The musings of a madman...

     I could be making better use of my time and abilities here… In the months since I unsuccessfully robbed Santa Claus , I have exhibited the skills of a man who could sell commodities to market and internationally, courier goods across state lines, negotiate hostage situations and most importantly make a TON of fucking money. It’s August now.  I been at this for 8 months, one client paying enough for all year every three months and I will see them in a couple of weeks.  His buddy has ramped up his ticket sales to the point where he needs me every three as well instead of the original six.  Between those, I am clearing $575k every 12 weeks.  I am pulling another $25k every month.  Throw in the as-negotiated HUGE money deal I am taking from that little European country that I cannot name at this point and I am looking at about $5mil cash on hand, even after paying off my house and revolving credit. At this point, my lady still refuses to retire despite my attempts to get

     Maybe I am the fucking idiot here… Look, Santa was a degenerate dope dealer who deserved to get robbed.  I don’t understand how I am the one wearing this series of asswhoopings for having had the nuts to be the one to set him straight.  All I know is that I had turned his negative into a positive and set about the task of making sure my family was straight, better than I could have as an IT Specialist or whatever else I might have happened upon to do for a legit living otherwise.      But the only thing that travels faster than bad news is, apparently, chlamydia which I’m to understand is ALSO bad news in its own right and actually has not a fucking thing to do with this story. So here I am, these Europeans got me by the short & curlies, but they actually NEED me to get what they want as well.  I could say no and they can’t kill me if they intend to get ahead.  They could say no and walk away from it all, then head back to the drawing board and find another way.  F

     You know what, Phlip?  This is what the fuck you deserve.  You had three customers set to make you a million and a half dollars every six months, but you had to break all kinds of international laws and shit being greedy.      Oh wait!  I’m home, I’m safe and I have one month to figure out how to get my fucking bag back from those crazy-fuck European governmental gangster types.  I’m home, I am safe and I am sitting on enough cash on hand to not EVER have to work again in my life, considering that the only bills I have are “consumption” ones; utilities/food/etc…      But I am also fucking stupid… So here I am, in the FBI Field office trying to explain how I was robbed for a bag of coal by the government thugs of some small eastern European country that I could not name because I was not able to see out of the van I was riding in. Agent: “Okay, so help me understand the damages these people have done to you.  You say they took WHAT from you?” Me: “A bag of coal.

     Angel on my left shoulder, telling me “Phlip, don’t get on that plane.”      Devil on my right shoulder, telling me “Phlip, get that money and get the fuck out.” Internal tug-of-war, provide for my family in a manner that I had to learn to contribute to as a child, in a manner that I might have never imagined so easily attainable or stay here in the United States and drive this bag around and watch these companies shovel out all of the magical coal they might so need.  Pick your poison, Phillip.  Slow burn and hard work or hit this international lick and be straight one at a time.      Why am I even second-guessing myself?  I KNEW I shouldn’t be on this fucking plane.  As opportunistic as I have been about trapping this cash over the past six months – I am at a million and a half now with my under-the-table museum contracts – I am still quite liberal as far as environmental issues go.  At least those in my own back yard, I feel something when I see my family and friend

     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: “