Catturd2: A Literal Pile of Shit

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In the fetid swamps of Twitter where conspiracy theories bloom like toxic algae, few users have managed to transform digital excrement into fame quite like Phillip “ButtFuck” Buchanan. Known to his followers as "Catturd2" – a username that functions as both brand and intellectual declaration – this 60-year-old Florida man has become the poster child for everything wrong with social media's ability to elevate the most reprehensible voices into positions of unwarranted influence.

From Absolute Zero to Just a Little Over That

The story of Catturd is, in many ways, the story of contemporary America's relationship with social media – a cautionary tale of how platforms built for connection have instead become amplifiers for the angriest, most divisive voices among us. Phillip Buchanan, born in 1964, wasn't always the digital provocateur we know today. By his own account, his path to Twitter infamy came after a series of personal catastrophes that read like a country music song played in reverse.

Imagine this: Three failed marriages. Homelessness. Alcoholism. Bankruptcy. A struggling musician whose arthritis eventually robbed him of even that modest creative outlet (not that he had one to start with, I mean Charlie Manson was a Musician right?). It would almost be possible to feel something resembling sympathy for the man if he hadn't channeled all that life experience into becoming one of the internet's most prolific purveyors of bullshit.

At age 54, when most people are planning their retirement, Buchanan was reinventing himself as @catturd2 (because, of course, someone had already claimed the original username – apparently there's no shortage of people identifying with feline feces). From his self-described "ranch in the middle of nowhere" in Wewahitchka, Florida – a town so obscure it sounds made up – he began his digital career in the most predictable way possible: leaving angry comments on conservative news sites.

This unremarkable beginning gave no hint that within just two years, this three-time divorcee would amass over half a million followers and catch the attention of a sitting president. If that doesn't tell you everything you need to know about the state of our discourse, nothing will.

ShitPoster Catturd: A Lesson in ShitPosting

What exactly did Catturd do to deserve such attention? The answer is both nothing and everything. Nothing of value, that is, and everything that appeals to the basest instincts of social media engagement.

His formula isn't complicated: Take scatological humor that would make a fifth-grader roll their eyes, mix it with conspiracy theories just plausible enough to appeal to those already predisposed to believe them, add a healthy dose of grievance politics, and serve it all with the confidence of someone who has nothing left to lose. It's the perfect recipe for digital engagement in an era when algorithms reward outrage over accuracy.

The strategy worked brilliantly. By the end of 2020, Buchanan had secured the ultimate validation for a right-wing Twitter personality: retweets from Donald Trump. Seven of them, to be exact. Imagine that – the leader of the free world, with access to the most sophisticated intelligence apparatus in human history, choosing to amplify the musings of a guy who named himself after cat shit. If there were ever a perfect encapsulation of the Trump presidency, this might be it.

But the tale of Catturd reveals something even more damning about our digital ecosystem. In 2023, internal Twitter documents leaked revealing that his account was among those being artificially boosted by the platform's algorithms. This isn't just a story about one man's improbable rise to influence – it's about how the very architecture of social media is designed to elevate voices like his, regardless of their merit or truthfulness.

Convictions: Smelly Ass CattTurd Has None

One of the most revealing aspects of Buchanan's online persona is his fickle relationship with loyalty. Like many in his political sphere, his allegiances shift based on what's most advantageous at any given moment.

Take his relationship with Elon Musk. When the billionaire announced his intention to purchase Twitter, Catturd was among his most enthusiastic supporters. Here, finally, was the savior who would restore "free speech" to the platform and end the supposed censorship of conservative voices like his. The Catturd account buzzed with excitement about the coming Musk revolution.

Until it didn't.

When reality failed to align with his fantasies, Buchanan turned on Musk with the same fervor he'd previously directed at Twitter's previous management. The speed with which he pivoted from adoration to criticism revealed something fundamental about his character: there are no principles, only grievances.

This pattern repeats throughout his online history. He supports figures and causes right up until the moment they no longer serve his interests or narrative. His convictions are as solid as the substance his username evokes.

Perhaps the most telling example of Catturd's influence came when he conducted a Twitter poll showing Trump winning 69% support over Ron DeSantis in a hypothetical 2024 Republican primary. This entirely unscientific, easily manipulated online poll was later cited by Trump himself and a pro-Trump super PAC as legitimate evidence of the former president's popularity. That a random Twitter poll conducted by someone named after animal feces could influence actual political discourse is perhaps the most damning indictment of our current information environment.

Catturd: Stolen Valor TitWaffle

Among the various elements of Buchanan's personal mythology is his claim of military service in the U.S. Army. Like many aspects of his biography, this detail is often mentioned but rarely elaborated upon. When was he in service? What was his role? Where was he stationed? These questions remain conveniently unanswered.

The military claim serves a clear purpose in the Catturd narrative. It provides a veneer of patriotic credibility to his political pontifications. It positions him as someone who has "sacrificed for his country" and therefore has earned the right to criticize its direction. It's a shield against certain forms of criticism and a sword to wield against those who might question his patriotism.

