The musings of a madman...

       Sometimes my boredom takes me to WILD places… Y’all remember back in 2020, when I got furloughed from work and snared the information of and finagled some time on the phone with a TV exec? [ link ] What about now?      Well I am not saying all of that to say that I have been furloughed again.   I have actually made a pretty good go of life since that furlough ended 7 weeks early, but no need to get all off into that.   I have, from time to time, called or received calls from the same guy about ideas he or I might have for television shows.   I swear, I think I am just his release to break up the monotony of his daily life because there is no way in hell he can be taking the shit I come up with seriously.      Anyway… A couple of weeks ago, my FB memories dragged me back to an idea I had posted on Twitter (I ain’t calling that shit ‘X,’ like ever) wherein I proposed a new game show idea…   Rather than sit here and explain in excruciating detail what the game and show w

       I am beginning to feel like I am running low on options… My face is known in the community after my previous attempt at shaking things up using people’s short-sightedness for details. Detective Woodpenis is onto me and I can’t use the Moe Phillips name as a shield for criminal enterprise, lest he will perk up and show his face back at my house. I need something new to do,   here y’all!      For those among us who don’t follow me on The BookFace, you’re aware that I have re-created myself as a fitness douche of sorts sharing details of my workouts every weekday.   It started last summer in the form of my walks on my lunch break.   This summer, I have upped the game with longer walks and doing them at 5am while still throwing in a lunchtime one as well. This matters to the presentation due to where I live and what kind of people are outside between 5 and 7 in the morning.   There are people getting on and off of the bus going to first shift jobs or coming home from thir

       My life is largely not what it has been for the most of my adult life.   Most people I know know me well enough to text me instead of calling.   I prefer things that way, as it forces people to the point and elicits a better response from me, what with knowing that a text is committing to a repeatable (or screen-shottable, to make up a word) medium. Sometimes, however, things cannot be left to the chance of a text.   What if my phone is powered off?   What if Wife Person™ has murdered me and buried my body under a single-wide trailer?   What if I dropped my phone when Marcus and I were saving those kids from the burning orphanage Sunday before last?   Sometimes the only way to be sure contact has been made is to have heard my voice and I know this.      I say all that to say that Thursday before last, I got a phone call… Me: “Yo” Homie: “What’s good?” [ Phlip note : I won’t be using any names because I don’t know that his wife is up for me and my shenanigans ] Me: “

       This summer, I pulled in side money with my lawn mower and arming myself with a collection of sob stories to sell up the source of my abilities. All told, the hustle made me a plenty of extra cash for sneakers and narcotics using my spare time while also serving as a several-hours-a-week supplement to my weekly exercise regimen.      It stands to reason that pictures posted to my socials of my own yard (below) and of a couple of the ones I am duly and fairly paid for (not pictured) serve as my “résumé” to any interested party, but the funny thing about human beings is that they want to know shit that might be none of their damned business.      When I moved into my house in 2021, I was left with nasty work in the way of needing to fix this yard.  Over the course of this, I noted what a godawful job my next door neighbor’s yard man was doing of keeping hers up, despite the fact that he lives FIVE houses down.  In conversation with her, she decided that perhaps she would rath

  [ Phlip Note : this is a collaborative effort, cowritten by Mr. Ssippi ] Nobody:   Me: “Shouldn't the Brady Bunch DAUGHTERS have another last name other than Brady?”   We came to this conclusion through extensive research that Carol made Mike adopt all three kids.   It worked out well as she had poisoned her daughters against their biological father and wanted to make sure that she and the girls had new surnames to make it difficult to find them. She'd run from the very concept of that flawed man she had married and left behind in a former life with no intention of revisiting.   Mike Brady had a small inkling of what Carol and the girls had endured before their blended family came together, but he never got all the details. He didn't want to put Carol through the torture of rehashing those years for the benefit of his curiosity.   He was from the old school, where trauma was best left undiscussed and in the past. The erstwhile untold truth was that she killed he

(look who's back, y'all!)       This honestly could have stopped with PETA , but they didn’t wanna play along. … no, seriously, click that link and come back here when you’re done…      Welcome back… So anyway, this whole shit could have stopped with PETA, but now I am here concerned with the plight of the poor Naugas, of which I now have a small ranch that I am running to care for them.  I don’t know if y’all know this or not, but raising and healthily engaging with all these Naugas is resource intensive in time, money and effort.  What I am sure you all know is that I do that with the salary I earn from a regular-ass job – well, what I have left after paying these bills.      The first thing I tried to do was to sue the creators of Instagram, on the grounds that they had stolen something from me.  No not the concept of shittying up the resolution of pictures to show off to people who don’t actually like me anyway, but the actual NAME ‘Instagram’.  For me, I would crea

In this journey, I have made a lot of acquaintances. For such a not-people-person , people tend to be drawn to me and this comes as a shock and even annoyance to me sometimes. I am good to the ones I like, try to maintain a civil indifference to the ones I’m “even” on, and a marked indifference to the ones I don’t like. New people tend to not like me at first and usually warm up to me. It is my sense of humor and the fact that I possess a seemingly endless supply of information about INFURIATINGLY useless details that throws some newcomers. Today, we will talk about a recently-acquired  new “friend”  whose initial dislike of me was more because he thought I was a criminal than the fact that I talk a lot when I get excited. It starts with a phonecall. Normally, I wouldn’t answer unknowns, but it was from a 336-373 exchange, so it would be from the City of Greensboro or some other entity downtown… Me: “Hello?” Caller: “Hey Phillip, it’s me.” Me: “You gotta be mo’ pacific.” C