaced it and told me its fixed then left.

That didn’t work… again.

I called zeke. He was pissed off.

Clearly tired of me and my AC unit Zeke comes back.

He couldn’t figure it out, so he decided to give up.

Just like that, I give up. He said Don’t call me again after this.

He took out the new motor, put the original broken one back in, and left me with nothing.

I couldn’t even use his workaround now because the motor didn’t work at all.

I called the property management company, and they promised another guy would come.

This new savior didn’t show up until 3:30 PM, by which time my house was turning into a sauna.

He muttered about needing to get approval and write an estimate. Blah, blah, blah. He promised to come back on Wednesday.

It’s Wednesday at 7am and here I am, typing this from a couch that has become my bed, my back a knot of pain and my mood darker than ever because I have to go to the soul-sucking day job after getting very little sleep.

If this new guy doesn’t fix the AC today, I swear to God, there will be hell to pay.

Living through the hottest heat wave on record in Sacramento with a broken AC is a special kind of torment, one I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

Stay safe, Stay cool and remember .. Fuck Zeke.

Mikey

The Anatomy Of a Hater

Ever wonder why some people just can’t resist throwing shade like it’s their full-time job? Well, buckle up, because today on The Mikey Podcast, we’re ripping the mask off those joy-sucking, life-draining parasites who just can’t stand to see anyone else shine.

Join me as I dissect the anatomy of a hater. We’re talking about everyone from the Overly Critical Friend who can’t help but nitpick every single one of your achievements, to the Gossip Monger who thrives on spreading lies like it’s a competitive sport. And don’t get me started on the Social Media Stalker lurking in the digital shadows, or the Jealous Frenemy who’s all smiles to your face but plotting your downfall behind your back.

But that’s just the tip of the iceberg. We’re diving deep into the twisted psychology behind why these sad souls act the way they do. Are they projecting their own insecurities? Do they feel threatened by your blazing success? Or are they just so trapped in their own miserable existence that they need to drag everyone else down to their level?

Expect raw, unfiltered talk. I’ll be sharing some personal stories about the haters I’ve tangled with – and let me tell you, the radio industry has no shortage of them. Plus, I’ll give you some advice on how to spot these toxic types and, more importantly, how to deal with them. Hint: sometimes you just need to light the match, burn those bridges, and walk the hell away.

So, if you’re fed up with the haters in your life and need a good laugh at their expense, this episode is your ticket.

Tune in to The Mikey Podcast and let’s unmask these haters together.

Trust me, you don’t want to miss this.

Catch the latest episode now and let’s give these haters something to really talk about.

Click or tap HERE to listen to “The Anatomy of a Hater” or just find it on all podcast platforms

You can log into you Sub-Club account for commercial free video access

Stay safe, stay weird, and question everything.

Prophets of Doom: A Journey Through History’s Deadliest Cults

Prophets of Doom

Welcome to the twisted theater of human lunacy. We’re going to plunge headfirst into the rabbit hole of the world’s most notorious cults. From the desolate wastelands of polygamous zealots to the chilling echoes of doomsday prophets and their fatal finales, this is a parade of the bizarre, the deadly, and the downright deranged.

The Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (FLDS)
Picture a dusty town on the border of Utah and Arizona. A place where the only colors seem to be shades of beige, and where the fashion police would have a field day with the prairie-style dresses and uncut hair. Welcome to the world of the FLDS, a splinter group that decided mainstream Mormonism wasn’t hardcore enough.

In 1998, these folks decided Salt Lake City was too liberal for their taste and moved to Hildale, Utah, and Colorado City, Arizona. But that wasn’t remote enough. In 2003, they packed their bags again and moved to a ranch in Eldorado, Texas. Their leader, Warren Jeffs, made sure his followers adhered to a lifestyle straight out of a dystopian novel. No sports, no holidays, no TV, no books, no dogs, no fishing, no red clothes, no dancing. And that’s not even the weird part. Jeffs, who took over in 2002, decided that his father’s wives—70 of them—would now be his wives. Overall, he had at least 87 wives, some as young as 14.

Imagine living in a place where the only entertainment is watching paint dry and you can’t even wear a red dress to spice things up. It’s like a Victorian nightmare with a side of Texas heat.

Church of the Lamb of God

Next, we venture into the wilds of Chihuahua, Mexico, where Ervil LeBaron, dubbed the Mormon Manson, decided that regular Mormonism needed a splash of Old Testament vengeance.

