Showing posts from October, 2023

True Story©… Wrist Twistin’ Kitchen

       Sometimes my boredom takes me to WILD places… Y’all remember back in 2020, when I got furloughed from work and snared the information of and finagled some time on the phone with a TV exec? [ link ] What about now?      Well I am not saying all of that to say that I have been furloughed again.   I have actually made a pretty good go of life since that furlough ended 7 weeks early, but no need to get all off into that.   I have, from time to time, called or received calls from the same guy about ideas he or I might have for television shows.   I swear, I think I am just his release to break up the monotony of his daily life because there is no way in hell he can be taking the shit I come up with seriously.      Anyway… A couple of weeks ago, my FB memories dragged me back to an idea I had posted on Twitter (I ain’t calling that shit ‘X,’ like ever) wherein I proposed a new game show idea…   Rather than sit here and explain in excruciating detail what the game and show w

True Story©… ‘Tis the Season

       I am beginning to feel like I am running low on options… My face is known in the community after my previous attempt at shaking things up using people’s short-sightedness for details. Detective Woodpenis is onto me and I can’t use the Moe Phillips name as a shield for criminal enterprise, lest he will perk up and show his face back at my house. I need something new to do,   here y’all!      For those among us who don’t follow me on The BookFace, you’re aware that I have re-created myself as a fitness douche of sorts sharing details of my workouts every weekday.   It started last summer in the form of my walks on my lunch break.   This summer, I have upped the game with longer walks and doing them at 5am while still throwing in a lunchtime one as well. This matters to the presentation due to where I live and what kind of people are outside between 5 and 7 in the morning.   There are people getting on and off of the bus going to first shift jobs or coming home from thir

True Story©… Drinkin’ Buddies

       My life is largely not what it has been for the most of my adult life.   Most people I know know me well enough to text me instead of calling.   I prefer things that way, as it forces people to the point and elicits a better response from me, what with knowing that a text is committing to a repeatable (or screen-shottable, to make up a word) medium. Sometimes, however, things cannot be left to the chance of a text.   What if my phone is powered off?   What if Wife Person™ has murdered me and buried my body under a single-wide trailer?   What if I dropped my phone when Marcus and I were saving those kids from the burning orphanage Sunday before last?   Sometimes the only way to be sure contact has been made is to have heard my voice and I know this.      I say all that to say that Thursday before last, I got a phone call… Me: “Yo” Homie: “What’s good?” [ Phlip note : I won’t be using any names because I don’t know that his wife is up for me and my shenanigans ] Me: “

True Story©… Green Thumbin’

       This summer, I pulled in side money with my lawn mower and arming myself with a collection of sob stories to sell up the source of my abilities. All told, the hustle made me a plenty of extra cash for sneakers and narcotics using my spare time while also serving as a several-hours-a-week supplement to my weekly exercise regimen.      It stands to reason that pictures posted to my socials of my own yard (below) and of a couple of the ones I am duly and fairly paid for (not pictured) serve as my “résumé” to any interested party, but the funny thing about human beings is that they want to know shit that might be none of their damned business.      When I moved into my house in 2021, I was left with nasty work in the way of needing to fix this yard.  Over the course of this, I noted what a godawful job my next door neighbor’s yard man was doing of keeping hers up, despite the fact that he lives FIVE houses down.  In conversation with her, she decided that perhaps she would rath