The musings of a madman...

     I live in this weird little world where innocuous deeds of my past often spend years – DECADES – compounding and coming back here in my 40s for a visit. Buckle up, we’re going for a ride this week y’all.      So I’m sitting on the couch with the Wife Person™ earlier in the summer on my lunch break when we get a knock at the door and a ring of the doorbell.   I glance up at the panel and see that it is not one of the neighborhood kids asking can mine come out and play or anyone selling anything.   There is a sheriff department cruiser at the street so I figure I better not ignore this one. Me: “Can I help you sir?” He’s holding a manila envelope and hands it to me… Deputy: “You’ve been served” … fuck™.      Back in the house, I open up the envelope to discover just what it is that I have or am being accused of to end in being served papers of any kind here.   Wife Person™ is similarly interested in the contents of this parcel. Me: “It says I am being summoned to fa

       I couldn’t stay out for long… Me, this Moe Phillips thing, my continued petty crime spree, I am drawn to it like a moth to a flame.   Consistency with my prior edict to use Moe Phillips for net good remains in place at least.      First thing’s first…   I KNOW Detective Woodpenis is watching his wire to be sure that Moe isn’t acting up again, for which he has promised to come for my ass.   Of course, there needs to be a new burner phone, since I gave the old one to the unhoused person to use out when I left the station last time.   Instead of making a purchase near my home, I drove to surrounding cities and approached people on highway exits with signs.   For a couple of bucks for whatever they wanted to buy, they would go into the store and buy me a burner phone.   I did this three times.   Why three?   I would stash one burner in a location away from my house.   THIS would be *the* number for people to call me on.   I silenced it, and plugged it in at a YMCA locker room

       Have you ever wondered what would happen if you asked someone the most random of non-sequitur in the middle of an otherwise normal conversation?   After a lifetime of “sit down and shut up,” I now find myself in position where no one can tell me that shit no matter HOW wild what I say or ask might so happen to be.   Matter of fact, it usually comes in handy to end a conversation I don’t particularly care to be participating in.      I tend to exercise so early in the morning that the only other people I encounter are also exercising or walking a dog.   A head nod or a quick “morning” is good enough to keep it moving on my journey with the other exercisers.   For the dog people, I will actually speak to them so as to be able to talk to the dog without things getting weirder than they need to be, but the conversation is always with the puppy and never with the human. Outside of early morning roadwork workouts, I tend to be the one in my house assigned to do the “going out” mos

  "Get in, scrub...  we're going for a ride!"      Wife Person™ and myself, we fashion ourselves as foodies, of some sort…   Whenever a new spot opens anywhere within about an hour radius of this here house of ours, we entertain the thought of field tripping to partake if the cuisine is interesting to us and offers enough non-beef/pork options for me.   So much so that our acquaintances will often ask us if we have tried some obscure spot in the middle of some small town 45 minutes away.      That brings us here today…   Her cousin asked us if we had tried this new black-owned spot out at the other end of the county, really in an inconvenient spot honestly, but the food is apparently A-1 so onto the radar it went.   We picked lunch on a Saturday two months ago, so as to have time to try out the menu at “lunch portion” sizes to minimize cost and not be saddled with a table full of foods that we may not like. Long story short?   We LOVED it!   The overall atmosphere was

       I was aiming low… WAIT!      First, let me welcome y’all back and advise that I was not kidnapped again this time. Instead, I was dealing with the fact that I kind of necessarily had to burn theMoe Phillips name to keep my real name out of real trouble.  I took a week not only to regroup, but to live-test a new method.      That’s right, y’all, I started a cult! At my advanced age, it makes little sense to attempt a full on career change that may involve any amount of time spent back in school, especially not when my normal full time job does well enough to handle my bills and gives great insurance benefits.  As has been mentioned before in these very pages, one of those benefits is generous amounts of off time commiserate with the amount of time I have been with the company.  I’d be a fuckin’ fool to blow that!      So anyway, a cult…  First off, I needed a point of interest that I knew would get people interested.  Politics is too toxic, social issues are too causti