Rebel on the Run: The Life and Trials of Anonymous Trucker Jamie Jo Corne

Jamie Jo Corne (Jamie Brinkman)NORFOLK, Va. – Jamie Jo Corne clings to General Lee as his battle wagon, a 74 Winnebago, struggling over the Rockies at three miles per hour, backing up traffic all the way to the grasslands, lapping against the snowcapped peaks.

“God Dammit I learned a lot of shit when I was investigating Anonymous. We can use it to our advantage,” Jamie Jo said. For a fleeting moment, life flashed through Jamie’s eyes. She was alive. Looming in the recesses though, her nine children and her ruined husband, Vincubus Dante. Sometimes big things were more important than family, like Matthew McConaughey in Interstellar.

General Lee pulled his dick out of Jamie’s ass and busted a hot one across her tramp stamp. “We gonna have a real revolution Tiger, stop up the traffic ’round DC. Jam the beltway. Boil the boomer hides! I’ve been everywhere, man. You rub a little more of that innernet magic on our social media game and I’ll fire up the CB. We’ll ride our horses up to the White House. We’ll start a new political party, start a Convoy!” The General paused, licking his lips. “Get out the meth hunny.”

A Rebel Outlaw

“I’m wanted in five states, Lee, and the only way I’m gettin’ out of it is by starting a goddamn revolution. Truckers are so left wing, nowadays. What’s up with that? This Tiger needs a man who don’t need viagra to fuck. Your whole revolution is limp. Ya didn’t even deliver a document to the capitol. I’m gonna do that one day, a-ridin’ on a horse with a dick that satisfies.”

“Tiger! Tiger! Come back baby, don’t! Come back!”

Tiger took one last long drag from Lee’s meth pipe and bounded from the camper, hesitating only for a moment, to glance at the moon before scampering off into the night.

The Revolution may had ended, but felt like it had only begun.

Uncertain Principles

Her phone buzzed all night. Strange men from around the nation were sending in car payments, text messages begging for hot, dirty sex. The revolution was just dodging the inevitable decades in prison awaiting her, and better to settle in and train dogs, than to eat another shit sandwich and smile for a mugshot. Hacking and trucking had nothing at all, but the dog scamming scene at least had that money. Stealing trained malamutes and huskies was pure profit.

But that, too, was a lie and Jamie wasn’t about to con herself. Those days with Presstorm sure were glamorous. And the power she’d had with Anonymous was beyond anything she ever felt running with truckers. Jamie imagined thousands of Huskies, all following her command, dragging a sled with a giant cannon like Hitler had. One shot and she’d take out DC. Another two shots and she’d blast them yuppies in New York City. Then she’d whip them dogs and get off to LA and maybe she’d let the dogs have them instead of the cannon — if — they gave her a kind welcome.

Maybe, she thought. Maybe she’d have child support.

New Beginnings

Jamie Jo Corne, Trail Boss or Tiger
The hard life took its toll on Jamie Jo Corne (a.k.a. “Tiger”).

The former Presstorm matriarch now injects a motherload of meth, monitoring all hate sites for news and updates on what the public and the law might know about her. From behind a pair of sunglasses at a public library in Cuthbert, Ga., she watches the Internet, fidgeting. She watches the Chronicle. Under her breath, she utters remarks – more guttural anguish than language – and she is bitter.

The money’s dried up. All the drugs, internet, and revolutions have aged her. She can’t draw even the oldest, ugliest men at the bar. She used to snare fresh cock with online dating sites, but the hope of tomorrow’s sugar-daddy evaporates now with each click, typin’ her different names again and again, cycling through social media sites and rubbin’ her shrinking clit. Sometimes she can’t even find it. Almost inaudibly she hisses, “Obama’s gonna put you in jail.

Though her future is uncertain, there is at least one thing Jamie knows: She’s seen more sunsets now than she’s going to see.


Rebel on the Run: The Life and Trials of Anonymous Dogstar Jamie Jo Corne is part 1 in a multi-part series of biopics called Project Persona Management.

Trail Boss Jamie Jo Corne Postpones "Bull Party"

Jamie Jo Corne, Trail Boss
Jamie Jo Corne, Trail Boss

With a fried voice and look of stoned desperation in her eyes, Trail Boss Jamie Jo Corne delivered new orders Tuesday to her rapidly-growing cult following.

