MONEY & FREEDOM Black Market Playbook: FULL GUIDE (Forbidden Cheat Codes for Money, Danger, Freedom)
Burn This After Reading underground guide to Escaping slave and finding freedom and more.
Get Rich, Get Free, Get Dangerous
Black Market Edition
I woke up this morning with sunlight groping it’s way across my perfect face, pooling in my mouth like stolen honey. The laughter hit me first. Wild, uncontrollable laughter, crawling up my throat like an uninvited guest. I stretched, back cracking deliciously, abs flexing effortlessly beneath sun goldened skin, and laughed even harder, loud enough to startle the neighbors, loud enough to make God roll his eyes and smirk.
No alarm. No rush. No carefully color coded calendar designed to remind me of some bullshit meeting about quarterly meetings or synergy or corporate culture. I burned that recently with a beautiful bottle of Mezcal and a middle finger. Nothing to do, nowhere to be, and the sickest part, the part that nearly made me roll right back into sleep's velvet arms, was that I've never been happier in my fucking life.
freedom feels exactly like waking up and realizing you're getting away with murder, every single day. Most people spend their whole lives practicing their funeral routines. Commuting, small talking, choking on fake laughs at their boss’s recycled jokes, setting alarms to pay mortgages on houses they're never home to enjoy. Not me. Not you, not if you're reading this.
I stepped barefoot onto the cool tile floor, sun warming my chest, white linen Ralph Lauren shirt draped open like I was auditioning for the cover of a romance novel. I wandered out into the violet pre dawn haze, sand still clinging stubbornly to my shins from last night's midnight swim. The sky couldn’t decide whether it wanted to rise or stay put just to watch me win. My phone buzzed gently
Payment received.
Another buzz.
Payment received.
Buzz again, like the universe was sliding tribute under my door, whispering, “Keep existing, you beautiful son of a bitch.” Honestly, I don’t even know what the hell these payments are for anymore maybe someone bought a guide, subscribed to the Substack, read a story that punched them square in the gut, made an order and made them decide they could never return to mediocrity. Do you care? Money adores a man who treats it like a casual fling, never needy, never desperate, always ready to walk away with a smirk.
I strolled down to the ocean, the sand cool under my feet, air sharp and tingling like expensive champagne bubble bath bubbles.(I did this recently with my girl//got very fucking way too much drunk) The sea stretched flat and endless as polished glass. Waves whispered my name, promising adventures I hadn't even dreamed up yet. You want a real beautiful secret? I haven't done what you'd call "work" in months. I've simply been existing, breathing, writing words that cut, inspire, and terrify the shit out of anyone living a half life.
I've turned my existence into an art form so audacious, so flagrantly illegal feeling, that sometimes I think Interpol is going to knock on my door and charge me with crimes against conventional living.
You want to know the real luxury? Waking up each day, rolling over and looking at my girl whose beauty makes the sunrise insecure. She asks softly, "Where next? Thailand? Greece? Maybe Costa Rica again?" I shrug and smile, "Wherever we want, sweetheart. Or nowhere at all. Surprise me." Try fitting that kind of freedom into your Google spreadsheet lame ass corporate work I am mature calendar.
After breakfast, black coffee, papaya dripping down my chin, sun scorching my perfect face I paddle out to catch a perfect left at the reef break, riding it back in laughing hysterically, my head thrown back, taunting seagulls like a victorious, salty skinned prophet. By noon I'm on my third Corona, condensation running down the bottle faster than sweat down my chest, flipping casually through flights I don't even need, because options are the ultimate flex.
I can go anywhere.
I can do anything.
People keep asking how I "manifested" this life, like it's some cosmic secret. Spoiler alert buster rhymes I didn't manifest shit. I cheated. I hacked the system, rigged the game, and kept playing long after the other suckers packed up their Monopoly boards and cried themselves home.
