True Story©... The (In-)Famous Supreme Team!

 

(this pic again?  y'all know what time it is!)

    So I'm home Tuesday afternoon, on my lunch break enjoying Monday night's leftovers when the dogs snap to attention. Someone is outside.
As a general rule, I don't address people who come to my door without me expecting them unless they're delivering a package -- which kind of means I WAS expecting them -- instead I'll just leave their asses on the porch until they lose interest and move along. I won't even check the camera.
This particular visitor, though, they rang the bell four times and then started knocking.
"What the hell!?" I say as I go to the door and open it...

    Instinctively, I lock the screen door and take a step back when I see one uniformed officer and another man who is clearly law enforcement as well before addressing them. Once I make this maneuver and focus on who is standing on my porch, my expression changes...

Me: "Well I'll be damned, never thought I'd see YOU two working together again."

It was det--... Special Agent Woodcock and Detective Ramsbottom.
I continued...

Me: "Woodpenis and Buttsex. They better not have sent you guys to me to solve another pænis related crime. That joke is getting old."

There was a look of PRE-exasperation on their faces.

Woodpenis: "I absolutely did NOT miss this shit. How do you deal with this guy?"

Ramsbottom: "With my hand away from my service weapon first of all. Second of all, with vigorous therapy."

Me: "Gentlemen! I'm right here and can hear y'all. 'fuck y'all want from me?"

Woodpenis: "Well, as you know--..."

Me: "... ain't you FBI now? What does Greensboro have to do with you anymore?"

Ramsbottom: "I told you we shouldn't have come here."

Woodpenis: "... as you know, I'm FBI now, but the case that was presented is one that we -- he and I -- have both worked with you on before locally, and now it has landed on the cross state lines radar and now I'm back involved."

Me: "Not them motherfuck--..."

Ramsbottom: "... it's Dig Bick Throbbers again. Or so we think, they've rebranded yet again I guess to try to shirk detection."

Me: "I'm afraid to ask what they're calling them now?"

Woodpenis: "Dig Bick Energy"

The look on my face had to portend the barrage of dick jokes I was about to unleash, but Woodpenis was ahead of it...

Woodpenis: "Don't even start that shit. We came to you, Phillip, because you think your way through these things better than most. We need you for some Moe Phillips shit."

Ramsbottom: "Who's Moe Phillips?"

Woodpenis looked at him like he'd just told him he still believes in Santa Claus.

[Phlip note: he should... We ALL should]

    He excused himself and his partner for a quick sidebar, ostensibly to explain to Ramsbottom his working theory as to who Moe Phillips is and how he thinks but cannot prove that I am Moe and Moe is me. The look of terrified SHOCK on Ramsbottom's face was not dissimilar to the one I faked when I would answer my door when Jehovah's Witnesses or Mormons came unsolicited and realize my dick was out.

I continued the conversation...

Me: "Who!?"

Woodpenis: "I'll spare you today. We need a hand getting to the bottom of this."

He goes on to explain how the operation had gone low after the last time, but has come back harder than ever and now even claims to have a cosign from Santa Claus himself.

[Phlip note: I told y'all... BELIEVE!!!]

    He further explained that they had somehow achieved nationwide distribution, still selling home-encapsulated pills and people were still catching the same cardiac symptoms after taking them. Visits to the ER are still returning the same formularies on the toxicology profiles. They basically aren't even trying to hide that they're back in business.

Me: "And, of course, you checked with the store owner's son and his cousin first since they were the culprits the last couple of times."

Woodpenis: "Both of their fathers say they've moved out and don't know where to. Neither is particularly bothered to have their criminal sons out of their houses."

Me: "Ouch! And you're FBI, you can't track movement?"

Woodpenis: "Burner phones, cash and cash-adjacent transactions, driving and not flying. There's not much we can do unless they go through an airport or another international terminal where facial recognition could help."

Me: "Aight then, y'all be easy. I'm finna go down here and conjugate some verbs got the rest of the--...”

Ramsbottom: "... WAIT!!! you're not going to help?"

Me: "y'all been here like ten minutes and haven't offered me a dime yet. I'm going back to work."

    They still wouldn't let me end the conversation. They begged and pleaded to compel me to at least TRY to help. I continued my "y'all ain't paying me" crusade to compel them to leave me the fuck alone because I don't work for them and have no reason to speak to them without a warrant.
You ever went to the beach or Las Vegas and they trick you into sitting through a timeshare or not-timeshare-but-timeshare presentation in exchange for some free shit? They kept on me until I just agreed to look into it so they left me the fuck alone.

