Mike Moonshine

SUMMARY

Mike Moonshine walks like a preacher but sings like a man who’s seen the inside of a septic tank — emotionally and literally. He ain’t the loudest, or the filthiest, or even the worst. But he’s the one who remembers.

Where Earl fucked through America, Becky rimmed a whole town, and Pastor Cumshot baptized a biker gang in lube — Mike wrote it all down.

Not to judge. Not to save. Just to understand what the hell went wrong.

He’s the only one who knows how this all connects.

And the only one too stubborn to shut up about it.

“Some folks hear voices. I record ‘em”

– Mike Moonshine

“Mike? That boy don’t fuck like me, don’t drink like Uncle Rick, don’t preach like Cumshot…

but hell, he’s the only one that ever listened long enough to make us legends”

– Uncle Earl

PERSONALITY

EXHAUSTED ORACLE

Knows too much, sings too soft, can’t stop.

TRAILER SCRIBE

Writes truth into filth and back again.

UNHOLY GLUE

Not the loudest prophet — just the only one that listens.

SEMI-SANE HISTORIAN

Remembers what others are too drunk, high, or dead to recall.

STORY

Nobody knows where Mike came from — just that he showed up with a banjo and a notepad, already muttering about “The First Revival.”

He wasn’t a leader.

He wasn’t even all that dirty.

But he saw something in the filth.

Patterns. Voices. A pulse under the piss.

He didn’t preach. He recorded.

Late nights in trailers.

Conversations with ghosts.

Mumbling from jail cells and parking lot prophets.

It started with one verse about a man who fucked a scarecrow.

Then came the stories:

• Earl.

• Becky.

• The Church of the Second Hole.

• A hunchback with a Gucci bag.

• A fleshlight betrayal.

And Mike played. Softly. Wrongly.

With a half-tuned banjo and a voice that cracked like broken vinyl.

And the Cult was born.

Now, they follow him.

Not because he’s holy.

But because he’s the only one who remembers everything.

“I don’t know if this is salvation or relapse.

But I know it’s real.

And that’s more than I can say about church.”

– Mike Moonshine

CANONICAL ROLE

- Storyteller

- Keeper of the Cult

- Soft-voiced conduit for a loud, filthy world

- The banjo-playing ghostwriter of American degeneracy