He started the Church of the Lamb of God, where he preached “blood atonement”—the idea that you could kill sinners to cleanse them of their evil. Because, why not?

LeBaron had 51 children with 13 wives and convinced hundreds of followers to murder more than 20 people. His holy reign of terror landed him in a Utah prison, but not before he left a “hit list” of traitors. He died in 1981, but his murderous influence lingered like a bad smell at a family reunion.

Aum Shinrikyo

From the deserts of Mexico to the neon streets of Tokyo, we meet Aum Shinrikyo, a cult that started with yoga and ended with sarin gas.

Master Asahara Shoko, who believed he embodied a god after a trip to India, founded the cult in 1987. By 1995, Aum Shinrikyo had about 50,000 members, mainly in Russia.

Asahara prophesied a war and decided to kickstart it by orchestrating an attack on the Tokyo subway. On March 20, 1995, five cult members released sarin gas, killing 12 and sickening 5,500. The authorities eventually caught on, arresting Asahara and dismantling the group. He was executed in 2018, but not before leaving a legacy of chaos and death.

Imagine joining a yoga class and ending up part of a terrorist organization. It’s the ultimate bait-and-switch.

Manson Family

Now, let’s take a trip to sunny California, where Charles Manson, a man with more charisma than a used car salesman, led a group of disillusioned youths into a series of brutal murders.

Settling at Spahn Ranch, Manson preached a bizarre mix of apocalyptic prophecy and personal grievances. He dubbed this “Helter Skelter,” a race war he believed he could start.

Manson convinced his followers to murder actress Sharon Tate and others in a misguided attempt to incite this war. His followers were charged with nine murders, and Manson himself died in prison in 2017.

How do you end up following a guy who thinks the Beatles’ “White Album” is a secret code for starting a race war? It’s like a Quentin Tarantino movie, only real and a lot more disturbing.

Order of the Solar Temple

Switzerland, the land of neutrality and chocolate, gave us the Order of the Solar Temple.

Founded in 1984 by Joseph Di Mambro and Luc Jouret, the cult mixed medieval Knights Templar fantasies with doomsday prophecies. Jouret claimed to be both Christ and a reincarnated Templar knight.

In 1994, believing the end was nigh, 53 members committed suicide or were murdered. Their bodies were found in charred remains in Canada and Switzerland. Di Mambro and Jouret’s remains were among the dead, and their legacy included the murder of an infant they believed was the anti-Christ.

Heaven’s Gate

In the 1970s, Marshall Applewhite and Bonnie Nettles founded Heaven’s Gate, a cult that mixed aliens, spaceships, and Christianity… Wait, isn’t that scientology?

After Nettles’ death, Applewhite took the group to new extremes. In 1997, he claimed a spacecraft following the Hale-Bopp comet would carry them to the next level of existence.

Applewhite and 38 followers prepared for their journey by recording farewell messages, donning matching uniforms and Nike shoes, and consuming phenobarbital-laced applesauce. They believed their souls would be taken to a higher existence.

Branch Davidians

David Koresh, born Vernon Howell, turned a Christian sect into a fiery end in Waco, Texas. Koresh, who declared himself a messiah, took over the Branch Davidians and preached that all women, including underage girls, were his spiritual wives. He stockpiled weapons and faced allegations of child abuse.

In 1993, a raid by the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives led to a 51-day siege. The standoff ended in a fire that killed Koresh and 76 others. The government investigation concluded that the Davidians had started the fire themselves.

Picture this: you’re following a self-proclaimed messiah, only to end up in a fiery standoff that could rival any apocalyptic Western. The ending? Pure tragedy.

The People’s Temple

Finally, we arrive at the People’s Temple, founded by Jim Jones in Indiana in 1954.

Jones, a charismatic preacher, eventually moved his followers to Jonestown, Guyana. He convinced them of impending nuclear war and promised a socialist utopia.

In 1978, after Congressman Leo Ryan visited to investigate abuse claims, Jones commanded his followers to drink poison. Over 900 people died, making it the largest loss of American civilian life until 9/11.

Believing in a promised utopia, only to be led to a mass suicide, is the ultimate betrayal—a tragic collapse of paradise.

From forced marriages and murder sprees to doomsday prophecies and mass suicides, these cults show the dark side of human nature. They attract the lost, the desperate, and the disillusioned, promising salvation but delivering only madness. It’s a reminder that the line between faith and fanaticism is perilously thin.

