Shat Rag News

08/30/2025

📰🚨 S**T RAG NEWS – THUMB MICHIGAN RAMPAGE 🚨📰

🌽 Cornfields in the Thumb look like 💀. USDA said 180+ bushels, farmers out here barely squeezing 149. Drought + disease = popcorn dreams only.

🥛 Milk prices? Don’t even ask. Cows eating gold-plated corn at this point. Your latte about to cost more than your car payment.

⚖️ Courtroom Drama:
- Sebewaing drunk driver got prison. 🍺➡️🚔
- Dude threatened to rob a bank in Tuscola 🤡➡️💸➡️🏛️
- Harbor Beach has felony stalkers keeping Tinder interesting 💌🔪
- Sanilac lady caught in welfare fraud 💰➡️🙃➡️🚫
- Bad Axe s*x offender “forgot” to register—judge didn’t forget 📝✖️

🚁 Caseville: Helicopter crash! Lucky no one got minced.
🚐 Huron County cops chased a minivan at 120 mph. The van’s still crying.
🧑‍🦱 Missing autistic teen in Tuscola, family says cops moving slower than dial-up internet.

👮‍♂️ Bad Axe PD wrote 27 tickets in the school zone before lunch. Kids safer, wallets lighter.

🏥 Sanilac County: Feds dropping $74 MILLION for a new hospital. Probably still no parking spots.

🌦️ Weather: Cold mornings, warm afternoons. Rip currents in Lake Huron—don’t drown trying to Instagram the sunset.

💸 Crops: Corn=gold . Soybeans praying for rain 🙏. Farmers calling it “unprofitable.” Translation: your grocery bill still gonna skyrocket.

🔥 THE THUMB IS ON ONE 🔥
From busted crops to busted court dates—Michigan’s middle finger never disappoints.

07/30/2025

Part two dropping this afternoon 😉

The Tuscola County Sheriff's Office is investigating shots fired outside a party in Koylton Township that damaged several vehicles.

07/29/2025

07/27/2025

07/26/2025

By early afternoon, Shay Lake was alive with tension, sweat, and cheap beer. Kris had already shown up around 10 a.m. with a hog roasted so perfectly it looked like something outta a Food Network crime scene. Folks were milling around, poking at potato salad and staring awkwardly at Rampage, who’d been standing by the picnic table like a rattlesnake coiled in denim and regret.

The whole crew was there: Two-Tooth Tammy chain-smoking Newports behind the camper, Dallas Alice on her second glass of boxed Chardonnay, and Truckstop Jody, already three shots in and posted up like she owned the damn lake.

Cowboy Troy showed up in that gleaming purple Kenworth, boots hitting the ground with that slow, heavy step—part confidence, part "what the hell am I walking into?" And riding shotgun in his pickup was Kendra, his current flame. She was dressed in tight jeans, a ribbed tank top, hoop earrings big enough to pick up CB signals, and an attitude you could smell from across the fire pit.

Now here’s where things got real.

The DNA results had come in that morning, and they weren’t wasting time. Rampage slammed the envelope on the folding table like it was a warrant. Jody popped her gum and whispered, “Bout damn time.”

Two-Tooth Tammy stood next to her, gripping Jody’s hand like she already knew. Dallas Alice stood across from them, arms crossed and chin high.

Rampage cleared his throat. “Truckstop Jody… you’re my daughter. From Tammy.”

Jody blinked twice, then laughed. “Well sh*t. That explains a hell of a lot.”

He turned to Troy. “And you… you’re mine too. From Alice.”

Troy didn’t say a word. Just stared at the dirt like it had secrets he needed answers to.

Then it happened.

Kendra, standing just off to the side with her arms crossed, mumbled just loud enough for it to travel across the smoke and noise:
**“Well, at least now I don’t gotta worry about that bitch trying to f*** on my man.”**

And Jody. Heard. Every. Word.

The fire crackled. A beer can dropped. And all hell broke loose.

Jody launched at Kendra like she’d been training for it in a bar fight gym. The two of them hit the dirt, swinging, scratching, cussing like it was pay-per-view. Kendra grabbed a fistful of Jody’s hair and yelled, “Get off me, Dollar Store Barbie!”