Corne commands her collective to delay the Washington Bull Party Plan until May 16.

The Bull Party is a rally to restore freedom, which involves dumping seeds on the Capitol in Washington, D.C. and turning loose “thousands” of heads of cattle in the city streets, heralded by Corne who is expected to arrive on horseback with The Articles of Separation in hand.

“This is what’s gonna happen,” Corne said, bumping her fists together. “This is when the people meet the government.”

She slammed the Occupy Wall Street movement for its pacifism, saying hers is the movement of True Change, adding that her changes might even lead to economic collapse as America returns to the barter system.

In her video message to the collective, the Trail Boss said she needed to push back the cattle rustling after speculation that a number of unidentified homeless people “went missing” and are being detained in FEMA camps. Corne ordered the farming collective to stand by while she and General Lee sort out the logistics of transferring people and animals into the gridlocked city of Washington, D.C.

“Large amounts of cattle … to herd them into Washington, D.C. is going to take a little bit more planning than 30 days,” Corne said over the clicking of the Battletruck hazard lights. “Not really planning, but prepping.

Corne said she is “sick of fucking around,” and to complete her plan, she will need cattle ranchers to volunteer to turn their cattle loose into the streets.

“There have been several, multiple cattle ranchers. Multiple,” Corne said. “A multitude of farmers coming through, that want to dump their GMO seed all over the place in Washington, D.C.”

Corne is Trail Boss of a group of farmers ready to take up arms against the government at any moment. Corne herself has already threatened President Barack Obama’s life: a stunning preemptive strike in what she and her people refer to as “the American Spring.”

The alternative effects of spreading genetically modified seed throughout the nation’s capital would likely be unknown for at least a decade, according to Dr. Angstrom H. Troubadour, an Internet Chronicle botany consultant.

“It might not change anything,” Troubadour cautioned. “But then again, shit could be pretty fucked up for a while. Let’s wait and see.”


The plan is to give Congress three days to comply with demands. Consequences of non-compliance, Corne said, will be delivered in phases. Retaliation will be exacted by seizure of ports by collective forces, restrictions on imports, and the burning of social security cards.

“I’m changing the date to May 16th,” Corne said, “and we’re gonna get shit done. We’re gonna git’r’done.”

This message is brought to you proudly by TerrorMax, from Lebal Drocer Pharmaceuticals. TerrorMax: “Never forget” to Never Forget.

Investigative Analysis: The Presstorm Debacle

Drag racing is dangerous. Running from the cops is even more dangerous.

In 2003, Jamie Jo Lambertz-Brinkman wrecked her white Honda into a police cruiser in a drag race gone wrong [1]. She served time for check fraud and hit-and-run before escaping from prison in August of 2004 [2]. One month later, Brinkman and her butch partner were caught in Illinois. This offense carried a mandatory sentence of seven years [3].

Ever the freedom fighter, Ms. Brinkman later sued the South Dakota Department of Corrections for denying her Haldol, a prescription she had taken for “bipolar disorder, mood disorder, anti-social disorder and personality disorder” [4].

Ms. Brinkman explained on Red List Radio, “When I was 13, I was being abused and I started running away from home.” At the age of 14, she was sent to a boot camp where she claims she was also abused. She claims to have purposefully stayed at the boot camp for nearly five years in order to avoid abuse at home [5].

At the age of 30, Ms. Brinkman has spent over one third of her life institutionalized in correctional facilities. She has committed fraud, escaped prison and recklessly endangered the lives of innocent people who just wanted to go for a drive.

The cat that caught the canary?

In 2011, Ms. Brinkman founded, a blog devoted to what she called “investigative journalism.” She became a fixture within Anonymous, associating with hackers and attempting to influence their behavior through opinion pieces disguised as journalism. Inevitably, her schemes were laid bare by her own mistakes.

Presstorm came under repeated DDoS attacks after Ms. Brinkman posted a story which was critical of Occupy Wall Street. Former Presstorm supporters and writers did not offer her any support, instead laughing at her folly[6].