I'm telling you this from the edge of paradise, salt crystals drying in my hair, sun burning the edges of my vision, laughter still glittering in my teeth like tiny golden diamonds. I didn’t extend my life by counting calories or doing pilates at sunrise, I extended it by living wider, more reckless, more beautifully unhinged. By living as if death is a bill collector and I’ve already faked my own demise.
Here's what the yacht club phonies, the podcast gurus, and the trust fund fakes will never, ever admit. The only real currency is time, and the only real flex is absolute, shameless freedom. Everyone else is on a hamster wheel, shouting about motivation and “productivity hacks,” about optimizing their morning routines, hoping someone finally gives them a gold star for perfect attendance.
I burned the hamster wheel and the hamster with it and laughed while it lit the sky.
Right now, my Substack numbers are soaring, not because I hustle or grind or network at cocktail parties, but because I live like a pirate king and write like a mythological creature who just discovered there are no rules to writing and I do not have to listen to anybody. People follow because authenticity is rare, freedom is intoxicating, and brutal honesty delivered with a smirk is addictive as hell.
Most people swear they’re playing life on easy mode, thinking they’ve got it all figured out, but the joke's on them. The game is rigged, the rules are illusions, and the only way out is to hack and torch the entire fucking manual.
This isn't advice. This isn't self improvement.
This is a toolkit for outlaws, pirates, and rebels who've finally realized they don’t like rules, they're too smart, too dangerous, and too alive to stand in line.
If you finish reading this and don't immediately start living louder, richer, and freer then you chickened out. And you’ll never forget the moment you almost had it all.
Welcome to the dark web of freedom.
Swallow the Pill. Everything You Know Is a Scam
Here’s your first red pill. No sugar, no water, just jam it down your fucking throat and feel it shred all the way to your gut. I want it to hurt. Pain means you’re not brain dead yet. Watch the World flicker, the wallpaper of your childhood start to peel. This is the kind of thing they’d fire your favorite teacher for even hinting at. The sort of secret that gets you kicked out of family group chats and flagged for behavioral intervention.
School: The Assembly Line for Obedient Livestock
You think school was meant to make you smarter? That’s adorable.
School was built by bored industrialists, mustachioed robber barons, and grey little bureaucrats so their factories would be full of compliant, punctual, napkin brained drones who’d never dare question why the bell rings every hour. Every bell was modeled after the factory whistle. Every desk is obviously just a cubicle in training. Every standardized test is a simulation for mindless labor. Every “group project” is a preview of taking the blame for someone else’s fuck up.
You didn’t learn to think. You learned to wait.
Wait for permission to talk, to move, to piss. Memorize, regurgitate, repeat until your spirit’s so worn out you actually feel proud to get a gold star for coloring inside the lines. They train you to be a parrot with anxiety, a machine that rings the bell and dreams of weekends and personal days.
Ever try to debate a teacher? Ever ask why the right answer is the one that fits the multiple choice? You get a detour straight to the principal’s office, a warning call home, maybe a little chat with the counselor. Critical thinking and Creativity? Questioning the rules? You might as well moon the flag at the school assembly. They don’t want fire they want foam. They don’t want minds they want meat to enslave and arrange their brains to their optimized group thinking.
School doesn’t upgrade your intelligence.
It upgrades your compliance firmware, programs you to apologize for having your own ideas, rewards you for never rocking the boat, and spits you out just smart enough to fill out forms and just dumb enough to never realize you’re being mugged for your one short life.
And what does the valedictorian get? “Most likely to say yes, sir, and thank you for the extra shift.”
The system only ever rewards the smoothest cog.
You want to really learn? You have to unlearn everything they stamped into your head in those cold, plastic chairs.
This whole machine? Burn it. Nuke it from orbit.
Right now it’s nothing but day care for the children of the distracted, run by the mediocre, funded by the frightened. If you want to be free, you have to get dangerous. Start by refusing to sit still, raise your hand, and wait for permission ever again.
JOBS: MODERN SLAVE
We used to build pyramids with whips and chains; now we build someone else’s dream with Slack notifications and “team culture.” The whip is gone, but the leash got shorter.
