In the sprawling, often chaotic landscape of the American dream, few stories are as uniquely bewildering as that of Mike Lindell. Once known to millions of late-night television viewers simply as the “MyPillow Guy,” a recovering addict who transformed his life with a comfortable piece of foam, Lindell has since morphed into one of the most polarizing figures in modern public life. His journey from pillow magnate to staunch Donald Trump acolyte and election conspiracy theorist has been a spectacle of unwavering conviction and public controversy. But beyond the political rallies and the self-produced documentaries lies another, perhaps even stranger, chapter in his story: an e-commerce empire called MyStore.com.

As comedian and political commentator John Oliver recently unearthed in a deep dive on his show, MyStore is not just a platform for selling pillows. It is Lindell’s answer to Amazon, a curated marketplace of products he and his team have “personally vetted.” It’s a bazaar of the bizarre, a testament to a particular brand of American entrepreneurship that blends patriotism, personality, and products so strange they defy belief. Oliver, with his signature blend of sharp satire and investigative glee, peeled back the curtain on this strange corner of the internet, revealing a world that is equal parts hilarious, baffling, and deeply fascinating.

To understand MyStore, one must first understand the man behind it. Lindell’s persona is built on a foundation of second chances and unshakeable self-belief. It’s a narrative that has endeared him to millions, who see him not just as a businessman, but as a warrior fighting for his version of America. This fierce loyalty has created a built-in customer base, one eager to support him by purchasing not only his pillows but anything he endorses. MyStore is the ultimate expression of this symbiotic relationship—a platform where commerce and ideology collide.

Oliver began his tour of MyStore by highlighting its stated mission: to be a patriotic alternative to the mainstream digital marketplaces. But as he scrolled through its digital aisles, it became clear that the store’s inventory was less about patriotic fervor and more about pure, unadulterated oddity. The first exhibit in this museum of curiosities was a product that perfectly encapsulates the store’s ethos: honey bears shaped like the face of Donald Trump, proudly branded as “Make Honey Great Again.” At a price point significantly higher than your average grocery store honey, this wasn’t just a sweetener; it was a political statement, a syrupy tribute to a movement.

From there, the journey into the surreal only deepened. Oliver introduced viewers to Staywell Copper, a line of products that claims to harness the natural antimicrobial properties of copper to kill germs. The flagship items are small copper pieces designed to be stuck to a phone or rolled between one’s hands. While the scientific premise that copper can kill bacteria is sound, the application and the customer testimonials pushed the products into the realm of modern-day snake oil. Oliver highlighted a review from a customer who claimed to have soothed a sore throat by sucking on the copper stopper. It was a moment that perfectly captured the store’s blend of earnest belief and questionable science, where customer faith seems to be the most active ingredient.

The tour continued with a cavalcade of products that seemed to solve problems no one knew they had. There were “Incognito” fire extinguishers, designed to be hidden within decorative covers, for those who value aesthetics over immediate access in an emergency. Then came the “Wacker Spoon,” a kitchen utensil of such baffling design and multipurpose ambition that it required a lengthy, almost hypnotic demonstration video. The video showed the spoon being used to tenderize meat, crush nuts, and, in a particularly clumsy sequence, fail spectacularly at squeezing juice from lemons and limes. It was a tool seemingly invented for a forgotten purpose, a relic from an alternate reality of kitchen gadgets.

Yet, no product better prepared the audience for the sheer strangeness of MyStore than what Oliver unveiled next. For pet owners, the marketplace offered “Mutbuts Dog Toys.” At first glance, they appear to be typical plush toys. The horrifying twist, however, lies in their signature feature: they are scented to smell exactly like a dog’s backside. As Oliver explained, with a look of profound disbelief, this scent is not an approximation. It is the result of a scientific process designed to replicate the specific organic compounds found in a dog’s anal glands. It’s a product that forces one to ask a series of questions for which there are no sane answers. Who conceived of this? Who manufactured it? And, most terrifyingly, who is the target customer?

The existence of such a product on a platform curated by a public figure like Lindell speaks volumes about the ecosystem he has created. It’s a space where the normal rules of commerce and taste no longer apply. It is a world fueled by a “blind optimism,” as Oliver aptly put it, a belief that if you build it, no matter how strange, your loyal followers will come.

In his closing thoughts, Oliver struggled to find a grand, unifying reason for his journey into MyStore’s depths. “Why did we do this?” he asked. “For no reason. And yet, for the greatest reason of all.” That reason, he concluded, was to witness the unfiltered, unabashed spectacle of Mike Lindell’s American dream. In its own “insane” way, MyStore is inspiring. It is a monument to a man who, having overcome immense personal demons, has channeled his relentless energy into building something utterly, uniquely his own.

The story of MyStore is more than just a comedic sideshow. It’s a reflection of a fractured and hyper-personalized consumer culture, where a person’s identity and beliefs are increasingly expressed through the products they buy. It is a world where a purchase can be a political act, a show of support for a chosen champion. Mike Lindell has tapped into this phenomenon with a master’s touch, creating a commercial haven for his followers. Whether selling pillows, patriotic honey, or dog toys that smell of despair, he has proven that in the modern marketplace, the most valuable commodity of all is the unwavering loyalty of a dedicated tribe. Oliver’s hilarious and unsettling report serves as a crucial reminder that sometimes, the strangest corners of the internet are hiding in plain sight, personally vetted and ready to ship.