The musings of a madman...

Life, love, hip hop, humor AND instructions on how to cook a bangin'-ass meal... all in one place. I put the words here, make what you want of them.

Thursday, January 19, 2017

True Story©... I am going to open a luxury vape lounge!

True Story©…  A Luxury Vaping Lounge

                One of these days I will come up with one of these schemes and make enough money to not have to work with people who actually hate my guts and talk behind my back.
There are a great many things I happen to dislike intensely, one of them is the smell of smoke and the fervor for the acquisition of such in those who consume it.  It is not enough that smoke is one of my worst asthma triggers as it is, but the smell of stale smoke in the car or house of someone who smokes often in closed areas.
Never mind that, there is a worse version of smoker, even with the smell abated a bit.

"Vapers”
I call them “vape douches” or “vape bros.”

                One of my theories is that the LAST thing I want to have to do to someone is to EVER have to pay them, even worse to pay them on my own volition.  Something about having to contribute to something I DETEST irks me to my very soul, not terribly dissimilar to my tax dollars having to contribute to housing and feeding the Trump family for the next 4 years.
With that in mind, though, I have an idea.  That idea is to (legally) TAKE money from these fucking douche missiles.
That idea?  A luxury vaping lounge!

                Stick with me, here.  One thing I have noticed about these assholes is that they will spend a fuck ton of money on a vaping pen/box setup – I’m taking a couple hundred bucks for supplies and modifications – then (ironically) spend about as much on supplies and flavoring agents as they would have on a pack of cigarettes every day.  Somehow, they justify this as their path to “quitting smoking cigs,” but they blow through just as much money in the process.  En route, though, they treat their new hobby as a status symbol…  I live in Tobacco Country, as in the east side of my city literally smells of it, but there are areas of the city where there are actually SIX vapor lounge/supply places within 5-1500 feet of one another.
That said, it is no huge reach to see someone hop out of a lifted truck who says “bro” a lot who will inevitably query you “do you vape, bro?” and try to convince you that it is NOTHING like smoking when you respond “nah, I don’t smoke.”

                But I am after the “status symbol” aspect of this and will use this as my means of coining these motherfuckers.  With an inundation of vape lounges already, I need to make someone think they’re actually GETTING something for their premium on pricing.  See, in the others, it seems that you just walk in and buy some supplies and are then free to have a seat and suck on your robot dildo--…  err, vape pen.

                1 - $10 cover charge…  A placard at the door will justify this with the explanation that it is to “only attract real vapers, bro”
$100 buys you a month membership with daily access.
2 – Members in lifted trucks can get a 20% discount on daily admission or 25% off of monthly.
3 – Once inside, nothing is free and we do not allow outside supplies.  You can bring your own devices, but not flavors and other stuff from outside.
4 – Once-weekly vape parties, with EDM music and lightshows and shit.
5 – VIP seating section where you and your friends can sit back and vape in absolute style while others look on.


I can’t imagine how this will MISS!
I create an air of superiority in a community that already has one that it has not yet earned, create a system under which people who already can’t stand to be around them hate them even more and most importantly, I get to take money from them to do it!  All my bases are covered, I can close myself in an office in the corner of the building and not actually interact with these fuckboys and I keep a couple of large people on security detail to quell the inevitable fight that will happen when douchebags are trying to impress each other for the attention of women they have not noticed are nowhere around anyway.  All in the name of something that is inexplicably WILDLY popular for no good reason other than successful marketing to people too dumb to realize it is no better or safer than what it replaces.  Nurture an unearned elitism in the existing space in the market and I should be basically PRINTING money, right?

Thursday, January 12, 2017

Special Coverage... True Story©: The Process

True Story©, The process…

                I have been asked – well, once – just where in the hell I come up with my story-a-week presentation.

It is REALLY quite funny, actually.
Well first thing's first, it was never actually supposed to become a "thing," so much as me being silly in a FB post back in September, which grew to "Phlip, you should do this every week!" which grew to "Phlip you need a blog," which became "wait, I have a blog!"  and voila, I was out of retirement.
Now that we have established how this became a thing, back to business...
I generally go about my every day just looking at the world as only I can see it and wait for SOMETHING that happens that I can wrap a story around.  Then it becomes a multi-part process.

