Showing posts from March, 2018
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True Story©... Friends for Life

(I promise, this will make sense soon enough) “Marlon…  Why does it feel like you’re setting me up for some shit?” “Chill, Phlip, we GOT this…  I have a plan, dude!”      My best-laid plans normally come from the WORST of places.  I don’t know if this is a good or a bad thing, but I s’pect it has a lot to do with why Marlon and I have remained friends for the last 17 years and I am sure that it is precisely where Moe Phillips came from.      For all this time I have known Marlon, he has only “met” Moe twice.  I am more than sure that their first encounter is one of the major reasons we have managed to remain friends for so long despite the shit we have been doing to one another for so long.      It was 2002…  I had just broken up with an ex.  It wasn’t an UGLY breakup so to say; just that she was not from here and when she graduated college, I was still in and her daddy had already paid for her to go to Law School in Texas.  We made shit work long distance fo
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     As ever, got dragged into a discussion on The BookFace that started about one thing and went WAAAAY off the wrong way from there.  Someone who had previously been exposed and roasted as a flaming racist in a conversation that was since deleted jumps into another to assume that he has been baited and continue his shit. I guess he was inferring and not assuming, but oh well. Anyway…      The second conversation goes off the deep end and somehow it turns from his passive-aggressive “I can’t be racist, I helped a black couple move a couch once” racism to his stance on abortion rights, which were flatly disgusting. Now aware of the dicketry of his views, we tend to screen shot his shit before he has had a chance to delete.  Here is a sampling of the kind of shit he is capable of:      Needless to say, when someone is immolating in wrongness that they refuse to acknowledge but not being let off the hook by ANYONE, they tend to burn down in their own bullshit.  By th
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True Story©... The Big Payoff pt III

     Okay, when we left you last month I was a little over two thirds of a million dollars up in the game, less the cost of one used Subaru Impreza and various fuel supplies.  All cash, all under the table money.  Wasn’t much worried about the tax man coming for me since they would have to PROVE a case and ain’t nobody in the whole organization equipped to believe I got a magic bag of coal from a failed attempt to rob Santa Claus .      From my January research, I was lucky to have made my big money plays first.  As I look back on this shit as it happened, I probably should have called that good enough and invested what I had made and lived nicely for the rest of forever.  I knew that I would hear from the transportation museums in three and six months respectively and those drives would become residual income.  They were privately buying fuel-grade anthracite that I couldn’t sell to industry for the reasons  that the initial and continued shift from coal was a cost and trans
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True Story©... King of my Village

     When I was a younger and slightly more sprightly man--…  Let me stop bullshitting, before I started drinking and fuckin’.  Back before I started drinking and fuckin’, I was drafted to fight for my country in the jungles of Vietnam. Look, I don’t wanna hear NONE of that “Phlip, you’re only 38” shit.  I was drafted to fight in Vietnam and that is the end of it.      Anyway… I was taken through MEPS and given a full once-over and physical, poked and prodded from every angle with no happy ending.  As I was finishing the last part of my evaluation, a loud siren sounded and I was rushed from the office wherein I was conversing with an entrance office and whisked into a van just outside of a door behind the desk we were in front of. Me: “Uhh…” Officer: “SHUT UP!” Me: “But--…” Officer: “But what?” Me: “But where the hell y’all taking me?” Officer: “You’ve been drafted.  You know that right?” Me: “Well yeah, so--…” Officer: “So we’ll take you wherever the fuck
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True Story©... Hermit Life

     Ian was my littlest buddy of all time… He was a 10-pound Grivet Monkey I convinced an exotics shop that shouldn’t have sold him to sell him to me. …  and he tried like hell to ruin my life.      Funny thing about monkeys, even little ones.  They are territorial little shits, even the little ones! I was basically not allowed to have company in my house when Ian’s cage was in a common area, or he would raise all grains of holy fucking hell until he was the center of attention.  Covering his cage didn’t help, and ignoring him with an exposed cage would serve it that he would ASSUREDLY fling shit in your direction.      I should have tried to train the little bastard to pitch for the Pirates, he had quite the arm!      Anyway…  As long as Ian was being played with and the center of attention, even outside of his cage, then he was all good.  One night I had a female supplicant to visit me.  Immediately upon walking in the house, she noticed Ian’s cage hanging in th
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Anyone Out There?

     This is as much for me as it is for you… Given family history, a period of undiagnosed depression and a healthy/unhealthy fondness for fermented beverages, I am full aware that my mind will one day begin to slip. I was reading some articles a few years ago that explained the connection  of creative activities (writing, art, etc…) and the slowing of the process. [ link1 ] [ link2 ] [ link3 ]      Knowing what I know at 38 and of sound mind to think of it, I intend to stretch this process for as long as I physically can.  As long as I have my eyesight and my hands can perform the action of typing, I am going to keep writing.  Even if I don’t make a dime doing it, the value gained from preserving my future for as long as I can makes it worth it.      I know I can’t realistically expect my audience to be my forever audience, and as a middle child I am more than adjusted to this.  Given the information taken from the above links, I am of the mind that continuing
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Writing About Writing, Vol 10

Be a "Volume Shooter"… This guy, he was a volume shooter: What does that even mean? A lot of people saw Kobe Bryant as a ballhog of sorts.  What people were missing is that sometimes overachieving will come from an outpouring of effort.  Putting up a ton of points on a bunch of shots might be the easiest way to it.      If you write, then write .  Every time your smartphone comes out, your notes app should be available within two taps of your screen.  MS Word (or whatever word processing application you use) should be on your frequently-used or shortcutted on your computers. EVERYTHING can be written about.  Writing should be a constant process.      Stick to it, stick to it constantly.  Throw a million things at the wall in hopes that a thousand stick, and fine tune the whole FUCK out of that thousand.  Write until you're tired, but not until you're burnt out. You will write some things you hate.  You will write some STUPID, bitter or
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True Story©... Moe Phillips: Inadvertent Homewrecker

     Soon after separation, but before divorce, I was only about half-serious about dating.  To be honest, I gave about a fuck about dating to be honest and didn’t really want to be around people except to make sex, and then get on with my life. I was also TERRIBLY bored of it all and mildly annoyed with even THAT go of it, so I sometimes made a point of poisoning some situations just to see how far I could take it. Not with EVERY woman I met, mind you, just the ones I really saw nothing – not even a quick roll in the hay – with.  Enter Moe Phillips: Supervillain Esq…      I didn’t address every woman I encountered as Moe.  In fact, I generally maintained two profiles, one as Phillip [redacted] and one as Moe Phillips .  I didn’t catfish anyone; just know that I have looked like three different people in my adult life… -    Me with dreads and could be bothered to shave/trim every couple of days. -    Me, still with dreads and--…  Fuck that shaving shit. -    Me withou