Jody swung back with a right hook that rattled earrings and pride. “I ain’t never wanted your crusty-ass boyfriend, b*tch, he’s my BROTHER!”

Around the fire, a group of half-drunk cousins started hootin’ like it was a rodeo. Somebody yelled “WORLDSTAR!” and two other dudes started fighting just because they didn’t like each other anyway.

Then someone—no one knows who—fired **three rounds into the air** from a .22 pistol.

Silence fell for two beats. Then someone shouted:

**“COPS ARE COMIN’!”**

And just like that, the whole party turned into a raccoon raid. People diving into pickups, beer coolers dumped, someone drove off with the hog still strapped to the smoker. One guy grabbed a folding chair and a bag of Doritos and ran into the woods like it was Vietnam.

Rampage just stood there, arms crossed, shaking his head.

“Goddamn. I was gonna read ‘em a poem.”

---

To be continued in Part 2.

07/26/2025

Chapter 3: Friday’s Heat, Saturday’s Storm

The sun was just startin’ to roast the dew off the cornfields when Cowboy Troy rolled outta the bunk. His purple W900 sat parked behind the Clark truck stop at M-24 and M-46, chicken lights still cooling from the night run. The CB was quiet now, but the conversations from yesterday wouldn’t quit replayin’ in his head.

Rampage.

Dallas Alice.

Truckstop Jody.

The idea that he might be Rampage’s son was still settling in like a diesel leak—slow, sticky, and not something you ignore.

He reached for his phone and shot a message to Rampage:

Troy: You sure you don’t remember a one-night stand in Memphis with a gospel singer who had a knife tattooed on her neck?

No reply. Classic Rampage.

⸻

Back in Michigan, Rampage was already up, pacing the living room at Dallas Alice’s trailer like a caged coonhound. No shirt, pajama pants tucked into mismatched boots, and a cold McDonald’s coffee clutched like a damn lifeline.

“You better not be screwin’ with me, Alice,” he growled, squintin’ at the stack of old photos and a manila envelope she claimed was full of ‘answers.’

Alice, unfazed, stirred her Folgers and shrugged. “DNA test’s tomorrow. You’ll both be here, and we’ll see.”

Rampage grumbled. “This is why I don’t go to family reunions. Every time I do, someone shows up pregnant or cryin’.”

⸻

Down in Marlette, Jody was sittin’ on the tailgate of her F-350 Cowgirl Edition, CB radio balanced between her knees, scanning the chatter. That’s when she heard the tail end of Cowboy Troy’s conversation with some mystery woman he met at Scott’s Quick Stop.

Kendra (on CB): You wanna grab dinner tonight, handsome? You pick the place. I like trouble.

Troy: Trouble’s my middle name. Right after Big Damn Mistake.

Jody clicked her mic but didn’t speak. Just held the button down and let the silence burn.

⸻

Meanwhile, Cody was outta the picture for the day—still holed up in Tijuana with Sadie, both of them gettin’ their teeth fixed and avoidin’ the kind of food that leaves you prayin’ for death at a border truck stop.

Still, he texted Rampage:

Cody: You better not screw up the DNA test, and for God’s sake, don’t sleep with Jody’s aunt again. We ain’t got the family tree space for that kinda in**st.

Rampage replied with a picture of a squirrel holdin’ a cigarette and the caption:

“Mind ya damn business.”

⸻

By late Friday afternoon, the cookout plans for Saturday were blowin’ up faster than gossip at a beauty salon. Alice had burgers, beans, and a case of Milwaukee’s Best on standby. Tammy was makin’ her “famous” deviled eggs, which gave everybody heartburn and regrets.

The CB was alive again by sundown. Jody was drivin’ slow past the fairgrounds when she keyed up:

Jody: Heard Troy’s bringin’ a guest to the cookout tomorrow. Anyone got eyes on this Kendra chick?

Rampage (from the porch): If she’s wearin’ leopard print and smells like v**e juice, that’s my cue to go home early.

