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Showing posts with the label supervillainy

True Story©… The (un)Usual Suspect

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  I kind of saw this shit coming… One could point to that premonition as the very reason for my recent commitment to rehabbing the Moe Phillips name.      As the both of you know I have been working from home since two days after Meka’s birthday in 2020. [ Phlip Note : HI MEKA!!! ] Since then, and as documented in these very pages, I have employed Moe Phillips in my miscreance as a means of making some semblance of fun out here in this fucked up world without the onus of facing the circumstances of my actions. … until I had to face the consequences of my actions.      Last Wednesday, I watched out of the window of my lower-level window as a Greensboro PD cruiser stopped in front of my house and sat there for a few minutes before approaching my door. Oh shit. Rather than allow them to get all the way to the door and excite my dogs with the presence of a stranger, I met them at the front porch… Me: “Good afternoon, officers.   What can you help me with?” Detective: “Good a

True Story©… You Got Serb’d!

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       I have been working from home since March 19 nd , 2020.   According to a designation I signed off on in January, that has gone from an indefinite designation to a permanent one. While it was still in “indefinite” status, I treated my working-from-home privileges with kid gloves.   This means I never log in late, I work sick if I have to and I do my damned job WILDLY efficiently.   To make a long story short I have my dogs, I can listen to podcasts and music on my speaker and not a pair of earbuds, my house has rarely been cleaner and my yard has never looked better.   I don’t like people enough to have to deal with them every day.      What that also means is that for that time, I operated with absolute PROTECTION of my work from home designation.   I insist on working in a front room with the blinds open so I can see when someone is coming.   This allows me to waive them off with an “I’m on the clock” warning without having to deal with the kind of people who walk neighborh

True Story©… Despicable Moe

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       Despicable Me debuted in 2010… As I was still yet 361 days from being a father at the time, it was a children’s movie that I was not interested in at the time.   The follow-ups arriving during the maelstrom of elements between 2011 and 2015 that will forever serve as my own supervillain origin story allowed me to manage to miss the whole of the series as it was coming along.   I mean, I knew it existed and was aware of the minions and their gibberish but I was busy having my life ruined.      As I exited the more depressive of my situations as a fully realized superfuckingvillain, I lacked time to go back and do the homework on that wrinkle of the subject.   I thought I had it down.      Thought… With some time on my hands since the Thanksgiving weekend, I made way to watch the Despicable Me series.   In it, I learned that the Minions have existed since the beginning of time and have historically hitched their wagon to the biggest supervillain of any given time. And here

True Story©… Radio Violence

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       My brain is like a training exercise in just how much infinitely useless bullshit can fit into a tiny, tiny space.   I say that to say that I know a LOT about a LOT of things that do nothing in the interest in paying my bills. [ Phlip note : Speaking of bills…   Website renewal fees are next week Wednesday.   Anyone wanna pitch in?   The best nation is donation.   Please and thank you ! ]      Anyway…   I know a lot about a lot but one thing I cannot seem to avoid is unsolicited phone calls and, not those of the “extended car warranty” sort. As ever, this week’s tale begins with a phone call.   This time it was from an international number…   This should be fun. Me: “New phone, who dis?” Caller: “Good afternoon, sir.   Long time no hear from.” Me: “D-do I know you?” Caller: “You ask this every time you speak with one of us.” Me: “’one of us’ as in who the fuck?” Caller: “Well, sir…   I am the director of the International Supervillain’s Convention, and--…” Me

True Story©… Anonymity

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       I’m good at things… As vague as that may sound, I say it like that to say that no matter how good I may so happen to be at a bunch of things out in the real world, I hate – HATE – for my horn to be publicly tooted over it.   That goes for work, home, anywhere really.   That may seem counterproductive come review time at work, but my manager is well aware of this about me and we have a few aliases I jokingly use when I get to work and kill shit. That’s professionally; as in the shit that pays the bills.   Not having people going around talking about me in a manner that would have onlookers look for a chance to pile more of their shit on me is the name of the game.   Personally, it is totally different but basically the same.   When I clock out and come back across this living room, the last thing I want is for someone to make assumptions with my time because some third party informed me I was capable.   There is a space of comfort in being able to remain nondescript.   Being

True Story©… At The Playground

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Can we please get back to politics? No… Good.      So back before we got into election week month the weather was unseasonably warm and I had daylight after work to do things before I had to make sure home was ready for dinners and whatnot.   Y’know, get outside and stretch my legs and enjoy something other than these four walls all day every day.   The governor reopened parks and playgrounds and apparently some parents have had the same idea for their kids.   Smart, cheap and wears their little asses out for an effective bedtime catalyst. Normally I would begin in one park and then pass through two other connected ones for a good 3-4 mile walk/run, but this particular Thursday, I really just wanted to sit on the bench and read.   I chose a park near my mother’s house, since I would be by there directly after work to take her trash cans to the street anyway.   In such, I parked my car in the cul de sac as I have for 20 years and walked to the park with my book.   There was a f