    First thing's first, since these motherfuckers twisted my arm into participating... I hit up the Google machine to see what I could find on these Dig Bick Energy things and, naturally, it was an immediate strikeout. Apparently the current proprietors have learned Search Engine DE-Optimization to hide their shit from the search engines. No worries, I opened a Tor browser and hit the dark web and had what I needed in minutes.

    It seems that, like the rest of us, they have discovered AI tools to make their presentation look at least a small amount more professional.

I mean, I too use AI a lot so I am aware of limitations and can spot the folly most times. Also, that flyer is objectively HILARIOUS.
Anyway... I finagled my way into contacting them and learned HOW one orders the dinkus extenders and arranges shipping. Apparently, they avoid tracking by having couriers within driving distance of wherever one might be in the lower 48 and arrange off the books deliveries every time. From what I was able to glean, they could apparently teach UPS a thing or two! Payments are Bitcoin/Dogecoin/Ethereum for new customers and cash on delivery is only available to established customers. They do not sell out of any storefront, but WILL arrange a public-place meetup like Domino's Pizza used to do a couple years ago.
To make an already long-story short, whomever is behind this right now has learned from the failures of past attempts.

    Me, though? I'm tired as shit of Woodpenis, Buttsex and Woodpenis AND Buttsex coming to my house to talk to me about dick pills. I can't just have cops AND discussion of wee-wee fixers to become normal occurrences on my front porch, so I'mma let them know everything I described above and let them handle it.

    Naturally, they refuse to just up and make shit THAT easy. They were back at my house in three days, apparently had done some internet voodoo magic at the hands of someone above my paygrade and located the center of operations. Apparently, the original cousins from the first attempts to sell Dig Bick Throbbers had come together and were comparing criminal notes to keep the ball rolling.
They hadn't, however, made any earnest attempt to leave the area though... Instead, they used a straw purchaser to buy a spit of land and put a tiny house on it, which they had been using as their base of operations. They direct the rest of the empire from that one little shack, while holding no inventory on site.

[Phlip note: 'least they're learning something now]

As expected, the Dream Team was back on my fucking porch...

Woodpenis: "We got a warrant, we going to get em this time!"

Me: "Can I see the warrant?"

Ramsbottom: "Here ya go."

I opened it and read through it...

Me: "This is a fed--... FEDERAL!? warrant, signed by--... I can't do this."

Woodpenis: "See? I told you we couldn't give it to his immature--..."

Me: "JUDGE COCKBURN!? WHO IS WRITING THIS SHIT?!!?"

Ramsbottom: "I apologize for this one."

Me: "So y'all got clearance and tools to go to this 600 square foot dwelling, ostensibly armed to raze to the ground whatever comes out of it, and then what?"

Woodpenis: "Make some arrests, get some convictions and get these damn pills off the streets once and for all."

Me: "You know people LIKE drugs, right?"

Ramsbottom: "Yeah, but--..."

Me: "And people, current company included, like fuckin even MORE than drugs, right?"

Woodpenis: "Where are you going with this?"

Me: "Drugs has been kicking ass in the war on drugs for years. You'll whack this mole and another pops up."

Woodpenis: "Well we've sworn to uphold laws."

Me: "And they say they got Santa Claus on clientele? You've MET the guy, you know what he can do. You really want that smoke?"

[Phlip note: they don't know what we know]

Woodpenis: "Point taken."

Ramsbottom: "What is he talking about, Santa Claus... as in THE Santa Cla--..."

Me and Woodpenis: "Don't ask!"

Ramsbottom: "Wow, okay. Well I have a warrant signed by a judge that we had to do some serious policing to get, and I intend to SERVE it."

Me: "Fine, it's your world, I just commit international supervillainy in it."

Woodpenis: "What?"

Me: "Huh!? Nothing!"

    So here we are...
They're going to have a team converge on a little house where two people, likely unarmed, are selling questionable supplements that are technically really not illegal due to lax regulation on supplements of that kind. I'm gathering they're chasing this as a financial crime to serve out someone's moral hangups on the nature of the product.
I just hope they actually make an arrest and not go in there to execute them. As I sit and think of it, I'm really not on board with bothering these guys for what they're doing outside of my desire to have officers of the law who owe me huge favors.
I had a question...

Me: "Y'all do ridealongs?"

Woodpenis: "Well... no, but we also don't normally talk to people when we work like this. Ridealongs are allowed, but nobody ever asked before, so sure!"