The musings of a madman...

       For reasons all at the same time weird, ironic and obvious to anyone paying even a small amount of attention to recent goings-on around these parts, I've spent the last few weeks rehashing the minute details of everything I have done and chronicled around these parts.      Somewhere in the midst of the work of it, reading and listening back, I began to feel something like contrition over the shit I've done. I knew that contrition is one thing, but to seek absolution is a whole other thing. To seek absolution, one must redress the thing they seek absolution from. That means that declaring myself done with the supervillainy is only the first step. The next -- and more important -- one is to do the work of making it right.      One might think that a step in that direction might include seeking to be held legally responsible for the things one has done, but that is one hell of a rap sheet and I'm too beautiful for prison so that i...

       At the big-ass age of 45, I have been alive for 11 rounds of the summer Olympics. Two of the games have been held in the United States thus far, 1984 and 1996. I will not pretend to REMEMBER the ‘84 games, but had been about as attentive as one can be to the games since 1988 and on. I can say with absolute certainty that the last-week-concluded games seemed to gather the most interest and discussion of any in history. It could be that NBC/Peacock had round-the-clock coverage of the games, it could be that America’s Uncle Snoop Dogg seemed to have devised a means of being EVERYWHERE in Paris at the same damned time, or it could be the effective building of storylines across sporting disciplines gathering our collective interests.      LA is getting the games back in 2028 and will have big shoes to fill, given the can’t-look-away nature that the Paris games gave us. There is generally about a 2-full-weeks break between the regular Olympiad ...

       I tried to make a pr0no once… No, not acting, but producing. I mean, I’mma be frank, I don’t even think that women I HAVE had sex with before are trying to see me fuckin’ even if I HAVE lost 104 pounds since the last time I sexed anyone other than then-pre- Wife Person™ Wife Person™ and that is just me being honest with myself. Anywho, you can read about that epic-assed failure here if you missed it last year and return to me when you’re done.      The funniest thing happened after that… Wife Person™ REFUSED to speak to or hear tell of the daily humorous conversations I have with Mr. Ssippi for almost FOUR MONTHS after that ordeal, until he came to town and took us out to eat for my birthday in the summer. They actually got along quite well and she especially loved Giant Nephew™ and he loved her, so any previous strife was all on me and not on Ssip.      No worries or surprises, of course, are there when I get a call or ...

  Life is pretty boring lately… I say that to say that there is plenty going on but most of it is pretty mundane “adulting” shit.  I guess one could see how that might mean things are pretty okay but knowing/observing how my brain works, one could ALSO see the need for some excitement.  I mean, I know spring is right around the corner and will bring with it constant yard work and sundresses (and the cleavage that comes with those) , but right now is right now. As I reached the end of my chain, my phone rings – my PERSONAL phone – and I kind of have to answer that when it rings for reasons I don’t need to get into right here and now. Me: “Hello?” Caller: “Phillip, it’s me…” Me: “Sir, there are like eight billion people on this planet.” Caller: “Detective Woodpe–… fuck–…  SHIT!!!  Detective Woodcock.” Me: “Naughty, naughty there, detective Woodpenis, you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Woodpenis: “My mother is deceased.” Me: “And you’re sitting around kissi...

       I know it feels like I talk about this a lot lately, but by the time the two of you read this, I will be within 20 ounces of the lowest I have weighed since I discovered food and alcohol as a combination. Even that low-water mark was the result of a bad accident that led to a broken jaw and me off of solid foods for eight weeks in 2003.      Covid season created a world wherein I was ABSOLUTELY not social outside of what could be attained from my phone or one of my computers. I was work/eat/sleep/work/drink/sleep/work, week in and week out and the weight that had been yo-yo’ing between 245 and 270 was firmly at 265. I felt like shit and decided to do something about it. July 2022, I decided to take out the running shoes I’d already acquired and hit the pavement. Three weeks later, I ended my (then-) 26-year relationship with alcohol. The first few pounds slid right off no problem. Nothing noticeable, not on a “go buy new clothes” level,...