1 – Wait for something interesting, funny, bombastic or otherwise outstanding to happen.  It doesn’t even have to happen to ME, it just has to happen for me to see or hear.  This is where being a people watcher comes in handy.  I don't need to know someone's story, I don't even really care since I am about to make some shit up for my own amusement.

2 – Relate said item to something I HAVE done, seen, said or experienced.  This is the important part, since it is a requirement to lend plausibility to the story, the best stories are the ones where it is pretty hard to tell where I stop talking about what happened and start bullshitting.

3 (this should probably be 2a) – Remembering the item that actually did take place and thinking “damn, what would I have done or said if I knew then what I know now to make that funny?”

4 – ^^^ ADD THAT ELEMENT!!!  This is where I am allowed to live vicariously through my imagination.  I can have sex with who I want, I can commit whatever crime I want, I have only the passive agreement to be bound by what I am able to think at the time I sit down at the keyboard.

…  now this is where it gets interesting.  Everything above took place before I am seated at a computer.  If anything to this point, I MIGHT have pulled my phone and drafted an email with a blurb to remind me to work on it when I am sitting down, but not a word has been typed yet.

5 – I will spend a period of time of 2 to 6 hours directly daydreaming the story and how I will set up, develop and resolve it within 1500 words.  This time frame is the time between my morning shower and my lunch break.  The most intense development is on lunch, normally in the last 20 minutes of such.  If I spend more than an hour typing then I have probably overcooked the stew and scrap it.

6 – I hate, hate, HATE to not be able to go from start to finish on a story in one sitting.  At/near the end of my lunch break (sometimes on the day before a post is to be up), I sit down and rain man the post.  No notes, no plans, no blueprint.  I just start typing.  I introduce the story with a concept and then dig right into the telling of the story.  Not a one to this point have I approached with a fully developed plan, not even the two that were actually (mostly) all the way true.


7 – I post a paragraph or two of the post to my FB wall, enough to get my friends interested enough to click the link and come to the blog and read the rest of the story.  Then they hate me for feeling a little dirty for laughing at my immature humor and share with their friends to not be alone in that feeling.  Then we do it all again the following Thursday morning between 7:30 and 8:12am.


With all that said, know that anything you say, do, post or even think could find its way into one of my humorous stories.

True Story© Love at First Sight

True Story©…


                Do y’all believe in love at first sight?
I used to.
Like with about any situation one finds themselves soured on, my story begins with me in an unhealthy set of circumstances that didn’t end pretty and birthed a lack of trust in the process that would happen to endure through to the remainder of my adulthood.
I might be so inclined to be angry at what happened, but I am largely to blame for it and I learned a lesson from it, so there is not a lot for me to be angered about…  I’m alive to tell the story, so at least there’s that.
Enough of the setup, let’s talk about what happened…

Back when I first got home from Vietnam, before I found myself in Guantanamo later in life, I happened to see this young lady waiting for the GTA one day on my way to work.
Wait, I have something else to explain…  The way my situation at the time was, I had a license but not a car yet so I caught the bus to work and either got a ride or a car dropped off to me to get home from work.  So I am on the bus stop and I see the girl drive by me, pretty face and all.  She looks at me and smiles, so I wave and smile back to have her smile harder.  That evening, my brother brought the car to the mall, gave me the key and went on about his merry way for the evening.  I stopped at the store just a half-block from the bus stop (three blocks itself from the house) and guess who I saw?  That’s right, the same girl from the morning.  She had a nice pretty caramel complexion, dark brown hair and couldn’t have been a millimeter taller than 5’3”.  I tried to speak, but I was dumbstruck.  I couldn’t muster more than a “hi” and a goofy-fuck smile.  She flashed the same brilliant smile from the morning and returned my “hi.”  I bought my beer from the clerk who never bothered to confirm that I was only 19, got in the car and went home.