Troy (click): She’s respectable. Clean truck. Clean record. Can’t say that about half of y’all.

Jody: I’d rather deal with my ex-boyfriend’s parole officer than trust a girl who keeps a flat iron in her glovebox.

⸻

Friday night ended quiet, but tension was stackin’ like pallets in a hot warehouse.

Tomorrow’s cookout was shaping up to be more than burgers and lawn chairs.

It was gonna be a reunion, a reveal, and possibly a reckoning.

And Troy? He was headin’ into it with boots shined, gloves off, and a girl on his arm who might just set the whole damn place on fire.

07/25/2025

My name’s Tammy… and I’m an alcoholic.

Ain’t no mystery to anyone who’s known me long enough. For years I walked into every room like I owned the place, but left it lookin’ like a tornado full of dollar bills and broken hearts. I ain’t proud of it—but I ain’t lyin’ about it either. I used to say I was just wild, just free. But the truth was, I was broken. And I drank to keep from feelin’ like a shell. From sixteen up until three months ago, I lived off gas station coffee, cheap whiskey, and whatever man would take me home in his lifted truck. Didn’t matter if he had a wedding ring or a six-toed dog—I just needed to feel wanted, if only for a minute.

My bottom wasn’t dramatic like some folks. I didn’t crash a car or end up in jail. Mine was quiet. I woke up in a stranger’s barn outside Bad Axe with straw stuck in my hair and a half-warm bottle of Fireball under my bra strap. I remember standin’ in that mirror and not even knowin’ the woman lookin’ back at me. My mascara looked like war paint and I had no soul behind my eyes. That was my bottom. Not a bang—just a whisper that said, “You’re done.”

It was a Wednesday night when I stumbled into my first AA meeting. I was still buzzed, smellin’ like day-old tequila and regret. They didn’t kick me out. They just made coffee and scooted over. And I’ll never forget this old priest—Father Gil—from Cass City. He said something that changed my life right then and there. He said, “You can’t preach the hoe out of a bitch… but God can love it out of her.” I laughed so hard I cried. And then I cried because it felt like someone finally saw all the parts of me—messy, loud, bruised—and didn’t flinch.

That night I didn’t say much. I just listened. And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I had to perform. Nobody was askin’ me to look pretty or explain my tattoos. They just nodded, passed the creamer, and shared their truth. I started going every night after that. Every damn night. I traded my mini bottle for a coin. I earned my 24 hours, then 30 days, then 60. And I messed up—Lord knows I did. But I kept showin’ up. And somewhere in that mess, I started gettin’ clean. Not just from the booze—but from the shame, the chaos, the hustle.

It’s been three months now. I’ve got two teeth and one purpose: stay sober and help the next girl who thinks she ain’t worth a damn. I lead meetings. I hug strangers. I wear my scars like a badge. And yeah, I still cuss and wear leopard print and flirt too loud at the IGA—but I ain’t that same girl lookin’ for love at the bottom of a bottle. I’m Tammy. I’m sober. And I’m still wild… just not lost.

I’m from Seattle, Washington—and I’m damn proud of where I came from and where I’m headin’. If nobody’s told you today: You’re worth saving—even if you don’t believe it yet.

Thanks for lettin’ me share.

07/25/2025

07/25/2025

🔥 S**T RAG NEWS — CHAPTER 3: INTERRUPTING VOLCANO
Written by Cody Ostrom & Rampage

⸻

MARLETTE, MICHIGAN – FRIDAY MORNING

The sky over the Thumb was gray and mean-looking—like it knew the family secrets that were about to unravel. Damp fog still hung low over the bean fields as Cowboy Troy climbed out of his sleeper, shook the gravel dust off his boots, and hit the button on his purple Kenworth’s strobe light bar just for the hell of it. That truck didn’t whisper—she announced her presence like a royal horn section.

His CB crackled to life.

“Breaker one-nine, Cowboy Troy, you still chasin’ tail this early or you got time to check in?”
— Truckstop Jody, voice scratchy through the static but clear enough to tell she was already annoyed.

Troy grabbed his mic and smirked.