Don’t believe me? Look at your paycheck, then look at the price of rent or the house you want.
Look at the hours you spend on TikTok or Instagram, mainlining a highlight reel of people with nicer lives, fatter asses, bigger houses. You’re not just working, you’re volunteering for slavery because consumerism has convinced you that you’re one pair of Jordans away from being happy.
You are willingly working yourself into the grave so you can buy shit you don’t need, show off for people you don’t like, and keep playing the game nobody even asked if you wanted to play.
You want to know why there will never be a real revolt?
Because every modern slave thinks they’re one bonus or raise away from “making it.” Because the chains are invisible and the cage has a barista and a ping pong table.
If you work for someone else, if your earning potential is capped by an HR spreadsheet, if you trade your time for a wage, you are a slave in a new plantation. You just don’t get whipped. You get “performance reviews.”
And most people will never revolt, because they’re addicted to the dopamine drip of the next big purchase.
If you’re reading this, it means you feel it, maybe for the first time. You can taste the chain in your mouth, metallic and cold, and you want out.
Good. That’s the first step.
Money: The Biggest, Dirtiest Magic Trick in History
The blackest pill I can hand you about money: You work 40, 50, 60 hours a week, sweating for a currency that is printed out of thin air by people you will never meet.
Central banks, those secretive old men in suits, have the literal power to invent trillions of dollars with a few keystrokes.
Meanwhile, you trade hours of your one, finite, unrepeatable life for an hourly wage and every year, that money is worth less. Inflation has gone nuclear. Your cost of living has doubled, tripled, and your wage? Still waiting for that cost of living adjustment when they could have given you a bigger raise.
You kill yourself to save, and your savings melt faster than ice cream in hell.
They tell you to be “frugal” and “responsible” and “budget better,” while they print money like they’re drunk at the casino.
You want to know why nobody gets rich on a salary? Because nobody is supposed to get rich on a salary.
Every salary is a leash. Every capped earning potential is a cell. You can’t get rich selling your time, because the rich already bought the time machine.
If you’re not playing the money game with ownership, leverage, and risk, you’re just meat in the grinder, and they’ll replace you the minute you squeak.
Advice: Poison In a Fortune Cookie
You ever wonder why every piece of “mainstream advice” sounds like it was written by a mildly concussed substitute teacher who the kids fucking laughed and picked on.
Because it was.
Every “motivational” quote in a boardroom, every pastel colored infographic about “resilience,” every fuck telling you to “rise and grind, king” all of it was designed to keep you sedated, obedient, and, worst of all, average. So mediocre and average and repellent.
They want you to keep your head down, your dreams small, and your Amazon cart full.
It’s not advice. It’s anesthesia.
It’s a Trojan horse with a smiley face sticker, slipped right past your critical thinking, burrowing deep into your soul and convincing you that “working hard” is a virtue. For who? Your boss’s third house in Aspen? Your CEO’s fifth wife? You don’t get paid in virtue. You get paid in dollars, and they’re busy printing more of them while you eat your Lean Cuisine in the break room, dreaming about one extra paid sick day a year.
Let’s break down their little poison fortune cookie
Work hard! (For who? The guy who’d sell your job to a robot if he could write off the shipping?)
Play nice! (So you never start a riot.)
Network! (So you can practice brown nosing rich people and pretending you like golf.)
Save for retirement! (So you can spend your golden years pissing into a cup in a “luxury” home that smells like regret and lavender air freshener.)
Be grateful! (So you don’t question why you’re the only one working and everyone above you is on a yacht.)
You think anyone who ever stormed the castle, ran off with the princess, or started a war listened to a podcast called “10 Habits of Highly Effective people”? Get fucking real.
You think the pirates and outlaws who rewrote the rules ever had a “morning routine” that involved gratitude journaling and green smoothies? No. They woke up, chose violence, and lit their maps on fire because the only real map is the one you draw in blood.