Fields Family Farms: Unicorn Gas 💨

🦄✨ Today we’re diving headfirst into the enchanting world of “Unicorn Gas” – a strain so mystical it’ll make you question reality faster than a rabbit hole on acid! 🍇💨

Buds so vibrant they make rainbows look dull. Deep purples, royal blues, and greens that’ll make you believe you stumbled into a psychedelic fairy tale. And those trichomes? Oh, they’re not just trichomes; they’re tiny flecks of pure magic, twinkling like they’ve been kissed by unicorns themselves! 🌈✨

Now, let’s talk scent. Brace yourself for a whiff of sweet, fruity aromas that’ll transport you to a berry-filled wonderland, with just a hint of floral goodness. It’s like being under a spell – but trust me, you won’t want to break free! 🌸🍓

When you spark up Unicorn Gas, get ready for a high that’ll send you to the moon and back. It starts with a gentle buzz that’ll have your creative juices flowing faster than you can say “magic carpet ride.” 🧞‍♂️✨ And as you float along, your worries will melt away, leaving you in a state of pure, unadulterated bliss.

Now, onto the real talk. I tried this baby in pre-roll form, and let me tell you – it was a rollercoaster of emotions. First, the struggle to light it was real. I’m talking Herculean effort levels just to get a puff! 😤 But once it was lit, WHOA, hold onto your hats, folks!

Sure, the joint got funky real quick, bending and shedding its cherry like it was trying out for a contortionist gig. But despite the struggle, the high was worth every moment. Two hits in, and I was off to the stars, cruising through the cosmos like I owned the place. 🚀

But the high lasted for what felt like eons. My head was floating in the stratosphere while my body was down on Earth, doing its thing like a champ. 🌍💫

So, despite the joint’s quirks, I’m giving Unicorn Gas a solid 3.5 out of 5 on the mug scale. It would’ve been higher if not for the joint’s shenanigans. But hey, when the high is this good, who cares about a little struggle, right? 😉

Ready to embark on your own magical journey? Hit up CaliGoldDelivery.com and mention The Mikey Podcast for a sweet surprise. Trust me, you won’t regret it! 🎁🌿

10 Conspiracies That Actually Came True

1. Project Sunshine: The Baby Harvest

Conspiracy: The government was snatching dead bodies to perform radioactive tests.


Truth: Well, they weren’t exactly grave robbers. They were more like body part enthusiasts. The U.S. government needed young tissue for their nuclear fallout studies. So, they recruited a global network of agents to discreetly collect samples and limbs from recently deceased babies. Over 1,500 grieving families were blissfully unaware

2. Prohibition Poison Party

Conspiracy: During Prohibition, the government poisoned alcohol to curb drinking.


Truth: Turns out, Uncle Sam was the ultimate party crasher. Booze manufacturers had been spiking their hooch with dangerous chemicals for years. But between 1926 and 1933, the feds upped the ante. They pushed for stronger poisons to discourage bootleggers from turning alcohol into moonshine. Result? Over 10,000 Americans met their demise via tainted cocktails. Cheers!

3. Edith Wilson: The Real Commander-in-Chief

Conspiracy: President Woodrow Wilson’s stroke left him incapacitated, and his wife secretly took charge.


Truth: Edith Wilson wasn’t just a First Lady; she was the First Boss. When Woodrow suffered a debilitating stroke, the government decided to keep it hush-hush. For over a year, Edith was effectively running the show. She claimed to be a mere “steward,” but historians know better. Move over, Woodrow—Edith’s got this!

4. MK-ULTRA: Mind Control, LSD, and You

Conspiracy: The CIA experimented with LSD and mind control on unsuspecting Americans.


Truth: MK-ULTRA wasn’t a sci-fi flick; it was real. The CIA dosed folks with hallucinogens, hoping to unlock their inner spies. Imagine unsuspecting office workers tripping balls during their coffee breaks. The program was so wild that even Hunter S. Thompson would’ve said, “Whoa, man!”

5. Operation Mockingbird: Media Manipulation

Conspiracy: The CIA infiltrated the media to control the narrative.


