True Story©... Don't Stop Bereavin'
So we’re sitting in the living room eating dinner and watching
Jeopardy when the alarm panel and both of our phones chime with the
doorbell. I get up expecting to tell the kids across the street that my
daughter is with her mother this week. It is a white man…
“Are you lost? How can I help you?” I ask through the slightly
parted screen door.
He hands me a manila envelope and says “you’ve been served” before
walking down off of my front porch as I stood aghast.
Wife person looking on asks me what is going on. I sit back down on the loveseat and open the folder.
Me: “We’re being sued…”
Wife Person™: “What!?”
Me: “Not you.”
Wife Person™: “What the hell are you talking about?”
Me: “Me and Moe.”
Of late, I have been trying to reform Moe Phillips’ public
image. After spending time with my therapist and learning better coping
mechanisms than to drink myself to sleep, I realized that perhaps the best
means of servicing the community and rehabbing Moe’s good name would be
offering the same to the populace. Working from home, I tend to do this
thing I like to call “running up the score,” where I complete any finite work
as efficiently as possible and then do other things with the time I now have on
my hands.
With that time, signed up in Moe’s name for an online certification to become a
grief counselor. It was pretty damn simple to complete and only cost like
$99.41 plus $11.27 shipping and handling for the physical certificate.
Once certified, I placed an ad on Angi and Craigslist for online
and telephonic counseling sessions.
Three days, I received an email on the Moe Phillips email address from a young
lady who had recently lost her boyfriend. Apparently one of her homies
thought he was cheating on her so she had her brother and cousin go to his job
and rough him up in the parking lot. Turns out that “that bitch” her
girls saw him with was his stepmother and they were en route from buying her an
engagement ring to be unveiled at family dinner on Sunday. He never made
it to dinner, of course, because the beatdown sent him to the upper room due to
breathing difficulties brought on by an asthma attack.
My indirect advice to her was to NEVER let go of her man’s
memory; not to let anyone tell her how or how long to grieve. Deal with her
loss in whatever manner she can to get back to some semblance of
normalcy. I did not say this in those words, but–... you’ll see in
a minute.
What I could not have expected was her to be prodigiously able to gaslight herself
into blaming EVERYONE except for herself and her co-toxic herd of eyelashes
in an Altima. She started by calling her cousin’s parole officer and
telling him that he had lost his job and been selling weed to keep the lights
on. Her next move was going to the stepmother’s home and flattening all
of her tires and leaving bologna on random spots on her paint to blemish it
before busting out the back glass and leaving.
That last one is the one that would become MY problem…
The stepmother had this dumby on her ring camera doing all of
this shit right in front of the house. When she was picked up dead to
rights, she sang like a bird that her therapist had told her to do it.
Since I ignore mail that comes to my house for Moe Phillips because I tend to use
that as a throwaway. Apparently, I missed all the mail about this
situation and the lawsuit by the stepmother for the replacement of four tires,
two windows and a new paintjob – plus punitive damages – was allowed to go
forward.
Wife Person™: “Oh shit, what have you done now?”
Me: “I just told you right there in those five paragraphs.”
[Phlip Note:
HAAAA!!!!]
Wife Person™: “You’re a jackass.”
Me: “I’m also being sued.”
Wife Person™: “How much?”
Me: “Well… a lot”
Wife Person™: “How much is ‘a lot’?”
Me: “‘Four tires, front and rear windshield and a paint respray
on a BMW 228’ expensive.”
Wife Person™: “So what’s the plan?”
Me: “Countersue”
Wife Person™: “What?”
Me: “I was her therapist, there has to be some kind of rule
against–...”
Wife Person™: “THERAPIST?!!?”
Me: “Um… No habla inglés?”
Wife Person™: “Don’t try that Sammy Sosa shit on me!”
Me: “I thought I could get a few extra dollars with the cheap
certification.”
Wife Person™: “And instead you got this.”
I swear, this Moe Phillips shit has me stuck on can’t get right. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Now I gotta come up with a side-side hustle to make restitution for the fallout of my previous one.
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