“Good mornin’ to you too, Darlin’. I’m fueled up and full of breakfast pizza. And for the record, I ain’t chasin’ nothin’—just got a lil date tonight with that cashier from Scott’s Quick Stop in Marlette.”

There was a pause. You could feel the eyebrow raise through the speaker.

“That one with the butterfly tramp stamp and the matching attitude?”

“That’d be the one.”

“Mmm. Ain’t a q***f, Troy. That’s a damn interruptin’ volcano. Loud. Messy. Hot once, but dangerous daily.”

Troy chuckled, digging into his dashboard cooler.

“Well, I’m big and Black, Jody. I reckon I can fill in the fault lines.”

The CB went dead for a second before bursting with Rampage’s voice—he must’ve been listening in from across town.

“Hope you got flood insurance, son! I heard that girl’s been through more gear shifts than a Peterbilt at a hay drag.”

⸻

MEANWHILE… IN TIJUANA

Down in Mexico, Cody was laid back in a cracked vinyl dental chair, Sadie snoring on a towel-covered floor fan. He was halfway numb from lidocaine, waiting on his new teeth, when his phone buzzed.

Caller ID: Two Tooth Tammy

He answered with a half-slurred, half-irritated:

“What in the goat-s**t do you want, Tammy? I’m in a foreign country with a stoned dog and half a smile.”

“You shoulda brought me, Cody. I’d look great with porcelain.”
Tammy was outside Dallas Alice’s place, holding a mimosa in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other. She never lit ‘em. Just chewed ‘em like toothpicks.

“Are y’all ready for this DNA thing or still gossiping like middle school cafeteria workers?”

“Alice is gettin’ her nails done. She says if she’s gonna find out troy is kin to a truck driver, she better be cute enough for a Facebook post.”

“Tell her Rampage ain’t on Facebook. He’s barely on Earth half the time.”

“You ain’t wrong.”

Cody hung up and texted Jody:
“Keep Troy alive til I get back. If he gets that girl pregnant, I’m putting him on nightshift with Kris.”

⸻

BACK ON THE CB — NEAR KINGSTON

Rampage had just finished his third McDonald’s coffee when his old Motorola chirped. It was Dallas Alice.

“Rampage, baby. You gonna be at the hall tomorrow? Me and Tammy gonna need a ride after brunch and I ain’t ridin’ in no Dodge.”

“Long as I don’t see your damn feet on my dash again, I’ll swing by.”

“I’ll wear socks this time.”

“Don’t play games, Alice. This DNA’s serious. If Troy turns out to be mine, I’m gonna need a bigger damn trailer.”

“He already acts like you. All serious and judgy with a side of chaos. And don’t even get me started on that truck of his—it’s got more chrome than your 3rd divorce.”

Rampage chuckled, but deep down, he was shaken. If Troy really was his son, that meant Dallas Alice had pulled one of the greatest long-cons in CB radio history.

⸻

SCOTT’S QUICK STOP – MARLETTE, MI

Troy stood outside the store that night, polishing his boots against the back bumper of his purple W900. His date was late. Of course she was.

Inside her pickup, Truckstop Jody sat watching, arms folded, windows cracked just enough to hear the start of the conversation.

She muttered to herself:

“Well, let’s hope he’s got the stamina of his mama and the judgment of his daddy. Lord help us if he’s got neither.”

⸻

TO BE CONTINUED…
📍 Tomorrow: Chapter 4 — “Blood, Beers, and Brunch”

07/24/2025

📢 S**T RAG NEWS
📝 by Cody Ostrom
“LGBTQ, Not the Plus – Just Be You, That’s Enough”

Let’s get something out of the way right now—I don’t care what your s*xual orientation is. Gay, straight, bi, trans—if you’re happy being yourself and you’re not hurting anybody, then I want you to *be proud of that*. That ain’t sarcasm. That’s truth.

I’ve sat around fires with gay couples, joked around with drag queens at events, and stood next to transgender folks during volunteer drives. I’m not uncomfortable. I’m not some backwoods hillbilly yelling “Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.” That’s not me. Never was.

