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: “

     Okay, when we left you last month I was a little over two thirds of a million dollars up in the game, less the cost of one used Subaru Impreza and various fuel supplies.  All cash, all under the table money.  Wasn’t much worried about the tax man coming for me since they would have to PROVE a case and ain’t nobody in the whole organization equipped to believe I got a magic bag of coal from a failed attempt to rob Santa Claus .      From my January research, I was lucky to have made my big money plays first.  As I look back on this shit as it happened, I probably should have called that good enough and invested what I had made and lived nicely for the rest of forever.  I knew that I would hear from the transportation museums in three and six months respectively and those drives would become residual income.  They were privately buying fuel-grade anthracite that I couldn’t sell to industry for the reasons  that the initial and continued shift from coal was a cost and trans

So last month , I made about $113k on ill-but-legally-gotten coal, right?  I’m on.  We on, right? I SHOULD have put half of it in the bank or in some investment vehicle and made a ginormous principle payment on my house and paid off all my credit with the other half.  That makes sense, right?      And just so we’re all on the same page here, robbing Santa Claus is a BAD thing, children.  Never mind that what was SUPPOSED to be a punishment for it has turned into a windfall for me and mine.  As Santa is a scumbag dopeman anyway, we can’t FULLY consider that he might have thought of the outcomes when it came all the damn way down to it anyway.  I can’t care, really, because damned if I didn’t get paid.      Not only am I sitting on big bank, but I rolled out of the museum with the blessings of the manager of the place and--… WAIT!!!  I need to explain something. Doctors tend to hang around other doctors, lawyers hang around other lawyers, professors do the same.  You get

     Okay, so I bombed the fuck out in that interview a couple of weeks ago and no one came to my defense financially.  I was left with little recourse.  I was forced with the ideas of either franchising my dick or flipping what little money I did have into the streets.      Well there’s a couple of problems with those… 1 – Franchising my weewee, even if in a COMPLETELY professional manner, would be in violation of my home situation and things could become less than cool. and… 2 – I don’t know the people I once knew to just go all Breaking Bad and shit.      So I am left to use what I got to get where I want. And man, FUCK am I far from “where I want” right now.  Shit, I even tried to rob Santa Claus ! Wayment… That’s IT!      Sanctions on North Korea to make them poorer have ATTEMPTED to shackle their trade of one of their main commodities; coal.  Since I landed myself on the permanent naughty list with the aforementioned attempt to jux Santa, I someh