Running with John McAfee, the Antidote to “Running with the Devil”

So, maybe you tried your hand at clown school and after a semester decided that you would try your hand at this journalism thing. The pay isn’t great, but these days the two professions are practically indistinguishable— So, why not? 

Maybe this new career path resulted in you getting assigned to the “movie reviews” department at The Guardian or Esquire, and maybe they asked you to review “Running with the Devil: The Wild World of John McAfee.” Well— Maybe your semester at clown school didn’t prepare you for all the reading and research and talking to primary sources which would’ve helped in composing a story which had a semblance of being grounded in reality.

If this describes you, you’re not alone. There are tens of thousands of people who self-identify as journalists, who have found their way to the profession after realizing they couldn’t cut it in the hard-knocks world of clowning. These so-called journalists (like Laura Martin from Esquire) have been writing about the film– somehow without having watched it. The film thoroughly debunks the decade-old’s smear of Rocco Castoro, which falsely claims that he leaked geodata in a photo of he and McAfee, while embedded with McAfee as a journalist for VICE. And yet, Martin insists on repeating these claims– apparently because she wants to go back to clown school.

Similarly, Michael Hogan of The Guardian pulls the same shit.

If you’re just a regular movie fan, or have an interest in McAfee, there is an antidote to the sea of disinformation on the topic flowing like raw sewage through the streets.

Castoro, (with the help of producer Emily Molli), has got a podcast called “Devil in the Details: Running with John McAfee.”  Admittedly, I’m responsible for some of the artwork related to the show— so fuck me and my biased opinion. That said, Rocco’s wit, insight and investigative prowess are unmatched by any of the clown-school-dropouts in the corporate press. Give it a listen, or I will send Rocco to your house to mock you to your face. We know where you live, Bozos!

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