This SAME dance repeated itself for THREE WEEKS until I noticed one off day her car parked in front of some apartments two more blocks past the store…  Nothing to this fact other than now I know where she lives.  Never asked her name or age, approached to know if she has a dude and I should back off, if she even likes men or anything else really to gauge whether or not I even had a chance with this girl.
… and THAT was the problem…  I needed not perform ANY of these check-downs before arriving at the station I had arrived to at that point.  She saw me riding the city bus in the mornings and driving home in the evenings, smiled and spoke at me regularly and was not (outwardly) mean to me in any way.  She was beautiful, apparently gainfully employed to be leaving about the same times daily and had a place of her own (so it seemed).  She was everything my underexperienced brain could have WANTED at the moment.  I was MADLY in love.

Still not ACTUALLY speaking to her, I started driving past her apartment to happen to catch her eye as she might be coming or going.  This was mostly ineffective as I didn’t know her to even know her name, let alone have an inkling of what her schedule might be like.  If I saw her, I waved and smiled and she would return the same.  Totally innocent on the outside, sure…  In my head, however, this solidified our situation and justified my having been MADLY in love with her ever since that first time she saw me standing on that bus stop on Julian street.

A short while later, I got a little car and I was no longer on that bus stop five times a week, just a couple times a month when that piece of shit car broke and I had to get to work while it was in the shop…  I still saw her in the evenings at the store, still never had a conversation with her or even gleaned her name.  I mean, I TRIED to script what I would say when I see her in the evenings but when the rehearsal was over and it was time for the show, shyness shit on me every time.
Then my stupid luck comes in…
Mid 1999 (around my birthday or so?), I first hatched my plans to grow my dreadlocks, I swore off haircuts and the beard I am now basically known finished filling in.  In that in-between period, I went to this lady named Pamela in a salon to do my cornrows and she would come up with a different design every Tuesday morning.  I would then walk to my barber Deon and she would trim my beard to match the design.
[Phlip note: looking back on this at 37, this was some SILLY shit that was apparently cool when I was 19/20]
One Wednesday after work, I am in the store with my customary two 22s in hand, she is there buying a Mountain Dew.  She looks at my hair and beard, grins slowly and says “I like that,” we finish our purchases and go outside to talk.  Ten minutes pass and ALL I have allowed myself to be steered into conversation about were the two ladies responsible for my hair, STILL only learning that this woman I have been in some kind of relationship with for like 8 months now is named Tiffany.  Still no details, no phone number, NOTHING.  I had choked again.  Knowing I would see her again soon, I let it be and went home.

That weekend, me and the team are planning to go out after the last of us (me) got off of work and I skipped the store to rush home to shower and change.  I grab two of the homies on the way to meet everyone else.  We hit a couple of our favorite spots and have the normal blast we always do and then called it a night about 1:30ish.  I drop my friends off and think “well shit, it is only 1:50, I can still grab a beer while I am on the way home.
I pull to the store and see Tiffany’s car…  With a dude in the front seat...
“what in the actual fuck is this and who is this nigroe in my woman’s car?” is the first thought to my mind and before I can properly process and dismiss my NEXT thought, I am out of my driver’s seat and dragging this man from the seat and beating on him with one of the squeegees they leave between the gas pumps.  Naturally, there is dirty-ass window cleaner water all over the place.  I don’t know if someone called the cops or if it was my lucky day, but I got to spend the night on Sycamore Street for the assault charge.

Needless to say, my “girlfriend” started to dodge me, I stopped seeing her at the store after work most days.  If I was passing by her apartment (for now-valid reasons), she would look the other way.  In court, I would learn that it was her older brother I had beaten up who had stopped to visit with her on his way home from reserve duty.  Thank God he was a good enough person to leave me to my own stupidity and didn’t press charges and I was only required to pay a small fine.

So yeah…  My experience with love at first sight is another in the long line of unhealthy things that have manifest themselves into my life that I live my day-to-day forcing out.

Thursday, January 5, 2017

True Story©... Sometimes the World Must Suffer

True Story©…

Sometimes it is solely my decision that the world needs to suffer.

                I’m sure a great many of the two of you are inclined to want to ask “how, Phillip?” and I am here to tell you just how in somewhere between 4 and 700 words.
As my woman continues to try to starve me to health I get a full slate of things like green vegetables, various forms of yogurt and very little in the way of junk food these days.  With that said, I am regular as they come and quite often gassy.  I try to be mindful of small spaces that I will have to stay in without ventilation, but anywhere else is up to the limits of my imagination and mood as it relates to public safety.