You know what I *am*? I’m tired. Tired of everything being so damn dramatic.

See, there used to be this strong, unified LGBTQ community. They fought for rights, they demanded to be seen, and they got it. And I *respect* that. That took guts. But somewhere along the way—right around Covid, when everybody got bored and online—it stopped being about unity and started being about chaos.

All of a sudden, there was a plus sign.

And look, I get it—“plus” is supposed to include everybody else. But what’s really happened? That “plus” got hijacked by folks who don’t want acceptance, they want attention. It’s not about love or identity anymore, it’s about starting fights, baiting arguments, and canceling anyone who doesn’t bow down to the latest label of the day.

No one asked regular working folks what they thought. You either clap or you’re the enemy.

Well, I ain’t clapping for confusion.

You wanna be a man and love another man? Go for it. Want to be a woman and marry your girlfriend? Hell yeah, invite me to the wedding. You want to transition and feel like yourself for the first time? I got nothing but respect for that.

But don’t shove it down my throat like I need a flag tattooed on my face or I’m a bigot. I’m not.

I’m Cody Ostrom. I’m a straight, tattooed, broke-down, road-worn trucker who believes people deserve love, but *not special treatment*. You don’t need to rewrite society or bully every bakery in the Midwest to be seen. Just live. Be who you are. That should be enough.

So here’s my stance:
LGBTQ—yes. You are welcome. You are human.
The “plus” that stands for drama and identity games? Miss me with that.
You ain’t gonna guilt me, scare me, or shame me into clapping for crazy.
But I *will* stand shoulder to shoulder with real people who just want to live in peace.

Respect goes both ways. And that’s what we do around here.

— Cody Ostrom
S**t Rag News

07/24/2025

🚨 THIS ISN’T A TREND. THIS IS WAR. 🚨
**Human trafficking is real. It’s here. And if you’re a driver, you’re closer to it than you think.**

My name is Cody Ostrom, and I didn’t just hear about trafficking in a classroom or some soft documentary—I grew up around it. I know the faces. I know the signs. I know what it feels like to see a human being treated like cargo.

That’s why this card matters.
That’s why Diesel Mindset is proud to stand firm with **Truckers Against Trafficking**.
Because we don’t turn a blind eye. Not anymore. Not ever.

# # # What You Need to Know:
Human trafficking doesn’t always look like a duct-taped girl in the back of a white van.
Most of the time, it’s quiet.
It’s a teenage girl standing in line behind you at the Pilot.
It’s the RV in the back lot that hasn’t moved in 3 days.
It’s the young woman who looks terrified but keeps saying “I’m fine” while some dude watches her every move.

If you know how to read the road, you know how to read this too.
We just have to start paying attention.

# # # 2 RED FLAGS EVERY TRUCKER NEEDS TO WATCH FOR:
1. **No control** — If she doesn’t have ID, luggage, or the freedom to speak for herself... that’s a damn problem.
2. **Fear disguised as politeness** — If she looks scared, rehearsed, or overly quiet... that ain’t normal. Your gut will know it. Trust it.

# # # WHAT TO DO:
- **Call:** 1-888-3737-888 (US)
- **Text:** “INFO” or “HELP” to BeFree (233733)
- **Canada:** 1-833-900-1010
- **Mexico:** 01800-5533-000
- **Or go to:** www.TruckersAgainstTrafficking.org

You don’t have to give your name. You don’t have to be a hero.
**You just have to do the right damn thing.**

Because when you pull off that exit and ignore the signs, that girl doesn’t get another chance. And I’ll tell you this—**some of them never make it out.**

We’re not just truckers. We’re watchdogs. We’re protectors.
We’re the ones who see what others miss.

Diesel Mindset doesn’t just talk about freedom. We defend it.
**Every driver on this team stands against trafficking.**
No excuses. No blind eyes. No silence.

You want to be a real man?
Be the one who makes the call.

You want to walk your faith?
Be the one who saves a life.

Because the truth is, you might be the only chance she’s got.

—
**Cody Ostrom**
Founder, Diesel Mindset
CB Handle: Rampage
From pain to purpose, and now? I stand.

