The musings of a madman...

       It’s rare that I just get to be “me” anymore.   My life is pretty mundane to be honest.   Work, clean, daddy/husband, sobriety…   Rinse/repeat.   I find myself in need of an outlet, sometimes to the point where I seek mischief to entertain myself.   Not unlike a puppy learning to test your limits.      Sometimes the “mischief” finds me.   Sometimes even still, the mischief finds me from prior shit.   We’ll call that the wheel of mischief .      Moe fuckin’ Phillips…   That guy will be the death of me one of these days. I’m minding my business on my couch on lunch three weeks ago and “Moe’s” burner phone rings… [ Phlip note : I dunno WHY the hell I keep that thing ] Me: “Hello?” Caller: “Is this Moe?” Me: “Indeed it is” Caller: “I got your number from a friend of mine who says you have given sage business advice--…” Me: “I wouldn’t call the advice ‘sage’ so much as ‘damn near criminal’ but continue?” Caller: “Well I’m in a bit of a pickle and need--….” Me: “L

  (not to be confused with the SONG that never ends...)      Funny thing, this whole living a life chronicled in True Story©… [ Phlip note : there’s the thing, already! ] You’re told in school to take notes knowing that the information covered and ostensibly noted will come up when it is time for a knowledge check.   Similarly, typing out the exploits here to be followed by interested onlookers allows anyone reading to look back and realize that this comes off as not a collection of stories, but an infinitely expanding connected singular one.      Chronicling the exploits in detail also lays immediately bare the “dammit, this again” feeling when some shit I dealt with before decides to fall back into my life. Something I should have learned about supervillainy watching superhero cartoons for the last 89% of my life is that villainy, as karma is concerned, is NEVER ending.   You can do dirt, but that also means you will have a rough go of getting away from said dirt.      I can

  (yes, this is what a Nauga looks like)  Image Credit: Somewhere on the Googles      Part of the act of being a newly-decent, no-longer-a-supervillain human being includes advocacy for those with less than myself.   I’ll slide a couple bucks to an unhoused person, canned goods to food drives; even Shaggy Thunder was an SPCA-adopted puppy. Say hi, little buddy. (note: this is an old picture...  he's much fatter now)      … so yeah…   One of my soft spots is for dogs in particular but for animals in general.   I kind of RAGE at the very thought of people abusing/abandoning puppies, yet the BookFace algorithm and my apparent obsession puppy videos serves it that I see such shit daily in suggested Reels. In the interest of not triggering myself, we will not go any further into the whole animal abuse thing.      Week before last, though, while I was scrolling on The Bookface™ , and one of those sad puppy rescues came up.   It was heart-wrenching.   An emaciated mother dog doing the

       Lying is…   Difficult. Think about it, you have to fashion the falsehood or prevarication against the conversation that necessitated it and then you have to SUPPORT the shit by remembering what you said and not tripping up on it.   Most people’s memories – short or long term – just aren’t built to be remembering that kind of thing.   It is much easier to just tell the truth and deal with what may come of it when it is time to do so.      Unless you’re telling a stinker that you will never have to answer for… Then lying is not only easy, but actually kind of fun. And that is the kind of lie we are gonna deal with today!      Once upon a time, after my days with my ex wife a woman I had a wedding with once, I found myself to have quite a bit of time on my hands and no desire to “people” enough to seek anyone to do things with.   One thing I used to enjoy doing was to just hop in a car and ride around a while, taking in the scenery of the city and listening to amazing mus

       In approximately 53 days I will have been working from the comfort of my home for three years…   While home, I have access to the whole of the internet on my phone and/or personal laptop right here next to the work PC without the constraints placed on by my employer.   That means that no one will question what is on my screen on Twitter, Reddit or whatever social media app I may so happen to have open at any given time.      The funny thing about the Twitter algorithm is that it seems to suggest similarities to things you may have posted, followed or liked, no matter how long ago that may have been.   That said, I get a lot of suggestions about hip hop, politics and titties. Today, we will talk a subject adjacent that last one…      Something I have noticed, especially in my perusal of Reddit and Twitter and through unsolicited contacts on Instagram, is that these Covid years have created a new class of “Sex Workers” who don’t have to do, y’know…   actual fucking. Display

       I have recently wasted some valuable time away from work in pursuit of creating a better way. Did y’all miss me?  Did anyone even notice I was gone?      Of late, and as some of you have read, I am having to maintain a promise to dial back the supervillainy a bit.   I can still do my get money shit, I just have to do so in a manner that does not inflict suffering upon people. I will miss the Cicadas thing. So what is the play now? Thanks for asking!      One show I know you have heard of involves a WW2 nurse traveling back in time and falling in love with an 18th-century Jacobite warrior.  I got WAY more into this show than I expected to when my wife sat me down and held my eyes open to make me watch. (live footage) The whole time,  though, I thought to myself “why is this bitch going back to the 1700s from the 1960s with the knowledge of most modern conveniences and ain’t inventing ALL that shit and setting her progeny up to be the world’s first trillionaire dynasty o