Things That Outlasted OZY for $200, Alex...

Court houses, if you’ve ever had the misfortune to have to spend much/any time there, are a curious admixture of the Department of Motor Vehicles and the welfare office. Base level bureaucracy backed with all of the tender loving concern of its endgame, the penitentiary, no one should expected to be their best there.

“Mr. Watson…?”

Carlos Watson, the former CEO and founder of OZY Media, the company I had called home for just shy of a decade, faced a raft of charges in 2024 connected to what was called by the prosecution a “criminal organization.”

“His incessant and deliberate lies demonstrated not only a brazen disregard for the rule of law, but also a contempt for the values of honesty and fairness that should underlie American entrepreneurship,” said U.S. Attorney Breon Peace.

Watson and his defense team responded by suggesting that the Jewish judge was playing the stock market “like a dreidel”. The Jewish judge on receiving the juries guilty verdicts then sentenced Watson, in perfect karmic measure, to just shy of a decade in prison, along with a $97 million fine. For an extra measure and on account of churlish courtroom behavior, Watson also had to spend a month in the hoosegow at MDC.

In the process a court watcher and the executive producer on a now-(maybe, kind of, maybe not) shitcanned bio pic on the whole OZY imbroglio, braced Watson in the courthouse hallway.

Did it void his trial like a pardon would have? No. Convicted felon Carlos Watson could still be called convicted felon Carlos Watson…

“Mr. Watson…?” She had seen an opening and took it. “Would you mind sitting for an interview with Eugene Robinson?”

“No,” Watson quickly replied. And then with the kind of thinking that plays for angles and was also largely, for a man that was too slick for his own good, responsible for him being where he was, added, “…not right now.”

So when, on a flight to start his prison sentence, a call came in from the presidential maniac, the news had greeted Watson when he had touched down. Trump had commuted his sentence. No jail time. No fine.

Did it void his trial like a pardon would have? No. Convicted felon Carlos Watson could still be called convicted felon Carlos Watson, but he was free to go.

There was some small amount of public celebration from Watson and his family, along with thanking Trump, G-d, and some doggerel regarding something like “if they can’t beat you in business, they try to beat you in court”. And in a quick turn around, he and his family are BACK at it with a new company that trades on the content of the old. Mostly and most specifically, all of Watson’s interviews with names of note.

These, post-felony conviction, hit a little bit differently now. All of what put me off of Watson professionally — the canned persona, the pabulum queries, the dead eyes — was still in evidence. What put me off of Watson personally though — his screaming tantrums, propensity for drama queen-age, bullying and generalized shithead behaviors — was not.

They say time heals all wounds but this wasn’t that. I, mostly, like everyone else, just forgot about Watson and the depredations of Watson. It’s been five years and that’s how I remember because some social media notification lined up to tell me that it had been five years.

And with notice that it’s been five fucking years, it all came flooding back in an unwelcome night tide of memories. Mostly his screaming tantrums, propensity for drama queen-age, bullying and generalized shithead behaviors.

To get my severance after 10 years of service it was expected I would sign it and agree to not talk shit. About their trifling asses and questionable business practices.

Beyond this though when I think of how it all unfolded for me, there are secret delights in all of the muck.

“If you haven’t pulled it [this substack] down by Monday,” said Watson’s co-defendant before he pled out and co-founder Samir Rao, “you’re fired.”

“Yup.”

On Monday another message had come in. “I see you haven’t pulled it down, can we talk this through?”

There was really no need. No need because I was in that delightful space where you’ve been presented with an ultimatum — or “old tomato”, as I had been fond of calling them — you know you have no intention of heeding. Like when Gerard Butler kicked the emissary from Athens into the pit of death in the movie 300.

Nothing to talk about. I had emails from management saying that I could publish all of my unpublished but finished OZY work on my page/website/wherever.

“Yeah, well they were wrong to tell you that and you were wrong to believe them,” Rao had said.

An argument that would have held some water if they had gotten me after I had done one. But they had waited five months, and it was on the occasion of my second most popular piece that it came to their attention. You can pay to subscribe to this page but you can also read it for free, which shot their “no moonlighting” clause in the ass.

This substack is no more or less of an issue than a post on Facebook so they could go fuck themselves. They sent me my termination papers. They also sent an NDA. A nondisclosure agreement. To get my severance after 10 years of service it was expected I would sign it and agree to not talk shit. About their trifling asses and questionable business practices.

[O]ne thing has become clear when viewing the malefactors he [Trump] has pardoned, on the whole: they re-offend.

I knew then I wanted to write about it because I knew then it needed to be written about. But money is always good. Which is probably why they denied it to me in the end.

“He’s been leaving negative reviews on Glassdoor. When he pulls those down we’ll give him his severance.” My lawyer was letting me know what they had let him know. He was so upset he had texted me immediately. All while I was on the phone with Ben Smith, then a reporter for the New York Times who was doing an article on OZY.

“Did you write the review?” I told my lawyer the truth: I had not written it. Moreover, I was offended that they thought I did. After reading my work for 10 years I thought they should have known it was not me.

“No.”

Minutes later, almost to the end of the interview I was doing with Smith on background, my lawyer texted back: “they don’t believe you, so they’re denying severance.”

“Heya Ben…” I had hated agreeing to not let him use my name. It was a small wallet consideration. Heavy people depend on me being solvent and so I must remain so. But this was fear based and I hated the idea of this kind of fear. “…Go ahead and use my name.”

“You sure?”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

And then began the fall of the wet wall of sand that marked OZY’s collapse. Five years later, having ventured well beyond unpublished OZY articles, this substack exists still. While there’s been some congressional noise about all of the financial judgments that Trump has voided and might there be some sort of civil remedies that can be sought by the injured parties, one thing has become clear when viewing the malefactors he’s pardoned, on the whole: they re-offend.

Not all of them and not right away, but like clockwork, each week two or three go back to doing what garnered our interest in the first place: committing crimes.

Has Watson? While I’d like to say I don’t care, given the fact that after writing this I’m heading over to Polymarket to set some odds, it’s clear, I’m betting on it.

On? Convicted felon Carlos Watson for the reoffend. Over/under? Five years. Easy money.

And MANGENE shows? Two (or three?) more planned for this September. So, this is STILL a record you need to hear!

BUY it…you won’t be sorry that you did. Or maybe you will.

OK…So you have ordered the memoir A Walk Across Dirty Water and Straight Into Murderer’s Row, from Amazon…Or the Bookshop.Org dealie: Here?

Might you consider giving it a review in either of those places?

I’ve been told it matters, somehow. So please: review away! Unless you think it sucks. Then, maybe, just keep that part to yourself…so yeah…GET AT IT!!! Every one helps. Or so they tell me.