07/23/2025

🔞 S**T RAG NEWS – July 23, 2025
🎙 Hosted by: Truckstop Jody
📍 Somewhere between a barn cat’s ass and a Mennonite with a Snap-On toolbox

“Good evenin’ my sweaty, fried-brain, blue-collar bangers. It’s ya girl Jody—officially retired from my lot-lizard legacy, now bringin’ y’all today’s news from the dark corners of Michigan’s Thumb. I’m clean, I’m spicy, and I’m still not wearin’ a bra. Let’s go.”

---

🔥 BREAKING LOCAL HEADLINES:

🚓 **Bad Decisions in Bad Axe** – 36-year-old Dale Shoemaker tried to outrun a cop in a Polaris Ranger after gettin’ caught pissin’ in the post office drop box. Made it 1.3 miles before he got tackled by a Game Warden. He told officers, “I thought it was a decoy cop.” He has a court date Monday. We’ll be there.

💥 **Deckerville Drama** – Somebody’s ex-wife rammed a John Deere riding mower through the front porch of a mobile home over a cat custody argument. Nobody was hurt. The cat, “Bubba G,” was unharmed and is reportedly in the care of the grandmother.

🚜 **Shay Lake S**tshow** – Saturday’s community event now includes a free pancake breakfast, a corn hole tournament, and the DNA test results of Rampage and Cowboy Troy. Pastor Don will be there with a folding table and a 30-pack of Busch Light. No pets allowed unless they can play guitar.

---

🌽 CROP REPORT:
• Corn: $4.52/bu 🌽
• Soybeans: $12.78/bu 🌱
• Hay: Sold out at auction in Ubly, again 🐄
• Milk: Still not worth the labor it takes to sq**rt it out 🐄💦

---

⛅ WEATHER (as told by my left b**b):
• Harbor Beach: Humid as hell. Sweat stickin’ your tank top to your gut by 8:12AM.
• Kingston: Thunderstorms rollin’ in tonight. If you live in a trailer, strap it down and pray.
• Pigeon: Just foggy enough to hit a deer with your hood before you see its eyes glow.

---

🧑‍⚖️ COURT ROLL CALL:
• **Kris Fry** – Cited for “excessive profanity in a church parking lot” after yelling at a broken tailgate.
• **Kyle W.** – Busted in Cass City for “attempted trespassing” after trying to rescue his v**e pen from his ex’s bushes.
• **Dallas Alice’s cousin Tammy Two-Tooth** – Facing loitering charges outside the Dollar General in Marlette after asking passersby if they “wanted a sniff.” Court date: Friday.

---

🕯️ OBITUARY:
R.I.P. to **Randy “Fuzz Nuts” McBride**, age 61. He died peacefully in his recliner, pants half down, TV blaring “Walker, Texas Ranger.” Survived by 3 wives (simultaneously), 14 kids, and a Miniature Pinscher named Doobie. The funeral will be held at the Lapeer Moose Lodge with karaoke to follow.

This is really happening by the way!!! And yes, he does have three wives and 14 kids. None of that is fake.
---

🗣️ RANDOM S**T:

💋 **Jody’s Quote of the Day:**
“Life’s too short to save your good panties for church. Wear ‘em on a Tuesday and feel alive.”

📞 **Rampage Update:**
He just called me on speaker from a Dollar Tree parking lot. Said, and I quote, “The only thing cheaper than their batteries is their clientele.” He’s currently yelling at a squirrel.

🥵 **Cody Update:**
Cody is still meat-deep in a sugar detox. Reportedly told Sadie she “ain’t allowed to look happy” until he gets through day four. He’s been surviving on beef sticks, rage, and ni****ne flashbacks.
Stay strong, big dog. We’re all scared of you.

---

🎤 That’s your S**t Rag News, Thumb-style.
I’m Jody, still wearin’ cut-offs and still speakin’ the truth.

👠 Sponsored by: Rusty’s U-Joint L**e & Fry Bread Stand – "We fix your shaft and feed your face."

💋 Jody out.