Truth: Forget “fake news.” Operation Mockingbird was the OG. The CIA cozied up to journalists, editors, and publishers, pulling their strings like puppet masters. They spread propaganda, manipulated stories, and whispered, “Psst, print this.” The Fourth Estate? More like the Fourth Spy Agency

6. Operation Paperclip: Nazi Scientists, American Dreams

Conspiracy: After World War II, the U.S. smuggled Nazi scientists into the country like they were exotic pets.


Truth: Forget Area 51; Operation Paperclip was the real alien landing. The CIA and military scooped up German rocket scientists, mind control experts, and probably a few schnitzel chefs. These former Third Reich brainiacs helped kickstart the space race and the Cold War. Danke schön, Adolf!

7. COINTELPRO: The FBI’s Petty Vendetta

Conspiracy: The FBI infiltrated civil rights groups, anti-war activists, and even Slayer fan clubs.


Truth: J. Edgar Hoover wasn’t just a snappy dresser; he was also a paranoid puppet master. COINTELPRO (Counter Intelligence Program) aimed to disrupt and discredit anyone who dared question authority. They wiretapped Martin Luther King Jr., spread rumors about Slayer’s satanic rituals, and probably stole Mikey’s lunch money

8. Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment: Medical Malpractice, Yeehaw!

Conspiracy: The government infected poor African American men with syphilis just to see what happens.


Truth: The Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment was like a twisted episode of “Dr. Oz.” From 1932 to 1972, the U.S. Public Health Service studied untreated syphilis in unsuspecting black men. They promised free healthcare but delivered deception, suffering, and a side of racism. It’s like they took the Hippocratic Oath and replaced it with “Yeehaw!”

9. PRISM: The NSA’s Peeping Tom

Conspiracy: The NSA was spying on everyone, even your grandma’s cat videos.


Truth: PRISM wasn’t just a rainbow; it was a surveillance kaleidoscope. Edward Snowden blew the whistle on this digital peep show. The NSA tapped into Google, Facebook, and your neighbor’s Wi-Fi. They collected more data than a Slayer mosh pit. So next time you post a selfie, just know—Uncle Sam’s watching

10. The Church Committee: When Senators Got Spicy

Conspiracy: The U.S. government was up to some shady stuff, and Congress wanted answers.


Truth: In the ’70s, the Church Committee (led by Senator Frank Church) exposed the CIA’s dirty laundry. Assassination plots, mind control experiments, and secret coups—it was like a James Bond movie, but with more bureaucracy. They even revealed that Elvis was an undercover agent. Okay, maybe not Elvis, but you get the idea

A Taste of Madness With Banana Runtz

Another Weekly Weed Review thank CaliGoldDelivery.com

Gather ’round, fellow travelers of the twisted and surreal, for we’re embarking on a journey into the heart of madness with Fields Family Farms’ Banana Runts.

Now, before you go dismissing this as just another trip down candy lane, let me assure you, this is a ride you won’t soon forget. Imagine, if you will, a joint infused with the essence of diamonds, rolled in cannabis oil and keif, a concoction so potent it could make even the most seasoned stoner question reality.

This joint, my friends, it looked like it had seen the depths of hell and back, but as they say, looks can be deceiving. Upon lighting up, I was greeted with a taste sensation that was far from bananas or runts, yet somehow transcended the mundane to deliver a flavor profile that danced on the tongue like a psychedelic symphony.

The aroma, oh the aroma, it was like a siren’s call, luring me deeper into the rabbit hole of intoxication. But it wasn’t just the taste and smell that left me reeling; oh no, it was the high itself that truly caught me off guard. At first, it was like a bolt of creative energy coursing through my veins, igniting my senses and setting my mind ablaze with possibilities.

I felt like I could conquer the world, one wild idea at a time. Yet, just when I thought I had it all figured out, about 20 minutes later, it hit me like a freight train barreling through the night. Suddenly, the world around me took on a surreal hue, and before I knew it, I was careening headfirst into the abyss of unconsciousness, passed out cold on the couch.

But fear not, dear readers, for even in the depths of my weed-induced slumber, I could still feel the faint whisper of Banana Runts lingering on my lips, a reminder of the wild ride I had just experienced. So, on the scale of 0 to 5 nugs, this twisted masterpiece gets a solid 4 from yours truly.

But heed my warning, my fellow adventurers, for Banana Runts is not for the faint of heart.

Order some now from CaliGoldDelivery.com but approach with caution, embrace the madness, and remember, stay safe, stay weird, and question everything.