But like much of what Buchanan presents to his audience, this aspect of his biography deserves scrutiny. In an era where stolen valor has become increasingly common, and where military service is often invoked to lend authority to political claims, the vagueness of his military history is worth noting.

This isn't to definitively claim that Buchanan is lying about his service – only that, like many elements of his online persona, it functions more as a useful narrative tool than as a transparent biographical fact. For someone who has built a brand on "telling it like it is," the selective opacity of his life story speaks volumes.

Catturd Economy: Failed Like a Reagan Recession

For all his posturing as an anti-establishment truth-teller, Buchanan has proven remarkably adept at monetizing his online persona. What began as angry comments on news sites has evolved into a full-fledged commercial enterprise.

He's authored multiple self-published books with titles that read like parodies of right-wing literature. He sells merchandise emblazoned with his scatological brand. He promotes his works relentlessly to his followers, who seem eager to financially support the man behind the digital persona they've come to trust.

There's a certain cynical brilliance to it all. Having cultivated an audience that feels alienated from mainstream institutions and desperate for voices that affirm their worldview, Buchanan positioned himself as exactly what they're looking for – and then monetized their loyalty.

This transformation from failed musician to social media entrepreneur represents the dark side of the American dream in the digital age. No longer does one need talent, education, or expertise to achieve financial success – just the ability to tap into existing grievances and a willingness to say almost anything to keep attention focused on oneself.

Aftermath: What Catturd Tells Us About MAGA DumbFucks

The story of Phillip Buchanan's unlikely rise to digital influence isn't just about one man with an unfortunate username. It's about the systems and cultural forces that have made such a rise possible – even inevitable.

It's about social media platforms that optimize for engagement rather than truth, creating environments where the most outrageous voices naturally rise to the top. It's about the collapse of gatekeeping institutions that once (however imperfectly) filtered information based on credibility and expertise. It's about a political culture that increasingly values loyalty and partisan utility over integrity and accuracy.

Most disturbingly, it's about an America where growing numbers of citizens feel so alienated from traditional information sources that they turn to figures like Catturd for guidance about what to believe. When a significant portion of the population trusts a thrice-divorced, formerly homeless, self-proclaimed military veteran with a scatological username over journalists, scientists, and subject matter experts, something has gone fundamentally wrong with our information ecosystem.

Catturd is both symptom and cause of this dysfunction – a beneficiary of the system's failures who actively works to deepen those same failures. Each conspiracy theory he promotes, each piece of misinformation he spreads, each grievance he amplifies makes it harder to rebuild the shared reality necessary for democratic functioning.

The Shit That Will Never Flush: Catturd The Stank That Never Leaves

Despite occasional platform crackdowns on misinformation, despite being repeatedly fact-checked, despite momentary controversies that would sink more traditional public figures, Catturd persists. Like the stubborn turd his username evokes, he refuses to be flushed away.

Part of this durability comes from the nature of his content. By mixing humor with political commentary, he creates a form of plausible deniability. When called out for spreading false information, his defenders can always claim critics are overreacting to "jokes." This tactic – common among digital provocateurs – allows him to advance serious political narratives while maintaining an escape hatch from accountability.

Another factor in his persistence is the algorithmic advantage given to provocative content. Even as platforms claim to combat misinformation, their fundamental business models rely on maximizing engagement. Content that provokes strong reactions – whether support or outrage – serves this goal better than measured, nuanced commentary ever could.

But perhaps the most important reason for Catturd's continued relevance is the most disturbing: he serves a genuine market need. There is real demand for voices that validate certain worldviews, that transform complex realities into simple narratives of good versus evil, that offer the comfort of certainty in uncertain times. Catturd didn't create this demand – he merely recognized and exploited it more successfully than most.

Legacy: Nothing…..

What will be the lasting impact of Phillip Buchanan and his digital alter ego? When the history of this tumultuous era in American politics is written, will Catturd merit even a footnote?

The optimistic view is that figures like him represent a transitional phase in our collective adaptation to digital media – that as platforms evolve and users become more sophisticated, the influence of such provocateurs will naturally wane.

The pessimistic view – and perhaps the more realistic one – is that Catturd represents not an anomaly but a prototype. He has demonstrated a viable model for influence and monetization that requires no expertise, no credentials, no particular talent beyond an instinct for provocation and a willingness to feed existing biases. Others will follow this template, perhaps with even greater success.

Either way, the story of how a 54-year-old man with a history of personal failures transformed himself into a political influencer capable of catching a president's attention deserves our attention not because Catturd himself matters, but because of what his success reveals about us.

In the end, perhaps that's the most damning truth about Phillip Buchanan: he didn't hijack our discourse. We handed him the keys. The rise of Catturd isn't just his story – it's ours. And until we reckon with the conditions that made such a rise possible, we can expect our information ecosystem to remain just as shitty as his username suggests.