The musings of a madman...

       When we left you , I had done a little footwork for our pal Detective Ramsbottom. I had gone into the probable scene of the alleged crime and done some reconnaissance as to the source of the illicit dingaling pills. In my “research,” I had gained some suspicion that the owner of this store or someone close to him was behind the whole shit.      What I had not noticed until I had a chance to sit down and relax, however, was that there was no UPC bar code on the back of the package. This suggests FOR SURE that this is someone’s basement/garage operation, perhaps as a “fake it til you make it” kinda deal where one goes into business under the radar until they have a proven winner and then they go legit. The problem here is that they ain’t painting houses, they are out here giving people heart attacks with unregulated wee-wee products. I made a phonecall Ramsbottom: “I thought you told me I was gonna have to do some policing?” Me: “Don’t use my words against me" Ramsbottom

       I would love the opportunity to say that “y’know, shit has been kinda quiet here lately,” but my life just isn’t set up for things to go that smoothly. While I would love to be able to take solace in no one ringing my phone as much as I DETEST phone conversations with anyone other than my brother, I legitimately hate unannounced pop-up visitors more than I do phone calls. I mean, I work from home and don’t get fully dressed most days so I tend to make it so most people don’t even know where I actually live whenever possible.      You know who does know where I live, whether I like it or not? Greensboro Police Department. Not because I am personally some kind of criminal – Moe Phillips is none of their fucking business – but due to a weird series of prior interactions that have been documented here in pages of True Story©…      That said, I am minding the business that ACTUALLY pays me in my bottom-front room facing my driveway and street so I can watch the world outside m

  It went up for sale, y’all… For all my meticulous calculation in the use of what I inferred was abandoned historical property ripe for my use, the sumbitch went up for sale IMMEDIATELY when I was done with it. Wait… I hope you remember what I am talking about , as it has only been like six weeks. I have made a point of NOT going the direction of the factory since my felonious actions in May, moreso about not being seen and corroborated in any upcoming discussion of what happened that day with any applicable authorities. I’m just glad Woodpenis has gone federal and is likely no longer interested in what me and my bullshit can do for him. If you’re new here, welcome… If you’ve been here before, you know my phone is about to ring… It’s a 336-370 number and since school is out for summer, I know it is not my wife or my daughter's school.  Likely someone downtown for something or another. Me: “Hello?” Caller: “Hi, good afternoon.  Is this Phillip?” Me: “Depends on who is aski