Ms. Brinkman has responded to the attacks by threatening to reveal the identities of those who donated to Presstorm and other contacts she made within Anonymous. She has also stated that the intentions of Presstorm were disingenuous and part of a psychological experiment which went exactly as she expected. Perhaps she has not been taking her Haldol.

Despite her illustrious past, Ms. Brinkman has attempted to chastise Anonymous for breaking the law. ” It wasn’t hard to know that what these children (or so it seemed were children!) were doing more harm to society than they were good. Like any juvenile delinquent, we felt that a little exposure would certainly shut them down.” She adds, taking the moral high ground, “We sincerely hope that we accomplished multiple levels of soul seeking, critical thought, and moral objection to one’s own behavior in the process” [7].

The Presstorm Debacle has served as an important lesson for Anonymous. Intentionally manipulative criminals are drawn to power and influence. Jamie Jo Lambertz-Brinkman created a cult of influence by playing on the high emotions in the wake of the WikiLeaks scandal and pathologically exercised what little power she gained. Like her Honda, Ms. Brinkman took Presstorm for a joyride that could only end in one way.

Trolled off the internet

Editor’s note: The following is a work of fiction and any relationship to real events is purely coincidental.

She sits at her computer late into the night, drinking glass after glass of Pepsi. The keyboard clatters through the otherwise silent house as she desperately attempts to blog up a better future for her six children. No dirty trick is below her. Young and impressionable minds are her favorite prey, and lies are her ammunition. She’s just finished a brilliant piece, dismissing the latest popular protest as a group of Marxist traitors bent on destroying America. In her mind, this opinion has been cleverly disguised as a piece of leftist investigative journalism gently cautioning against the vices of Socialism.

Already, people are disagreeing.  A feed is informing her of any mention she may receive. “Honey, the trolls are at it again. You think you could get on Twitter and defend me for a bit?” she shouts from her filthy nest, which is strewn with empty Pepsi bottles and unwashed dishes. Begrudgingly, he pulls himself away from the television and finishes his beer. After firing off a few tweets in defense of his wife, he attempts to get her attention. But she’s staring into the monitor as if in a trance, clicking away at random.

So he gets his wife’s attention by smacking her in the back of the head. “It’s getting late. I’m too old for this stupid bullshit,” he complains.

There is a short silence before she sneers, “and what, let these motherfucking cunt teenagers continue to expose our lies?” And her tone sharpens, “Get some fucking beauty sleep you haggard old piece of shit.”

This time, he smacks her for effect. She sobs.

“I’m sorry, it’s just these fucking trolls. They keep calling me a liar and making fun of my shit. I just need you there,” she sniffles, “to defend me.” She looks up at him with her eyes wide and a face covered in tears. The couple embraces, and they passionately kiss. This romantic scene has played itself out hundreds of times.

Abruptly, she pulls away from her husband and eyes the computer monitor behind him. She shrieks, waking three of her six children. She regains her composure immediately, and commands, “Go get the kids settled back in, I’ll take care of this troll.”

Shaking and nearly in tears, the three children have huddled outside the computer room in a late night scene that has become all too commonplace since their mother began blogging. “Your mother is alright, let’s all get back in bed so we can be ready for school in the morning,” their father says in his most reassuring tone.

“But daddy I’m afraid, is it the bad people – the Marxists – come for us again?” Each child shivers at these words and their father stiffens.

“No. But they will come for you if you don’t go to bed NOW,” and the threat is enough to frighten the children into compliance.

“Thanks, honey,” says the wife from the next room.

She pulls herself from the computer sometime in the early morning and prepares lunch for her children. In each bag, she places a note expressing her motherly love. Finally, she can rest.

The sound of the computer fan across the house draws her from sleep in the late morning. Without brushing her teeth, dressing, or getting a bite to eat, she heads for the computer to check her blog for comments. But it doesn’t load. She spends two hours reloading her blog with no change in results. Something in her brain is shaking loose as she refuses to understand what is happening. She emits a low-pitched moan and it grows in volume. The pitch climbs rapidly. She falls out of her computer chair and her face reddens. She claws at her breasts and her eyes widen with a sudden realization. Her rasping voice proclaims with surety, “It was the JEWS! I knew they couldn’t handle the truth. I knew those Marxists would come for me!” Still laying on the floor, she blindly gropes for the telephone so she can call her husband home from work for the third time this month.