🎸 Aftershock Festival Survival Kit Giveaway: Rock On!

Sacramento, California – The air crackles with anticipation, the scent of rebellion hangs heavy, and the stage lights flicker to life. It’s that time of year again, my fellow misfits, when the earth trembles under the weight of raw energy and the decibels reach stratospheric levels. Yes, you guessed it: Festival season is upon us, and it’s time to unleash the rock ‘n’ roll beast within and win Aftershock 2024 weekend passes from The Mikey Podcast

🤘 The Ultimate Survival Kit: Your Ticket to Rock Immortality

Picture this: two 4-day passes to the most electrifying music festival where the gods of distortion, the wizards of wail, and the riff lords themselves converge to create a seismic symphony that’ll rattle your bones and ignite your soul.

🎟️ How to Enter

1. Follow the Holy Trinity: You must be following these accounts on Instagram at the time of the cosmic drawing:

@i_am_mikey: The enigmatic maestro behind the mic, the voice that pierces through the noise like a lightning bolt.

@themikeypodcast: Where truth meets chaos, where Mikey spills the beans, and where the unfiltered tales of rock ‘n’ roll unfold.

@aftershockFestival: The gatekeepers to the rock utopia, the architects of auditory ecstasy.

2. Double-Tap That Love Button: Like this post on Instagram

Show your devotion to the Mikey Podcast and Aftershock. Let your heartstrings resonate like a distorted power chord.

3. Summon the Hashtag: Drop a comment using the hashtag #themikeypodcast and tag the person you want to share this rock odyssey with. Who’s your partner in crime? Your fellow headbanger? Your soulmate in distortion? Let the universe know.

4. Spread the Gospel: Share the post to your Instagram story. Let it echo through the digital canyons. Let it reach the ears of those who crave the riff, the rhythm, and the righteous rebellion. 📲🎁

🎁 What’s Inside the Aftershock Festival Survival Kit?

This isn’t just any survival kit; it’s the holy grail for rock warriors. When you’re knee-deep in mosh pits and lost in guitar solos, these treasures will keep you alive, kicking, and ready to throw devil horns:

2 Weekend Wristbands to Aftershock 2024: Your golden tickets to the rock ‘n’ roll circus.

Festival-Approved Refillable Water Bottle: Stay hydrated, my friends. Rock ‘n’ roll is thirsty work.

Mikey Podcast/Aftershock T-shirt: Wear it like a badge of honor. Let the world know you’re part of the tribe.

Mikey Podcast Hat: Shield your eyes from the cosmic riffs. Look damn cool doing it.

Lanyard: Keep your backstage pass close. You never know when you’ll bump into a guitar god.

Hand Sanitizer: Because even rock stars need clean hands. Rock ‘n’ roll hygiene, folks!

Festival-Approved Bag: Toss in your hopes, dreams, and a spare set of drumsticks. You’re ready.

📅 The Countdown Begins

Mark your calendars, my fellow rock renegades. The 1st lucky winner will be chosen by the cosmic forces on April 26th during the legendary Freeloader Friday Live. Will it be you? Will you ascend to rock Valhalla? Will your name echo through the halls of distortion?

🔥 Don’t miss your shot! Let’s crank up the amps, raise our lighters, and summon the rock gods. May the odds be ever in your favor, and may the riff be with you. Good luck, my wild ones! 🍀🤘

WWR! Blue Dream 💨

Ah, Blue Dream… where dreams are always blue and the skies are endlessly high. If you’re in the market for a strain that’s the equivalent of a motivational speaker on steroids, then look no further, my friends. Time Machines Blue Dream doesn’t just lift you up, it launches you into orbit like Elon Musk on a caffeine high.

If you’ve been a following me over the years yo might know that I have my favorites…Green Crack, Super Silver Haze, and of course, the one that’s stealing the show – Blue Dream. I’ve been riding this wave since it hit the scene in the early 2000s. It’s like the OG of my smoking career, the holy grail, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. And let me tell you, this Time Machine brand? Is budget friendly and just as good as any other brand except you get tiny nugs.

But who cares about size when you’re just gonna grind ’em up and blaze away, right? As the Queen of suicides once said, “At this point, what difference does it make?” (and yes, I’m talking about Killary Clinton, folks).

