The musings of a madman...

     For 241 years of American history, it would be a mark of honor to be specifically mentioned by the President of the United States in most capacities. Beginning on November 9, 2016 the dynamic changed to the point where being mentioned by the president was a miss-or-hit affair.  “Don’t you mean ‘hit-or-miss’?,” I hear you asking.  Trust me, when this motherfucker talks about anything, it is soon going to hell.      So now I am no longer a dude who tried to rob Santa for all the world’s gifts and got a undepletable bag of coal for my troubles, I am now a thug with a shotgun who threatens members of the media.      In the past ten months, I have been… -    Roped into a domestic (illegal) sale of coal… -    … parlayed that into sales into other industries… -    … parlayed THAT into even bigger profits and made a ton of money; more than enough to last me a lifetime if invested properly… -    … got greedy right about the time the international market wanted to p

“this orgy ain’t fun no more…” (if only I’d have known how prophetic those words would become)      The funny thing about the government getting involved in shit is how quick they are to complain about the media meddling in shit while pretending not to know that the media is the VERY official but unstated fourth branch of the government. But let them be the one driving the narrative and the media they just hated are their best fucking friends.      I got shook down and, let’s face it, robbed by two rogue FBI inspectors who quite apparently entered no paperwork on their interaction with me as they tried to get my source of income and not do what was right by the American people as far as national security goes.  And I KNOW I was dead wrong… …  at least I know now.  When I was at it, all I knew is that I was trying to make the best of a bad situation of my own design.  Domestic and international laws were really the least of my concerns. I should probably me

     I bought an Audi. All I did was buy a fucking Audi! I didn’t sell any drugs, perhaps I was wrong for having dealt with a foreign government, and the inconvenience of the logistics of dealing with them leaves it where I am done with those smelly motherfuckers first chance I get ANYWAY.      But here I am, shackled to a chair and cuffed to a table with a couple of federal agents staring at me with the stinkface… Agent: “So…” Me: “Look, just tell me what you need to know.” Agent: “Wanna tell us where you got this shiny new Audi?” Me: “You know EXACTLY what dealership I bought it from, they sent you the paperwork that helped you find m--…” Agent: “SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU KNOW WHAT WE MEAN!” Me: “Well…” Agent: “Where did you get the money?!” Me: “Coal money” Agent: “Coal money?” Me: “Coal money” Agent: “Look, asshole, nothing in your family history suggests any coal country connections, and the amount of coal it would take to make even THIS kind of mon

     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.

     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: “