In reality, the young people this woman has been fooling have grown militant. They have seen through her latest blog post because it was too transparent. She has greatly overestimated her ability to dissemble and the house of cards has already fallen. She lifts the computer monitor and throws it through the window, letting out another rage-filled screech. She carves a swastika into her forehead with a shard of broken glass, which calms her down – for now.

When the children get home from school, she is still in her pajamas and breathing heavily. Blood is streaming down her face. Her husband stands by, nodding sternly as she speaks through her teeth. “Everyone sit down and shut up while I talk. This is IMPORTANT!” The speech that follows is so heavily laden with curse words and xenophobic racism that it is unnecessary to repeat here. By the end of the rant, the children are all holding back tears and sure that the Marxists and Jews will raid their home at any moment.

“Why do you always scare us like this, mommy?” asks her oldest child, who is almost 14. She closes on him, face contorted with pure rage.

“You DARE talk to ME like that?! You want to be a little troll? You’ll see what happens to trolls in THIS HOUSE! Go to your room! Your father will take care of your shitty little attitude.”

The sounds of a belt smacking bare flesh resound through the house. Her mood settles. She leaves the cowering children for her husband’s computer. Now is time to declare victory. She is beginning to think that being attacked like this proves how important she is. When she signs onto her Twitter account, she finds her inbox full of new messages. “Good,” she thinks, “supporters coming to my aid!” But they are not. Contributors to her blog are outraged at the statements she has made. They no longer wish to be associated with her. Message after message, her blood pressure rises. Involuntarily, she crosses the room to the unlocked gun cabinet and retrieves a loaded revolver, plated with chrome. She holds it up for careful inspection and cocks it so she can give the barrel a nice whirl. Her finger is putting light pressure on the trigger when she collapses against the wall. She is breathing heavily and holding the cold steel against her cheek, smearing blood across the polished metal. She closes her eyes and runs her tongue along the barrel. It feels so nice. The blood tastes so good.


Internet– Jamie Jo Corne, real life journalist and publicist for, tragically resorted to posting nude photographs of herself via flickr after church Sunday following a bout with bulimia and self-hatred.

Mr. Corne, the editor of cesstorm who goes by @vincubusdante, came up with the idea while collaborating with outside experts on the matter of manipulating search results to save face and suppress dissent. [LEAKED AUDIO BELOW]

Inside sources close to presstorm suggest editorial duties have fallen upon the ancient @vincubusdante because his babymachine is too busy providing milk to the sucklings to defend herself.

Using Murdoch-approved hacked phone records and coercion techniques, Chronicle.SU recovered the actual phone call taking place between Mr. Corne and the Internet Police:

Leaked Presstorm Audio by ChronicleSU

Chronicle.SU Censored by Presstorm

Today the Chronicle.SU was censored by Jamie and her husband of Presstorm.

Today Jamie of Presstorm finally decided that enough ad hominems attack were enough. Chronicle.SU submitted this article to Jamie and she denied it because her web site is already too full of ad hominems. Strangely enough, the story was about her web site! LOL.

She promised to Retweet any links to the article in question, and immediately trollfood began posting egregious comments on Chronicle.SU. “I love Presstorm,” the tearful idiots cried, “It completes me, it treats me, it plays to my emotions.” #OccupyWallStreet #AnonNews #AnonNews #AnonN3sws #J335335t3rrrrrrrrrrrr

However, Jamie has published ad hominems against her before but they were REALLY dumb. Seriously lets just post a million Twitter screencaps and hope somehow it makes a convincing argument. I mean you could at least get huge data dumps vetted by AntiSec and pretend like they weren’t tampered with at all. Yeah, that.

Chronicle.SU has been censored again by the fascists at Presstorm. Jamie’s use of 88 and SS in their Twitter handle is disturbing. I wish she’d just change it already so we can stop worrying about if she’s a nazi or not.

We, the sheeple, are no longer happy with the New World Order and apparently Jamie works hard to protect it.

Presstorm is a NWO PSY OP.