Now, let’s get down to business. Blue Dream isn’t just your run-of-the-mill strain; it’s the Swiss Army knife of the cannabis world. Need energy? Hit the Blue Dream. Want to unleash your inner Picasso? Blue Dream it is. Feeling frisky? Well, it won’t turn you into a walking hormone, but it’ll definitely set the mood for some cosmic cuddling.

And the best part? No harsh hits, no anxiety, and no munchies. It’s like a magical potion brewed by Gandalf himself. Smoke it all day long and wake up the next morning feeling fresher than a daisy in a field of daisies.

But wait, there’s more! Blue Dream is like a hybrid lovechild of Einstein and the Dalai Lama. Your mind’s racing a mile a minute while your body’s chilling like a villain. It’s like having a mental rave while your body’s lounging on the couch, sipping a pina colada

And let me tell you about the bedtime story Blue Dream tells. When the clock strikes late, this stuff doesn’t mess around. It tucks you into bed like a caring grandma, whispering sweet dreams into your ear. But if you decide to defy the Sandman and stay active, well, strap in, because you’re about to pull a Forrest Gump and run like the

Now, Time Machine isn’t just serving up your grandma’s garden variety weed. They’ve got a whole lineup that’ll make your head spin faster than a tilt-a-whirl on steroids. From Wedding Cake to London Pound Cake, they’ve got flavors for every palate.

But what sets Time Machine apart isn’t just their primo product; it’s their whole vibe. I’m talking interactive, graphic-novel-themed packaging that’s cooler than a polar bear in shades. Each puff comes with a side of storytelling, courtesy of QR codes that whisk you away on a journey through the cosmos.

So, if you’re ready to embark on a trip to the stars without leaving your living room, then hop aboard the Time Machine Blue Dream express from Cali Gold, the official sponsor of The Mikey Podcast, where weirdness is a way of life and creativity flows like… well, like Blue Dream on a sunny day.

So tap that link, place your order, and get ready to blast off into a world where the sky’s the limit and the dreams are always blue.

https://caligolddelivery.com/

Fluorescent Fumes: A Psychedelic Odyssey

I stumbled into my dimly lit living room, the acrid smoke of Cali’s finest clinging to my clothes like a desperate lover. The aftertaste lingered, a bitter reminder of the forbidden pleasures I’d just indulged in. But then, an unexpected twist… the room shifted, and an eerie smell enveloped me. It was familiar, like a half-remembered nightmare from my youth.

Huffing paint. The garage. My cousin Chuck.

We were reckless, teetering on the edge of oblivion. Death was our constant companion, lurking in the shadows, grinning like a deranged carnival barker. Parma, Ohio… a place where dreams went to die, and the mundane was a psychedelic trip in itself.

Chuck, that mad bastard, moved in with me at my mom’s house. Our grand plan? To work together, side by side, conquering the world. Or maybe just the local pizza joint. But fate had other ideas.

The garage became our sanctuary… a sweltering cocoon in a hot Ohio summer where time warped and reality unraveled. Chuck and I, like deranged alchemists, brewed our elixir of madness: fluorescent green spray paint, stolen from my dad’s garage or my grandpa’s toolshed, I can’t recall which. The details blur, like the edges of reality when you’re high on fumes.

We’d light our cigarettes, the glowing tips like beacons in the dimness. The garage door shut, sealing us off from the world. The canister of neon intoxication sat on the workbench, its label worn and cryptic. We’d shake it, listen to the rattle of forbidden knowledge, and then plunge into the abyss.

We sprayed it into bags, inhaled deeply, and ascended. The world dissolved, replaced by a kaleidoscope of neon hues.

The first huff was a revelation. The garage walls wavered, and Chuck’s face contorted into a grotesque grin. We’d giggle like lunatics, our laughter echoing off the rusty tools and forgotten memories. We entered a realm I can only describe as “spy vs. spy inside Fortnite.” Imagine pixelated chaos, a psychedelic battleground where secret agents battled for supremacy, fueled by our chemical concoction.

The fluorescent demons danced, their pixelated forms mocking our mortal existence. Spy vs. spy, reality vs. delusion—we straddled the fault line.

Hours melted away. The garage became a fever dream… a fever dream within a fever dream. We’d chase each other, our footsteps echoing like distant gunshots. Chuck would morph into a giant spy, his trench coat flapping in the toxic breeze. I’d wield a pixelated sword, slashing at imaginary foes. The paint fumes fueled our madness, our minds spiraling into oblivion.