Advice that actually works:
Cheat the game. (Don’t just play rewrite the instructions and sell them back to the sheep.)
Own the machine. (If you’re not in control, you’re being controlled. Period.)
Break the fucking script. (Whatever you’re “supposed” to do, do the opposite. Unless you want to die with a perfect record and nothing to show for it.
That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?
Because there’s a voice in you, something primal that can smell the scam on everyone. You’re allergic to groupthink. You want to bite the hand that feeds you, fuck the rules, and piss on the walls of your own cage just to watch the zookeepers panic.
You know this world is rigged. You can taste it, like blood in your mouth after a bar fight.
School is a Factory farm for the soul.
Jobs are plantations, slightly more polite than the old ones but just as soul succubus sucking.
Money is A hallucination controlled by men with an ugly face who could not care less about you.
Advice is Fucking sedation, pumped into your brain until you forget you were ever dangerous. It’s self masterbatory with no action
The only people who ever win, the only people are the ones who swallow the pill, see through the bullshit, and decide to play the game like a bank robber with nothing to lose.
You want a peek at what’s inside?
The rich have their own set of rules, and none of them involve budgeting for almond milk or clipping coupons.
There are loopholes hidden in plain sight, and the world will hate you for using them right up until they beg you to teach them.
If you’re not willing to piss someone off, you’ll never be free.
A cage is still a cage even if you posses wings You’re not here for vanilla. You’re not here for motivational tweets You’re here because something inside you is screaming for the keys to the vault, the backdoor, the escape hatch. Once you’ve glimpsed these codes, your old life is over.
You’ll see this realm for what it is.
You’ll spot the puppet strings in every handshake, see the trap in every handshake, and taste the acid of mediocrity every time you’re near someone who’s settled.
This isn’t self help it’s a jailbreak.
Go any further and you’re officially a coconspirator.
Walk away now, and you’ll spend the rest of your life haunted by the moment you knew the vault was open, but you froze. Most people will chicken out right here. They’ll rationalize. They’ll tell themselves, “I’ll come back.” But you and I both know they never do.
But if you stay if you have the balls to cross the line and buy your way in you’re not just reading. You’re downloading contraband. You’re wiring classified intelligence straight into your bloodstream.
Read now, while you still can. This might be the last time these codes are ever leaked. I may have to pull this down and turn it into a black market bible off limits to the public, priceless to the few who got in early.
You’re picking up weapons for a war most men don’t even know is happening.
You’ll start seeing angles and openings in the system nobody else is even wired to notice.
There’s knowledge in the next pages that is not meant for the public, will never be on YouTube, and will never leave this room.
You will know what only the top one percent, the real outlaws, the architects, the string pullers know.
Behind this paywall is the forbidden blueprint. Once you’re inside, you’re one of us dangerous, untouchable, and permanently changed.
This is your last warning.
Turn the page, torch your escape route, and join the ranks of those who refused to die anonymous. The rest of this guide is for the ones who never fit, never folded, and never, ever accepted a cage.
If you want safety, go buy another lie.
If you want freedom, hit buy.
Welcome to outlaw school.
The vault’s open. The map’s inside. All you have to do is walk through.
Index of Contraband: What’s Locked Behind the Vault
2. Hunt the Exploits Where the Rules Don’t Apply
Every system has a glitch, every marketplace a blind spot. Arbitrage is legalized theft
The “unfair edge” mindset: loopholes > labor
Why approval is a scam if you aren’t pissing someone off, you’re livestock
Dirty Arbitrage Case Files: online, street, travel, even romance
How to exploit unwritten rules, digital black holes, and invisible margins
3. Cheat Code #1: Information Heist
The rich don’t invent they steal, remix, and sell. Learn how to:
Spot and snatch the hidden gold
Reverse engineer your way into any market
Gatekeep, spin, and weaponize knowledge
Package your skills for sale to the lazy and the lost
Bonus: Black hat skill jacking level up with zero permission
4. Cheat Code #2: Cult Branding Turn Yourself Into Contraband
Don’t be “liked.” Be unforgettable adored or hated.
