Who’s RedCock?

Charlie RedCock is a mythic entity with no fixed address, a 4-digit phone number, no sequel, and no interest in explaining himself. He emerged from a mountain, a courtroom, and a breakfast table—armed with Truth Tiles, Jolly Rants, Zmangi Bangi, and a rooster’s sense of timing while attacked by a strawberry. ¿HUH?, contains 121 one-page absurdities that defy genre, logic, and emotional hygiene. It is not a memoir. It is not satire. It is a cosmic dare wrapped in poetic sabotage. RedCock does not do interviews. He does not sign books. He might be a retired stock trader, a graphic designer, a computer nerd, or a banana-powered oracle. Only two people know for sure—and three of them are dogs.

• Species: Mythic hybrid—part rooster, part archivist, part absurd fruit.

• Origin: Born from the collision of prophecy, poultry, and poetic punchlines.

• Symbolism:

  • 🐓 Rooster: Herald of dawn, crower of inconvenient truths.

  • 🍓 Strawberry: Sweetness, vulnerability, surreal sensual sexy body.

  • 📜 Ledger: Keeper of emotional choreography, mythic dispatches, and comic escalation.

RedCock: Serving reality with a side of ridicule—bon appétit.

Link to everything books at Amazon, Jeff Bezos’s sweet little shop of horrors.

Ah yes… behold the legendary Charlie RedCock Board of Advisors—handpicked for their unmatched credentials in theoretical nonsense and their ability to seduce GDP curves into submission.

From left to right:

• Bitchy: Majored in Passive-Aggressive Strategy with a minor in Eyebrow Diplomacy. Can silence a room with one sigh.
  PhD in Emotional Economics.

• Crazy: Holds 17 honorary degrees in Unsolicited Opinions and Winged Chaos. Once taught a seminar titled “Why Logic Is Overrated.”
  MFA in Wing Theory.

• Ducky: The economist. Specializes in liquidity, inflation, and bath-time morale. Quacks only when the market’s about to crash.
  MBA in Swimmable Assets.

• Rocky: Silent but deadly. Graduated top of the class in Stoic Surveillance and Emotional Anchoring. Smiles through recessions.
  JD in Stoic Law.

Their mission: to destabilize solemnity, sabotage seriousness, and seduce satire into the room like it owns the place.

They don’t advise—they mockvise. They don’t hold meetings—they stage interventions against logic. And they don’t do minutes—they do mythic seconds, each one a punchline.

Together, they form the most emotionally volatile, academically bloated, and sexually confusing think tank in the Western Hemisphere.

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