And then, the terror set in. The walls moved closer and closer, and the fluorescent demons taunted us. Spy vs. spy took a dark turn. Were we the heroes or the villains? It didn’t matter. We were trapped, our minds unraveling like cheap sweaters. Reality splintered, and I glimpsed the void—the abyss that had swallowed countless souls before us.

And then, the crash. Reality reasserted itself—the sticky floor, the flickering fluorescent bulb, the taste of metal on our tongues.

Chuck collapsed on the garage floor, gasping for air. I clung to the edge of sanity, my heart pounding like a jackhammer. We’d glimpsed the abyss, danced with death, and emerged—changed.

“We have to stop,” I said. “It’s eating us alive.”

As abruptly as it began, it ended.

Chuck moved out soon after. The fluorescent green can vanished, but its memory haunted me. I never huffed paint again, but that pixelated utopia lingered, a warning etched into my synapses. Life in Parma remained mundane, but I knew the truth: We’d touched something beyond the veil. Spy vs. spy, neon and nightmare—it was all there, waiting for the next fool to inhale the fumes and ascend.

So here I am, recounting our reckless escapade. Chuck, if you’re out there, remember: We danced with madness, and for a brief, terrifying moment, we were gods. And the fluorescent green? It still whispers my name in the dead of night, promising secrets and oblivion.

The Great Sake Bomb Massacre

So there I was, dragged into the neon abyss of Sin City, not out of desire but necessity. The exorbitant cost of California living had me shackled to a job I neither loathed nor excelled at, just enough to keep the family fed and the podcast rolling. But hey, it came with perks—like mandatory treks to San Diego, the cesspool of LA, and the glittering mirage of Las Vegas.

What’s my gig, you ask? Irrelevant. What matters is Vegas, baby.

Nestled in the bowels of The Mirage, an ancient relic oozing with the stench of bygone eras and stale tobacco, I pondered my existence amidst kitschy decor straight out of Grandma’s basement.

But this wasn’t your typical Vegas romp; it was a corporate circus. Rubbing elbows with suits I’d never otherwise acknowledge, I paraded through conferences, spewing jargon like a malfunctioning buzzword generator.

One evening, we found ourselves at Benihana—a tourist trap masquerading as a culinary experience. Three hours of onion volcanoes and airborne shrimp left me smelling like a hibachi grill’s illicit affair with MSG. Sake bombs ensued, accompanied by raucous chants, almost resembling a racial slur in an accent I dare not replicate.

The following day brought more charades of competence, culminating in an excursion to the newly christened Las Vegas Sphere. Amidst AI greeters and digital scans promising entry into some Orwellian metaverse, I opted out—FBI, take note.

The show inside was a psychedelic sermon on humanity’s folly, a woke manifesto accompanied by sensory overload. For a moment, I teetered on the brink of existential revelation, tripping balls in a spherical cathedral of enlightenment.

But alas, reality beckoned. Back in my room, amidst the haze of intoxication, I reflected on the casino floor—a tableau of despair and depleted fortunes. Disheartened, I retreated, pondering the irony of an old woman seeking directions to Planet 13, the cannabis superstore.

That brings us to the end of this uninspiring trip to land of greed, Next time, Vegas, it’ll be on my terms—sans corporate shackles and with chosen companions. No more pretense, just pure, unadulterated debauchery.

Stick it to the System and Embrace the Chaos

 

Welcome to another Freeloader Friday on The Mikey Podcast! In this episode we’re diving headfirst into a whirlwind of chaos, laughter, and unfiltered truth. From tech troubles to personal revelations, societal critiques to downright bizarre topics, this episode has it all.

 

Ever felt like you’re wrestling a greased-up bear while trying to stream on YouTube? Well, that’s just another day in the life of The Mikey Podcast. Join me as I navigate the treacherous waters of online censorship, tech glitches, and the constant struggle for creative freedom. Hint: Rumble might just be the lifeline we’ve been waiting for.

But speaking of lifelines, let’s dive the joys of staring into the existential abyss and wondering, “Who am I, really?” Join me as I bare my soul and share the ups and downs of my own identity journey. Spoiler alert: it’s a ride filled with twists, turns, and more than a few awkward moments.

But it’s not at all a therapy episode because it was Groundhog Day … again.

Let’s talk about Pennsylvania – In this episode I take aim at the Keystone State with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. From Punxsutawney Phil’s questionable predictions to the downright absurdity of Amish lifestyle, no tradition is safe. Sorry, Pennsylvania – consider this your official roast!