                One time in Wal Mart with Mimi, I went to the bathroom to pee and there were these four kids waiting on their mother at Online Pickup.  Anyone who walked by them, they made a fart noise and giggled.  Well, when I came back out of the bathroom, I had saved a silent-but-deadly to slowly leave with them as I walked back to the grocery section.  I couldn’t hang out for their response to it, but I imagine it smelled like death.

                One time in Costco with my mom, she was taking a long time and a friend of mine and I were getting restless and silly (which tends to happen when we have to stick to something more than a couple of minutes.
“Hey mama, wanna hear something funny?”
“what”
*loud fart*
I swear I heard someone three aisles over heard it and chuckled.  Mom, on the other hand, turned beet red even though it was only me her and John on the aisle we were on.

                When mom was in the hospital summer before last, I got on the elevator on the first floor, didn’t press any buttons, farted and got off and took the stairs up.  Unfortunately this left me unable to wait and witness the aftermath, but this was right in the middle of my birthday celebration month, so I KNOW it had to have been heinous.  I think they roped that end of Wake Forest Baptist off for a week.

                One time I was trying to park at Wal Mart, this woman in a beat-to-shit minivan stole my space despite my signal being on.  Rather than road rage and curse her out on the spot, I found another space and went on into the store.  I proceeded to wait for her to be in an aisle that I would need to be on, got about 10 feet ahead of her and left her a rancid bouquet.  I then looked RIGHT at her and dared her to say something.

                One time in Toys R Us, there was this little boy who couldn’t have been older than three, had on a pullup and was GOING OFF in the store, just screaming away.  Apparently he had not gotten what he wanted from his mother and was not having that.  I positioned myself at the end of the aisle they were coming down and fiddled with a couple of things on a shelf to give me time to squeeze out an SBD and moved to where I could hear the aftermath.  When she arrived to the spot, she SWORE her son had shit his pants and anyone within AT LEAST 50 feet had to have heard her anger to tell the story about it.  I wish I could have hung around after she took him to the bathroom and DIDN’T find anything and eventually then made eye contact with me again, but I left.


I think y’all get it by now.
Revenge situations, annoying teenagers, crowded dancefloors, bad-ass kids, fits of boredom…  ALL of these can be rectified with the application of a little flatulence.  When around equally immature people, it becomes an unspoken competition on who can do it louder than anyone else.  Hell, at that point it is more of a “jumping” to the intended victim when you can get another person or two in on it.


                But why…  Why do I do this?
Hell, I don’t know.  I guess some people just want to see the world burn.

Thursday, December 29, 2016

True Story©... New Year, New You!

True Story©…

                I am here to help you ACHIEVE that “new you” in the new year.

I know I have said this before, but I was on some New Year bullshit too at the time.  We all go through it sometimes, I ain’t mad at myself.  So here’s how it will go.  Sometime between December 30th (that would be Friday) and January 2 (Monday), you will PayPal me $25 or $50 and provide me with a contact email and phone number.
What you will also include is WHAT about you it is that you need to leave behind in 2016.

With the $25 plan, I simply call you every day and email you every afternoon to remind you that you’re still doing the same ol shit that you've BEEN doing every other year that you tried to reinvent yourself and that every year on 12/31 you’re still miserable for the same reasons you were on 01/01.  The underlying aim of this approach is to anger you into action, even if that action includes coming to my house – or sending someone to my house – to be shot dead in my front yard.
The $50 plan is more involved…  You still tell me your plans and I STILL call/email to insult you, but I ALSO become a partner in the plan itself...
- Is it weight loss you seek?  My woman drew up a meal plan that worked for us, I will share it with you.
- Finances?  I will work out a means of saving with you and seeing to it that your bills get paid, based on the best we can gain from your financial situation/income.
- You need to get rid of an ain’t-shit dude in your life?  I will hire someone to say they had sex with him, offering up EXCRUCIATING details, to the point where your dude has to kill her/him (I will have to charge extra if it is a dude).  Voila, off to prison he goes and out of your hair.
- Your baby mama acting out?  I grew up with some SUPER grimy negroes who would happily meet her, talk her into unprotected sex and leave her with some kind of crotch critters or maybe even another kid, then NEVER speak to her again.
- Troubles at work?  I will have one of the above-mentioned grimies show up to your place of employment and stage a domestic situation with one of your coworkers every other day for two or three weeks until they’re fired.


