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...

       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 drive...

       Not that anyone needed to know this, but I might have benefitted in my earlier days from some good dating advice.   One might say it was a small miracle that I escaped high school without my virginity. This story ain’t about that… Well, not directly.      See, I always have this thing where I am willing to expend a little effort to see people do well, even if that means they will do better than I am doing or have done.   With that in mind, I used the time I have had in the house over the past seven months helping men with the tools they might use to assist them in securing more and better women.      I hear you laughing, but these kids these days have it MADE.   They have the whole of the internet, cell phones – of which I did not have until age 21 – are standard now, and ON those phones cameras are unavoidable under nearly any stretch short of the kind you send a kid into a gas station countie...

     You’ve seen them in the news and on the internets.  People showing up to the airport with the damndest of animals; squirrels, peacocks, sugar gliders, children, hamsters/gerbils, untrained dogs and basically any other animal they probably shouldn’t be trying to bring into the passenger compartment in an airplane.  Laws are catching up with these silly-ass attempts at shirking an otherwise ill-defined system and I guess it is all for the better.      But did I tell y’all about my emotional support rooster? Stop laughing, it was a real thing.  I didn’t even bother giving him a name. As the great both of you may be aware, I LIVE for a good inappropriate double entendre, and there is no doubler of the doubles of being able to talk about my cock and not having it exist as a reference to my winky.  One could go as far as to say that my gymnastics with the English language is important to normal existence for me, so the exis...