The musings of a madman...

       When I was a kid I only travelled outside of my home state a VERY few times, and never outside of the time zone I was born in until I was an actual adult.   Never set foot on a plane until I was 20.   Everywhere we went was driveable distances.   It became such a “thing” that even in adulthood, I will sooner drive out trips that many people will fly. Kid me, having only been to Williamsburg and the beach in VA, then Atlanta after that – outside of visits to grandma’s family down in the sticks in SC – used to think that the lines one saw on a map would be visible out in the world as you travel.   Like there would be a white line marking the exit of one state and into the next.      Adult me, as soon as the constraints of being a broke child were off, got the fuck out and around the country even if to be inconvenienced by the habit of driving instead of even CONSIDERING flying.      One such trip transpired and the young age of 21… I rented a car because I was driving an abs

       Man, I promised Santa Claus …      Is there anything more infuriating than being quite clear and succinct with someone, only to have them continue to respond to what they had in their minds that you would say and not what you actually did?      We closed on and moved into this house on October 20 rd and 23 th in 2021 respectively.  The in-between days involved some fuckery on the part of the seller’s agent that I will not rehash at this point.  As a good most of you know, 2021 was a WILD time in real estate in the middle of the Covid era and I happened to get lucky in making more than I expected on my old house and spending less than expected on the new one. One element of the above-mentioned agent is how she didn’t fully do her follow-through when it related to removing the damned listing when it closed.      Again, 2021 Covid-Era real estate had large companies cold calling home owners and making cash offers for slightly less – and then INCREDIBLY more – than they may g

  It is verifiable that I tend to mean well, even when the outcomes end up being quite fucky. Did y’all know that one in ten adults and ten in every thousand children – mostly girls – are afraid of clowns?   In my life, I have known two people who fell into one of those numbers.   One of said people is someone I speak to regularly and the other one that I have legitimately not seen or heard from in over 25 years.   It is quite possible she is in prison for de-lifing a clown.   Whatever.      In the challenge of people who are afraid of clowns existing, I saw an opportunity.   No, this would not be an opportunity to turn a profit on some kind of snake oil sales scheme.   Matter fact, I’mma do this with my own name and not Moe, because I want some of the damn accolades sometimes.   This is a chance to be a real hero, help some people out if you will.      I placed ads on Craigslist and BookFace local group explaining that I would be offering a service giving people who fear clowns

       Wife Person™ is still upset with Mr. Ssippi… Not for anything he himself did, so much as how he was not the voice of reason when we decided to try our hand at making movies, which I would find after the fact that she was not exactly a fan of.   Since I live in this constant need for her to like or at least be cool with the friends I speak to on the most regularest of basis, I set out to salvage the relationship.      Not long after we got back from GA in March, Ssip sent me a text that he would be passing through on 85 on his way to Virginia and would gladly make Greensboro his stopover point since his employer was footing the bill.   While in town, we could link up and enjoy a meal or something.   Unfortunately, Mrs. Ssippi would be home with Giant Nephew™ and Dante the puppydog and thus unable to join the fun.   The day he was to come in coincided with one whereupon I had an afternoon appointment so I would be free of work considerably earlier than normal. Wife Person:

  Man, it has been a wild couple of weeks here… Month before last, I bought a lottery ticket and it has been sitting under my keyboard unchecked since the day I took it out of my wallet. Week before last, I was cleaning my desk of extraneous receipts and old mail items and happened upon it.   “Lemme scan this shit” I thought as I opened the lottery app on my phone to do so. So… I called in sick for only the third time in 16 years working here.   One time Ava was sick and the second time I had been rushed to the hospital FROM MY DESK the previous day. I have retained a lawyer and an accountant for the tasks of protecting myself and making sure these ladies in my life are taken care of (trusts for the girls, etc…). Next Friday is my last day employed, like ever.   I worked a notice because I actually like my manager and she deserves at least my professionalism. I have begun arrangements to purchase the land of the home we will be living in, while also beginning the process o

       The past was a wild time…   There were people called town criers who would go to the city square and scream the news to everyone who would listen because without child labor laws, it was perfectly normal for people to not know how to read or write. Things being full circle as they are, nowadays people glue themselves to social media and while perhaps they CAN read or write, they choose instead some asshole yelling at a screen on TikTok or Youtube.   The person who won’t read is no better off in this aspect than the person who can’t read.      Anyway, the town crier… Wait!   Y’know, as I have discussed before, I get a LOT of off time at work.   Due to some to-be-sorted health issues I have mostly been playing my off time close to the vest, limiting my Mental Health™ days and instead using that time for date-to-be-determined doctor’s visits and such.   There comes a time, however, that I will have to use the time or lose it so I have to play this delicate game of saving as

       This is not a story about a church. This is not even a story about anything remotely religious.      Today, we will discuss the dangers of not minding one’s own business to the point of bringing violence upon one’s self.      Everyone has a breaking point, this is a fact that cannot be disputed.   There are, naturally, differences in how people react when they have been driven to that point of course.   Some people shell up and go silent, some people go to their safe space and cry their eyes out and others still will put hands on a motherfucker.   Today, we’re here to talk about that last one.      First, we need to discuss a moment from my early childhood…   The year is 1986…   Or perhaps 87…   Fuck, I don’t remember which.   I just know it was summer during my elementary years.   My pops was a brick mason and would sometimes travel with his boss for jobs.   This particular time it was to Virginia Beach and because it was summer, he took my brother and I with him. Rathe

       So we’re sitting in the living room eating dinner and watching Jeopardy when the alarm panel and both of our phones chime with the doorbell.  I get up expecting to tell the kids across the street that my daughter is with her mother this week.  It is a white man… “Are you lost?  How can I help you?” I ask through the slightly parted screen door. He hands me a manila envelope and says “you’ve been served” before walking down off of my front porch as I stood aghast.      Wife person looking on asks me what is going on.  I sit back down on the loveseat and open the folder. Me: “We’re being sued…” Wife Person™: “What!?”   Me: “Not you.” Wife Person™: “What the hell are you talking about?”   Me: “Me and Moe.”   …  well I’mma explain this shit to y’all now, same as I am to my wife…      Of late, I have been trying to reform Moe Phillips’ public image.  After spending time with my therapist and learning better coping mechanisms than to drink myself to sleep, I re