The musings of a madman...

  I was off work on Tuesday...      I LITERALLY spent the day on the couch, complaining about the fact that nothing comes on television that interests me in the daytime until I eventually just dozed the hell off. Well, almost literally... I had an appointment in the morning and had to step out into the abusive cold for a couple of hours, but then I was home on the couch bitching about television as I described above...      While teetering between napping and wondering how the hell Pat McAfee can get away with cussing on television at noon, even on cable, I would have SWORN I heard the "chingchingching" sound we've been conditioned to think of when we think of Santa on his sleigh. "I'm trippin, lemme get this little nap in and I got some straightening up to do before anyone gets home" was the first thought in my head and closed my eyes back.      It should be noted that in this house I actually do have a chimney and a fireplace unlike...

(so we back on this?)      I tend to have to worry when things get a little too quiet. I've reached a moment where my routine is a little too... easy. So it's an otherwise mundane-ass Wednesday morning, 10am. I'm, naturally, spending my 15-minute break in my front yard leaving some pretty stripes. As a habit, to preclude people from talking to me, I usually have on my big headphones while I work in yards. This has been changed recently, as I think my wife misplaced my big headphones and I have finally taken to the habit of wearing a hat so I have updated to a pair of noise cancelling buds.      Why am I talking about trying to stay ahead of people distracting me? Naturally, of course, it is because someone decided to fucking talk to me. An unmarked-but-still-obvious police vehicle stops in front of my mailbox, but as a non-criminal (ha!), I continued what the fuck I was doing without approaching the car, I have 15 minutes to cut this front yard at le...

       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...