The Rooster Blueprint
Here's a self-aggrandizing blog to answer a question that I get a lot.
I received a question for the December Mailbag that missed the deadline. But it’s a question I get asked a lot:
“You have Columbus and Statehouse locked down. For places like Cleveland, Toledo, Cincy, any advice on how to start for local political yapper like you?”
I must state that I do not, in fact, have Columbus and the Statehouse locked down. I wish I did, but at the end of the day, I’m only one man who can only type so many deranged sentences in a day. I can’t cover everything that’s on my radar, let alone all the high crimes that aren’t.
I’d like to think I have a particular set of skills. But the recipe that anyone, but not everyone, can replicate. And I hope this post can answer some questions for those looking to get in the trenches, because lord knows I could use some reinforcements.
The Tao of the Poster
The internet raised me. But I mean that in the good 1990s, 56K modem way. Not the functionally illiterate, ADHD TikTok way currently rotting the minds of this country’s youth.
During the Civil War, there were men that would stand outside the local telegram station and opine on all the news that came from the war front. Those guys understood the Tao of the Poster, and I’m exactly that type of “Guy” over 150 years later.
But not only do you have to be relentless in acquiring information, you have to be able to dispense it to your followers in a timely and effective manner.
I don’t regularly watch television outside of increasingly dwindling number of live sporting events. I don’t casually watch YouTube. And I don’t do TikTok outside of posting my own work. Even if I scroll Twitter for five hours a day, that plays into being a voracious reader as it’s still mostly reading and acquiring information.
Combine that with spending my formative years on EverQuest forums arguing with grown men and two decades of substance abuse, you will probably start to understand how my mind produces the rude boy prose that thankfully can transcend the typos or syntax errors on my best day.
Consistency and Monetization
One of The Rooster’s super-powers is that it’s entirely funded by brave and noble readers. There aren’t any bosses or rich donors that powerful politicians can leverage against me.
The newsletter industry is not a get-rich quick scheme unless you already have more than 50,000 followers willing to throw rubies at your feet. But you only need 1,000 people to give you $100 a year and you will be living more comfortably than most, especially since the overhead expenses other than taxes are, in my case, Substack (10%) and Stripe (3%).
I realize everyone’s financial situation is different. But if you’re able, my recommendation would be to give away your work for at least a month to show subscribers what they can expect from your product.
Beyond that, the biggest thing is you have to be consistent. If you’re going to take money from people, it’s reasonable that they should expect your product to arrive when you say it will.
Because even in the deepest depth of my alcoholism, I was able to maintain a five-day-a-week publishing schedule. I give myself 14 days of vacation a year, but posting runs in my veins to the point I’ve written dispatches from Canada, Mexico, Puerto Rico, Costa Rica, Cuba, France, Ireland, a handful of states outside Ohio. You must keep the wheel turning, especially in the early days of the operation.
Were all those posts Pulitzer-worthy? Only in my own mind. But even when I was living an undisciplined life, my consistency with The Rooster kept The Business Line moving in the right direction, albeit slowly and humbly.
That consistency, however, meant that I was in position to take advantage when the big break came.
The Rooster bombed Urban Meyer in his own restaurant and led to a profile in The Wall Street Journal. The Rooster also exposed Jeni Britton Bauer as an ice cream tyrant who got rich off treating her workers like shit.
But those were small potatoes to publishing a compromising photograph of State Rep. Derek Merrin (R-Monclova Twp.) and the disgraced Wes Goodman mere days before Merrin was set to become Speaker of the Ohio House.
On the day of the vote, I was in a manic mode from smoking way too much medical marijuana, and I thought to myself, “What’s the last thing these bums would expect me to do?” And I got on my bike and pedaled the two miles to the Statehouse.
If you’re reading this far, you know what happened next, as my reporting was vindicated by Merrin falling through the floor into a pit of venomous snakes in front of his assembled friends and family from across the state.
But it wasn’t until weeks later—smoking a cigarette with my former drinking buddy Joe outside The Patio on Sullivant Avenue—when he told me about “Free Speech Audits.”
I’d be good at them, he said. But upon inspection of YouTube videos involving “Free Speech Auditors,” I didn’t feel like making a living by harassing salaried employees at government institutions. They already deal with enough nonsense.
But then I had an epiphany about the Statehouse. It was a shooting gallery in the First Amendment sense. And I was definitely willing to unleash my honkey hog talk on politicians in person after years of doing it in a newsletter written by the neighborhood drunk.
Anonymity is a liability, and video goes further than the written world
Though it’s never been my style, you can be effective in this game by posting anonymously. However, anonymity is a liability if you want to stick your thumb in the eye of rich and/or influential people. And it will only get you so far with the masses because, in this day and age, anybody can say anything from behind a keyboard.
Thankfully, the way my ego is set up, I want my enemies to know it was me. And while it’s somewhat disturbing knowing that there are a lot of powerful people waiting in the shadows to either cause or celebrate my downfall, I’ve found that anyone who recognizes me on the street is thankful that some beautiful idiot is willing to act like a lightning rod. The people who don’t like me outside the Statehouse only seem to exist on the internet.