Come to think about it, it’s gotta be hard living in such a lot of despair like Pennsylvania.

It’s already tough everywhere else, just imagine living in PA!?

Get ready to Grab your tissues and prepare to commiserate as I explore the soul-crushing abyss of financial responsibilities, skyrocketing living costs, and the joy of handing over your hard-earned cash to the taxman. Spoiler alert: it’s not pretty, but at least we’re all in this mess together. So wipe away those tears and let’s laugh through the pain!

Now if you thought financial woes were bad, just wait until you hear about California’s latest venture into the world of recycled wastewater.

Like … WTF California? Coming Soon: Poop Water!

We’ll dive headfirst into the murky waters of California’s latest venture – turning sewage into drinking water. It’s a topic so bizarre, you’ll question whether you’re living in a dystopian novel or just a really messed-up reality show. So grab your favorite beverage (not from California, preferably) and let’s unravel the mysteries of poop water together!

Look, In this Freeloader Friday episode of The Mikey Podcast, we’ve laughed, we’ve cried, and we’ve probably offended a few people along the way. But hey, that’s just how we roll. So why not stick around and join the conversation? Listen or watch to the full episode here and remember – question everything.

Mikey

The Mikey Podcast is made possible by awesome free thinkers like you. Join the Sub-Club for an ad-free VIP video experience, subscriber-only blogs, and more exclusive content. Click here to join now and become part of the rebellion against the mundane.

From Cocaine to Caffeine: The Bumpy Ride of The Mikey Podcast

Yo! Welcome Mikey Podcast fans! Ready for another wild ride down the rabbit hole of my adventures?

In this latest installment of Freeloader Friday, I’ll take you down memory lane, sharing my wild experiences with the infamous white powder that once dominated the party scene. This story are outrageous, hilarious, and perhaps a little cringe-worthy, but fear not, I have bid farewell to those days.

Then brace yourselves for the revelation of a new sensation that’s sweeping the nation – “Want a Bump.”

No, it’s not what you think. It’s a legal, powder form of caffeine that’s making waves in the world of energy boosts.

We’ll discuss the bizarre world of snortable caffeine, questioning the sanity of those who seek instant energy through nasal absorption.

Curious about this peculiar trend? We explore the ups and downs (pun intended) of this legal stimulant.

And here’s the thing – you can join the fun! I’m contemplating trying out “Want a Bump” live on the next episode. Will I take the plunge, or is this just another caffeine-fueled fantasy?

Whether you’re a seasoned listener or a first-timer, this episode promises laughter, disbelief, and a healthy dose of me. Don’t miss out on the chaos – tune in now for free or become a Sub-Club member for an ad-free video experience.

Support the show, embrace the madness, and become a true Mikey VIP!

 

San Fran’s ‘Glow-Up! Because Avocado Toast Won’t Fix Everything

Guess what? I’ve got the 411 on San Francisco’s surprise makeover, brought to you by a communist leader and a certain forgetful friend. Because, let’s face it, nothing says “fixing the city” like planting trees and pretending homelessness vanished into thin air.

In this week’s episode, I’m pulling back the curtain on the city’s Cinderella moment – or as we like to call it, the avant-garde approach to urban problem-solving. We’ve got cleaner streets, spruced-up buildings, and art that magically appears. Abracadabra, San Fran style!

But hold on to your avocado toast There’s more.

I’m decoding Assembly Bill 873 – Gavin’s latest masterpiece. Spoiler alert: It involves teaching media literacy to kids because, you know, the internet is the new wild west, and apparently, our kids are the sheriff.

And since I love to keep it real, I’m diving into the world of media literacy – because who needs parents guiding their kids through the internet when you have government-approved lessons?

Now, here’s the kicker – you can feast your ears on all this absurdity FOR FREE! Yep, no hidden fees, just unfiltered, sarcastic commentary. Click that play button and let the eye-rolls commence.

But hey, if you’re feeling extra fancy and want a visual ad-free experience (because who needs interruptions when you’re decoding life’s mysteries?), join the Sub-Club. It’s like a VIP section for your eyes.

🎙️ [Tap Here] – Free Ear Candy

🚀 [Tap Here for Sub-Club signup] – Exclusive Access (because exclusivity is still a thing, apparently)

🤘🏼