The musings of a madman...

       Not to let y’all in on more than you need to know, but I been holding out on you… For every tale of a person who emailed the Moe Phillips box looking for help, I might lend a hand to about one in five. The thing when doling out assistance of the kind that normally comes requested in that email box, I am only beholden to my own opinion. If that opinion is one of judgment, or an active decision that “this one ain’t worth my time and effort” then so be it. Sometimes the “request” comes in as a statement of a problem without an actual suggestion of what outcome the sender might find satisfactory, and I ain’t no fuckin’ mind reader.      So why are we here today? Well, frankly, I got time today… Before I send these emails into the trash bin of history, I will share a couple of the funnier ones with you guys. I will present these in no particular order. This one came in about three weeks ago… “Moe, I see that you solicit for those in need of he...

       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...