That said, never underestimate the power of typing deranged sentences into the internet. But I had been doing that for roughly four years before I arrived on Capitol Square. And The Business Line has gone bonkers in the two years that I have.
I’ll always prefer the written word. But we live in a video world, for better or worse. It’s one thing to read about Rep. Bill Dean (R-Xenia) saying he doesn’t believe a husband can rape his wife if they live together. It’s another thing to see him on video callously laughing on video after what he called a “great vote” and getting gradually angrier over being questioned about his worldview.
But confronting politicians is a fine line to walk. Cussing them out, while tempting, won’t go far with helping you build an audience. If you’re talking shit, at least try to do it in a jovial, humorous way (like telling Jon Husted, who has a microwaved Gumby doll where his brain is supposed to be, that his pants don’t fit).
Humor cuts a lot deeper with casual viewers than stone-cold preacher, and that’s something that took me a little bit to learn.
At the end of the day, Americans loathe politicians. And politicians inherently look guilty if they’re running from repetitive, simple questions. And if they assault you, you’ll be paid out before you hit the floor.
Don’t be scared of them! Most of them, especially on the state and local level, can’t think outside of the script their handlers feed them before media hits.
Politicians running like bugs will do well for viral videos. But viral videos generally don’t pay. And personally, I have come to prefer standing and having a casual conversation with politicians since it’s more informative and interesting for people that will pay you for the information.
That isn’t to say there won’t be Bust Ups in the 136th General Assembly. There will be.
But I feel I have proven my point in that regard, and I’m satisfied with the access I gained through conquest. I’d rather provide the free-flowing, long-form video conversations with influential politicians that nobody else on Capitol Square seems interested in replicating.
But watch what I do in Washington D.C. this spring when I make my landing. I’m going to run the Statehouse playbook and get the same results. I’ll bust up the likes of Ted Cruz in a humorous fashion and then the smart politicians will fall in line since it’s easier to just answer the handsome man’s questions.
What makes the Statehouse unique
The biggest problem with trying to replicate this blueprint is that the Statehouse only exists in Columbus. It’s an expansive, beautiful building that happens to be filled with very ugly people (myself included).
But it’s basically a public park. You can roam through roughly 95 percent of the building. There are a combined 132 State Representatives and Senators, without even counting the statewide politicians of past and present or C-list celebrities that come walking through those doors.
Compare that to City Council, where nine elected officials can drive into a private garage, ascend to their dais through a private stairwell, issue their decrees, and then return to the stairwell and drive home.
You can’t linger around City Hall. You have to show ID to enter. The only content you can consistently make is giving them three minutes of Hell in public comment, which I’ve done before. But if you do that every week, you start to look like a crackpot. Or worse, a repetitive bore, which is the worst thing in this business to be.
The Statehouse offers a scenic backdrop and every type of personality imaginable. And since it’s a public square where everyone is welcome, it’s easy to build relationships and establish a network of people willing to feed you tips and gossip in casual conversation.
My advice: Start with the workers. Get to know their names. Make them laugh. Ask how their days are going and be generally interested in their responses. You’d be amazed at how many politicians can’t pass that simple hurdle of humanity, and those workers will be sympathetic if not outright amused by you badgering politicians.
Closing thoughts
Don’t worry too much about gear at first. When I originally started doing Bust Ups in February 2023, I used an iPhone 11. Six months later, I bought a GoPro Max. And then earlier this year, I purchased an Osmo Pocket 3, which I still use today.
I contract my brand graphic design through Fiverr.
For video editing, I use CapCut.
If you don’t know anything about video editing… don’t worry. I didn’t either. But it’s something anyone can do. Just watch some YouTube clips for “Osmo Pocket 3 beginner tips” or “CapCut basics” and you’ll be a pro in no time. Sometimes I marvel at how far I’ve come in two years—and I still have a long way to go.
Remember: Viewers tolerate sketchy video. But they will never tolerate sketchy audio. Busting up politicians—thinking on the fly and keeping them in frame—is an attainable skill but only through practicing. And you can only practice in the heat of battle.
It’s a rewarding line of work. And even if you don’t get rich, you only need a couple hundred folks willing to pay for your work to take care of your bills or a nice annual vacation if you have a day job.
Private equity gremlins liquidating the newspaper industry has been terrible for our country. But it’s provided an opening to information-craved citizens who can bust chops and dispense news in a humorous (and mostly accurate) fashion. I don’t see that trend going away any time soon, either.
If you have any more questions that weren’t answered, feel free to comment below or send me an email. Together, maybe one day we can get this country back on track.
THOSE WMDs. Wealth helped one Texas man hide his abuse until he hired a hitman… The most polarizing thing on wheels… Why there won’t be a German Trump… My dad, the pornographer… Earl Badu jumped off a bridge 10 years after hitting the most iconic shot in Maryland basketball history.
Using skills for such sustainable good. The development is astonishing. Thank you for sharing.