                Seeing above, the possibilities are ENDLESS and this is just a couple of the potentially onerous undertakings that I would be willing to enter for a small small fee.  Your plan can be customized, the $25/$50 price points are baseline and are a one-time fee until we get the whole thing up and going


                This is to be a service provided by Philip’s Supervillainy.

Thursday, December 22, 2016

True Story©... Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer

True Story©…

                Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.


This is one that has been up for debate for many years.  We’re to understand that Santa already had his reindeer fleet set to go, and all of a sudden another one shows up out of nowhere with a bright red nose?  Nah dawg, that ain’t how the story went.  It CAN'T be.  Today, I am here to lay it out for real.

                We readily believe that Santa handles his Christmas duties every year with the same 8 reindeer; Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen…  Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen (admit it, you sang that shit, didn't you?).  All of a sudden, after 100 years there is a new reindeer at the North Pole?  HOW LONG WAS THIS DUDE THERE?!!?  And to make the story just a little more juicy, how about the fact that one that no one was allowed to see or hear of him from the beginning of the Santa Claus story in 1839 to the discovery of Cocaine in the late 1850s and then still remaining COMPLETELY hidden until the story they began to tell us in 1939 and happens to have a bright red nose..

                Not to let you in on anything more than you need to know about the community, but sometimes there is this one uncle who lives in your grandma’s basement due to having developed a substance abuse issue.  There are times where other family members don’t much TALK about that uncle in the hopes that one day his issues will take him on out of here.  As granny prays away his demons and tries as best she can to disallow his vice in her house, he gradually gets better and comes out of the basement more and more often.  He thinks he is still cool, but all of your friends know him as your “powderhead uncle” and no one wants to have him around while y’all are playing football or stickball in the street or whatever else y’all might be doing.
[Phlip note: that paragraph right there is a metaphor for “reindeer games”]

                So I am sure – or at least I hope – you get it now…  The issue is not that they didn’t want to let Rudolph play their reindeer games, it is that they had been accustomed to him being in the basement below Santa’s workshop higher than a fucking kite on cocaine and it was never a prudent move to have them doing such.
I mean, why in the hell ELSE would his nose be bright-ass red all the time like that?

                Anyway, that one fateful Christmas night of the huge storm comes along and--…  Wait, even THAT portion of the story was total shit.  I am here to tell it like it is, aren’t I?  Christmas happens to take place in winter, it stands to reason that now and again some people are going to experience some pretty epic snow storms, Santa has always dealt with them no problem.
Rewind to Christmas Eve.  Santa, the elves and all of the other reindeer had a big-ass Ugly Sweater party.  Many shots of Hennessy and Patron were consumed, many blunts may have been in rotation, questionable decisions were made and EVERYONE who was at the party fell out into a drunken heap in the middle of Santa’s workshop.  Of course, these motherfuckers SHOULD have been loading up the sleigh to prepare for the world’s deliveries.  Rudolph, on the other hand, was in his basement getting skiied real good since he was gonna have to be home alone until the everyone finished the Christmas deliveries.  Bear in mind, here that Cocaine is an upper and alcohol is a downer, as is marijuana.
Curiously, Rudolph thinks “damn, they’re kinda quiet up there…  shouldn’t they be getting ready?”  He goes upstairs to find the aftermath of the drunken debauchery and newly hyper off of his moments in the Scarface suite, loads the WHOLE sleigh himself and wakes up ALL the other reindeer.  He brewed a pot of coffee to bring them back to as normal as possible, loaded Santa’s fat ass in the sleigh and got everyone in position and took the lead which he would maintain until HIS drugs wore off in time for everyone else to come down and finish their job.  In having the forethought to do that, Rudolph saved Christmas.

                Rudolph was a hero!  Upon return to Santa's workshop, they still couldn’t let him participate in the reindeer games due to his inability to pass drug protocols for random testing, but since he had looked out for them and he knew a week before he had to piss for work, so he was able to be on standby for Christmases on into the future.


