Disgraced Influencer Liver King Arrested in Austin After Bizarre Rogan Threats
AUSTIN, TX — Brian Johnson, the internet personality known as “Liver King,” sat handcuffed in the back of an Austin police car Tuesday night while his own Instagram feed broadcast his downfall to 2.9 million followers. The arrest marked a surreal climax to the disgraced influencer’s three-day social media rampage targeting podcast giant Joe Rogan—a spiral that ended with Johnson facing a terroristic threat charge in Travis County Jail.
🔴 The Arrest: Livestreamed Meltdown
Johnson, 47, had telegraphed his unraveling in real-time. Hours before officers arrived at his Austin hotel, he paced frantically in a now-deleted video, ranting about prisons and refusing to surrender a utility knife despite pleas from his cameraman. “I’m picking a fight with you,” he repeated into the lens, his eyes darting as meditation music played incongruously in the background.
When police finally entered the room around 8:30 p.m., Johnson begged for “12 more minutes” to use the bathroom. His wife, Bozena “Barbara” Johnson, watched silently as officers patted him down outside the Four Seasons Hotel. He wore a burgundy hoodie, sweatpants, and a tactical vest—an absurdist contrast to the gravity of his Class B misdemeanor charge, which carries penalties of up to 180 days in jail and a $2,000 fine.
⚔️ The Feud: Steroids, Lies, and a Challenge
The arrest traces back to Johnson’s long-simmering resentment toward Rogan, who publicly eviscerated him in 2022 after leaked emails revealed Johnson spent $11,000 monthly on steroids and HGH—contradicting his “ancestral living” brand of raw meat diets and natural fitness.
“Yeah, I’m on testosterone, unlike the Liver King. I’ll tell you the truth,” Rogan had scoffed on his podcast, dismissing Johnson’s physique as chemically impossible for a man in his 40s.
The humiliation deepened with April’s Netflix documentary Untold: The Liver King, which dissected Johnson’s fraud and led to a dropped $25 million lawsuit from furious customers. By last weekend, Johnson snapped.
In videos posted June 23–24, he donned a wolf pelt and waved gold-plated guns while challenging Rogan to a $1 million charity fight :
“Man to man, I’m picking a fight with you. I have zero training in jiu-jitsu… You should dismantle me. But I’m picking a fight with you. Your rules, I’ll come to you… I’m gonna make you pay”
🧠 Mental Health Concerns and a Family in Crisis
As Johnson’s rhetoric escalated, followers flooded his posts with concern. One video showed him hugging his sons while joking that a “free wifi password” was “f–k Joe Rogan.” Sirens wailed in the background as he led a family prayer.
“His poor wife and kids,” one follower commented. “This made me cry—please get well!”
Johnson hinted at inner turmoil, referencing PTSD from a 2024 detainment in Poland, where authorities found ammunition in his luggage. “I’m scared about jail,” he admitted. “You can’t protect your family there”.
⚖️ Legal Fallout and Unanswered Questions
As of Wednesday afternoon, Johnson remained in Travis County Jail without bond. Austin police have not confirmed Rogan as the target of the alleged terroristic threat—defined in Texas as speech causing “fear of imminent serious bodily injury”.
Legal experts note prosecutors must prove Johnson’s rants crossed from bluster to genuine intimidation. “Context matters,” said Austin attorney Mark Sampson (unaffiliated with the case). “If someone travels to your city armed, after days of threats, that’s not performance art.”
Rogan, whose $14.4 million Austin mansion sits minutes from Johnson’s hotel, has not commented. His silence echoes the detachment of a man who long ago dismissed Liver King as a “preposterously jacked” fraud.
💎 The Bottom Line
Once a self-proclaimed “ancestral king” with a $310 million empire (disputed by financial analysts), Brian Johnson now faces a concrete cell and a legacy defined by scandal. His arrest underscores a darker truth: the internet’s appetite for outrage can rapidly devour its creators.
For Johnson’s family and followers, the question isn’t whether Rogan “wins” their feud—it’s whether a broken influencer can find peace off-camera.
