The musings of a madman...

       I once said “I’on know who’s big mama need to hear this, but Ginger Ale is just soda.” I was immediately jumped by six nonagenarian grandmothers with canes.   I legit did not learn my lesson about THINKING such things, only about saying them aloud.      So I got to thinking…   How many more of those “remedies” they gave us in the 80s that didn’t actually cure shit, so much as made us just a little bit more comfortable until our honestly-pretty-damned-effective immune systems circled up the wagons and handled business as designed?   The Google search sent me down an internet rabbit hole which I found both intriguing and re-traumtizing, I will talk to my therapist about that part next week…      It also gave me an idea… Remember, back in Soft Eyes , when I explained just how much you could get away with just on the strength of the fact that people don’t pay attention to shit?   Well we’re back on that!      I had to put a plan in action and that plan clearly required some

       Despite roughly a year of shooting my shot, I am unfortunately still not rich…      The closest I have come was with my crypto bets, which if I had trusted more at the time, would have been more lucrative.  Who can forget when I was curb serving the city all the available Plan B back at Valentine's Day?  Beyond that, my lawn hustle is doing me pretty well. Live and learn, I know. I have been accosted by several police officers over the course of the ‘Rona year and I can only be thankful that the wife person was around to talk me out of an arrest or – more likely – roadside execution.      It’s been fun though.   I have been places (sort of) and met people (from six feet away) and somehow have come off with more money than I might have under other conditions.   Wait…   “somehow”?   There is no mystery involved.   I work from home, I am buying literally a third of the gas I would otherwise and I literally can’t go spending on outside the house things as I would if

     Y’all remember back in the summer when I was desperate and fishing for anything that could make me some money while I was furloughed? [ link ] What about now?      Okay, so Tuesday I am in the house minding my own damn business on my lunch break, chilling on the couch watching Judge Jerry when I get a Google Duo call from the studio exec whose brain I thought I was picking, but only now realize was giving him a little free entertainment while killing some time of my own. Executive: “Hey buddy, how goes it?” Me: “I’m the one who calls people ‘buddy’ around here.” Executive: “Huh?” Me: “It’s my thing…   MY dogs are buddy,   my nephews are buddy, random kids in stores are buddy, OTHER peoples dogs are budd--…” Executive: “I gotcha.   How’s life?” Me: “As normal as can be expected.” Executive: “So you had some interesting ideas back in the spring, and I--…” Me: “You’re calling to make me a rich man and tell me I am done with this damn company?” Executive: “

     Mother fuck me… I knew when I got into this shit that I would find myself flirting with international improprieties sooner rather than later.  I’m on the way from service on the car, about to get Ava from school one day and the phone rings… “dafuq, what the hell are all these plus signs and extra digits?” It was an international number.  I wish I had saved it. Caller: “Good afternoon, Mr Phillips.” Me: “No ‘Mr.’ needed, Phillip is my first name.” Caller: “Oh, I am very sorry.  Please excuse my English, it is not my first language.” [ Phlip note : why the fuck am I only now realizing that I should probably be using Moe Phillips for this operation?] Me: “S’all good.  With whom do I have the pleasure of conversing with?” Caller: “My name is Mr. [somethingsoutheasterneuropeanish], I am calling on behalf of my local government in search of a product that you apparently have a unique ability to produce at a very attractive price.” Me: “Ahh shit.” Caller: “

     Okay, when we left you last month I was a little over two thirds of a million dollars up in the game, less the cost of one used Subaru Impreza and various fuel supplies.  All cash, all under the table money.  Wasn’t much worried about the tax man coming for me since they would have to PROVE a case and ain’t nobody in the whole organization equipped to believe I got a magic bag of coal from a failed attempt to rob Santa Claus .      From my January research, I was lucky to have made my big money plays first.  As I look back on this shit as it happened, I probably should have called that good enough and invested what I had made and lived nicely for the rest of forever.  I knew that I would hear from the transportation museums in three and six months respectively and those drives would become residual income.  They were privately buying fuel-grade anthracite that I couldn’t sell to industry for the reasons  that the initial and continued shift from coal was a cost and trans

So last month , I made about $113k on ill-but-legally-gotten coal, right?  I’m on.  We on, right? I SHOULD have put half of it in the bank or in some investment vehicle and made a ginormous principle payment on my house and paid off all my credit with the other half.  That makes sense, right?      And just so we’re all on the same page here, robbing Santa Claus is a BAD thing, children.  Never mind that what was SUPPOSED to be a punishment for it has turned into a windfall for me and mine.  As Santa is a scumbag dopeman anyway, we can’t FULLY consider that he might have thought of the outcomes when it came all the damn way down to it anyway.  I can’t care, really, because damned if I didn’t get paid.      Not only am I sitting on big bank, but I rolled out of the museum with the blessings of the manager of the place and--… WAIT!!!  I need to explain something. Doctors tend to hang around other doctors, lawyers hang around other lawyers, professors do the same.  You get

     Okay, so I bombed the fuck out in that interview a couple of weeks ago and no one came to my defense financially.  I was left with little recourse.  I was forced with the ideas of either franchising my dick or flipping what little money I did have into the streets.      Well there’s a couple of problems with those… 1 – Franchising my weewee, even if in a COMPLETELY professional manner, would be in violation of my home situation and things could become less than cool. and… 2 – I don’t know the people I once knew to just go all Breaking Bad and shit.      So I am left to use what I got to get where I want. And man, FUCK am I far from “where I want” right now.  Shit, I even tried to rob Santa Claus ! Wayment… That’s IT!      Sanctions on North Korea to make them poorer have ATTEMPTED to shackle their trade of one of their main commodities; coal.  Since I landed myself on the permanent naughty list with the aforementioned attempt to jux Santa, I someh

     It has become apparent that hard work and education are not what are going to get me rich. Not for lack of effort, but moreso a lack of opportunity aligned with my specific set of skills.  I am good with a plan, I am good with managing my outcomes.  My issue is usually my selection of a plan that will prove lucrative in the end. I recently had a BRIGHT idea…      I have recently learned that women are perverts like men are.  They are also not cheap when their perversions are piqued.  I learned this in conversations with friends about the funds that have been spent on male strippers, “toys” and various other sensual aides.  I guess they aren't like men after all, we're fucking stupid to be honest when it comes to how we spend our money related to being perverts. I was sure, though, that I my chance to tap into a LUCRATIVE market!      As a well-documented titty connoisseur and unashamed pervert, I am getting my piece of the smut peddler’s pie dammit. “Bu