Storytelling as spellcasting
My blueprint for engineered scandals and viral mythmaking
Why you only need 100 fanatics to buy your freedom
FOMO, mystique, controversy make your life an unmissable event
Dark Arts: Manufacturing proof, polarizing the room, bending the narrative
5. Cheat Code #3: Platforms, Not Paychecks
Burn your resume. Become your own bank.
How to use Substack, X, Instagram, TikTok as black market cash machines
Audience = power; attention = leverage
Steal skills, build leverage, never work a “job” again
Pirate Playbook: High ticket offers, loyal tribes, digital rivers of cash
6. Cheat Code #4: Ruthless Prioritization The 90/10 Outlaw Rule
Savages don’t do busywork.
The 80/20 myth and why 90/10 is the killer’s ratio
Cut the fat: people, ideas, habits gone
Build and enforce your own “Do Not Do” list
Savage case studies: ruthless focus in love, money, and war
7. Cheat Code #5: Residual (Never Passive) Income Machines
Make money so easily it feels criminal.
Residual income > “passive” bullshit
Systems: info products, affiliate rackets, Airbnbs, digital assets, recurring fees
Money while you surf, sin, vanish, or start a revolution
Legal, creative, and outlaw automation
8. Cheat Code #6: The Art of War (and Seduction) for Modern Outlaws
Politeness is for peasants learn to conquer.
Negotiation as blood sport
Frame, reframe, close, walk away
Chaos is a weapon become the storm
Broadcast myth, weaponize your legend
Dirty Moves: Power scripts for business, love, and betrayal
9. Cheat Code #7: Play Infinite, Not Finite Games
Why winners never stop only upgrade.
Build games that pay out forever
Stack skills, platforms, and people until you become the house
The “glitch life”: always one hack ahead of the herd
Infinity Hacks: never run out of money, moves, or enemies
CHAPTER: THE SECRET KNOWLEDGE AND PRINCIPLES OF OUTLAW LAGOON LIVING
Did someone say freedom?
CHAPTER: The Game Only Gets Dirtier And You’re Still Here
There’s no finish line only higher stakes.
Why “retirement” is death for outlaws
How the best keep leveling up: new games, new legends, new weapons
10. Final Boss Mode: Freedom Is The Only Scoreboard
If you’re not free, you’re not winning.
How to buy time, options, and vanishing power
The Day System: rebel’s code, mythic swagger, unkillable spirit
Living “uncaged” make your own law, disappear at will
11. The Download: Your 30-Day Black Market Starter Kit
A tactical escape route use it or stay in the cage.Step by step: break free, print money, never get caught
Dirty scripts, forbidden templates, hacks they never teach
The 7 Day Rulebreaker Challenge: become legend or get exiled
Bootcamp for rebels: what to trash, what to start, what to launch
Money & Freedom Tie-In
Every cheat code = cash, leverage, or actual power
Money is a weapon spend it buying back your life
Freedom is never being told to sit, beg, or ask again
Black Market Bonus
Forbidden Cheat Codes for REAL life application for Outlaws
Outlaw tips & illegal wisdom after every chapter stuff you can’t repeat
The Day Rules: burn after reading
Interactive challenges: break the system, send proof get infamous30 Day STEP BY STEP PLAN TO FREEDOM AND MY CREW(;
“Exit the realm” guide: move in silence, stay untouchable, never go back
WHAT I BELIEVE IN
Good to fucking see you, you glorious, deranged son of a bitch. Finally decided to kick down the door, flip the table, and stop politely begging for scraps, didn’t you? You bought your ticket to outlaw school because somewhere deep inside your chest, behind the bullshit rules, polite smiles, and practiced apologies you’re just as disgusted as I am by a world designed by gutless, unimaginative little men no smarter than you who are terrified of your freedom.