And that, kids, is how the story ACTUALLY went.

Thursday, December 15, 2016

True Story©... Outside the Library...

True Story©…

                Sometimes I like to sit and listen to OTHER people’s True Story©.
In my current position, I am downtown Burlington NC.  Before August, my building was right across the street from the public library.  One consistent in the whole of the United States of America is that a public library will draw the infirmed; homelesses, unemployed--…  the needy public in general.  I don’t judge people for their outward appearances any more than a reasonable person would – and trust, ALL people do if they admit or not – but sometimes I would sit outside on my lunch breaks when I was up there or will walk by when I walk around the block now on breaks/lunches and I talk to people about their stories.

                I have gotten a lot of good stories:
-          A woman who had a couple of kids by a drug dealer who did well by them until getting caught, but literally didn’t know how to hold down a household when he was gone and now was in this position during the days because her grandmother wouldn’t let her be in the house during the day.
-          A veteran who came home from Desert Storm in DEBILITATING back pain who lost it all due to doctors who would sooner give him an opiate addiction than to address the underlying problem at hand.  This would parlay into heroin, a feeling of betrayal from the government he volunteered for, the loss of his family and me sharing my lunch or a couple bucks with him a couple times a week.

And then came the one that changed my WORLD…
I’m on lunch back in March, sitting at the stone table enjoying a turkey wing, mashed potatoes and broccoli.  Earbuds in, I am listening to Skyzoo…
A cat named Gerard asks if he can join me for a couple minutes as it was getting chilly in the shade under the awning at the library across the street.  Plenty of table, I removed my headphones and let him have at it.  General conversation; he asked what I do and how long I been with the company, mostly smalltalk to not have awkward silence at the table.  I explained and answered, then came my time to ask the question “so what about you?  What brings you out this way?  Tell me your story…”
I would not be ready for this answer.


“Aight, so I am 32 right now…  I’m from VA beach, came down to North Carolina to go to school on a basketball scholarship, but played baseball too.
Back when I was 21, me and these three other dudes had gamed this chick into letting us run a train in an off-campus apartment.  She in the room getting ready for us and we in the living room deciding who gets to go first.  I am thinking that since I knew her the longest and introduced her to the whole situation, I should be the one who gets to go first, right?  Well my homeboy, this n**ga, he say that because it’s his apartment, HE should get to go first.  Next dude has no real claim to ANYTHING in this situation, he just brought the weed, so he stays quiet.  Then there is the problem child, this dude ups a .380 and is like “I got this, I am going first.”
All hands are in the air, he starts toward the bedroom door waiting for her to say she’s ready, stupid motherfucker turns his back on all of us to do so, so we jump on him to get him and that pistol out of the situation.  We scuffle in the living room, in the hallway, in the dining room.  Gun falls out of his jacket pocket.  I pick it up and pull back the slide to let EVERYONE in the room know I have it.  My intentions were to scare him out of the apartment, run that train and dispose of the gun on the way back to campus.  I ain’t no thug, I’d never handled a gun, never knew what it was like outside of movies and rap videos at the time, so NO ONE taught me not to put your finger on the trigger until you WANT to shoot the thing.  Soon as my arm was extended, I fired a single shot right into his chest.  Girl screams and everyone else scatters.
The neighbors had already called the police in the commotion of the fight and the cops were there with guns drawn as soon as the apartment door was opened.
I was arrested, charged and convicted of manslaughter and they gave me the whole 60 months because a gun was involved with time served. Almost 27, I came home and my preacher dad wasn’t HAVING me coming back home to VA, I tried out for a few minor league baseball teams but couldn’t get on with any.  I have spent the last 4 years day laboring and taking cleaning jobs, but I found standing out here in front of this library and asking for change sometimes does me better than that.”


I was DUMBSTRUCK!
                
“So you’re telling me that you were a scholarship athlete who did 5 years out in the mountains because you accidentally killed someone in an argument over who gets to go first running a train?”
He replied with “yeah, this is not something I am proud of, I don’t think I should be ridiculed for it either.”


I’d been told the most amusing story I had EVER heard sitting outside of that damn library.  If I never sat out there again (which I haven’t since), I would be okay with that.  I gave the dude $5 and went back upstairs to work.