Zombie Preparedness.

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that.

Pretty much everybody agrees the Zombie Apocalypse is coming. And tons of people are preparing, but most everybody is doing it wrong. If you really want to survive the coming Zombie uprising, come see me. 

   Because let's face it, you're gonna end up as a zombie. With our help, you'll be the best zombie you can be. 

   First we'll work you out. You want to be nice and strong when it's time. We'll work on the cardio too, you want to be able to run for a good long time. I'm not exactly sure how being in top shape translates, seeing as how there aren't any zombies yet, but I'm sure there are residual effects of being strong and fast, muscle memory and all that.

   Then we'll do some customizations. Sharpened teeth for one. Now that you only eat human flesh, you don't need the grinding teeth of the omnivore. All teeth are filed down, razor sharp. Speaking of sharp, we'll also attach prosthetic claws on the ends of your fingers. Since you won't be intelligent enough to wield a weapon you'll need something to rend human flesh with.

   Next we'll work on the achilles heel, as it were, of the zombie. The whole head thing. It is now possible to coat the skull with new lightweight bullet resistant material. What I wouldn't pay to see the smug look on a zombie hunter, turn to horror as he realizes, too late, that his head shot didn't work. I'll also imbed some kevlar in your neck, providing some resistance to edged weapons separating your head from your shoulders.

   Lastly, give some thought to were you will most likely reside after you become a zombie. If you will be in the country, we will give you a full body traditional camo paint job. If you will be hunting in the city, we will paint you up in the new modern urban camouflage. They'll never see you coming. 

   After you see us at Flip's Zombie Modifications, you won't just survive the Zombie uprising; as the top predator, you'll thrive. 

This ad sponsored and endorsed by the Zombie Majority.

YOLO Inspired Merchandise.

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that.

You can't swing a dead a cat at crackhead these days without running into that insipid phrase, YOLO. It supposedly means You Only Live Once, but the way that todays whiny, emasculated, twit applies it, it might as well mean I'm a pansy and I think that dancing on the hood of my car at sunset at the beach, is REALLY living, but only if some takes a pictogram of it and uses a nice blocky sans serif to insert some weak cliche. Oh, that's YOLO for sure, brah. Screw that, and your ridiculous pink YOLO T-shirt.

   If you're really going to use and market that phrase, we have got to stop being all sissified. You want to market something that really goes with YOLO? How about my YOLO self immolation kit? Only $35.99. Or my YOLO cyanide capsule, for a limited time only $99.95. Or the YOLO anvil in a parachute pack, $500. If you purchase any of the preceding items I present the YOLO funeral, for the low, low price of $4,500. Now that's how you YOLO, you little hipster spaz.

Xanadu Revival.

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that.

The only thing that matters anymore is content. People go out of their minds coming up with the new meme, or app, or... whatever, that can get a million eyeballs on it. 'Cause where the eyeballs are, the cash will follow. Or that's what we are to believe, anyway.

   But why are people practically killing themselves coming up with original, inventive ideas, when there are inarguable classics like 1980's Xanadu, starring a radiant Olivia Newton-John and the sublime Michael Beck, waiting to be mined? 

   So without further ado, I now announce that HILL BLOCKS VIEW, will immediately suspend operations so I can throw the full weight of my passion and creativity, into my new true love; a reimagining of Xanadu, presented as a weekly webisode. Starring: my cat Maxx, as Sonny, Me as Kira, Olivia Newton-John, as Sparky the plucky little black shoeshine boy that I created just so the "Neutron-Bomb" would stop calling me, like, seventeen times a day begging, to be part of this production and crying and whining and geez with that Australian accent it's just so grating and fine here's a part now leave me alone, and Gene Kelly, reprising his award winning role as Danny, the stereotypical downtrodden Jazz guy... the role obviously had to be rewritten, seeing as Gene Kelly has been dead, 'lo these many years. Danny now, inexplicably, lies in a graveyard under the headstone of Gene Kelly. Really experimental stuff. Although, he has been getting some rave reviews on some of the early footage. In fact the Village Voice recently opined; "Gene Kelly has taken method acting to a whole other level, he hasn't been this compelling in decades. Do I smell Oscar? Oops, no. That was just death actually."

   S0, stay tuned for updates about the groundbreaking premiere, presented in several-D, stereophonic audio on a Computer screen near you. If you live close to me. Otherwise it won't probably be near you. It will only be playing in my mom's basement on an old Amiga, hooked up to a Betamax.

   But it'll probably be really great. And would somebody please do a Grease reunion so Olivia Newton-John will move off my couch? If I have to hear "You're the one that I want," one more time...

Wasting My Life On TV And Movies.

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that.

There is a saying that says, "if you do a thing you love, you will never work a day in your life." I have decided to take that advice to heart. There is nothing in the world that gives me more pleasure, just a pure sense of doing exactly what I'm meant to be doing, than being drunk. It's just so awesome! If I could only be wasted for a living, that would truly be my dream job.
   In almost every movie ever made there is the drunk guy who slurs something funny and stupid, or mumbles some sage advice. In the credits, he is always listed as Drunk Guy Number 2; I want to be that guy! I already do that for free. I have started interviewing for upcoming projects, and just to make sure the producers know I am dedicated, I always show up in character.

*Update: Nobody would hire me. Apparently, Drunk Guy Number 2 isn't really drunk! He's just an actor, pretending to be wasted. G'ah. What a travesty!

Validate You!

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that.

I used to want to help people sort through their problems, give them some sound counsel and tools they could use to change their attitude. And then I realized there isn't any money in that. People don't want to actually change, or to work on their own shortcomings. They just want validation, someone to tell them that they are awesome and that everybody else is a giant douche.

   You are special person, unique and wonderful! Chuck Norris wants to be in your fan club. All those people you are in conflict with are complete clueless jerk-holes. None of your problems are your fault.
   Make checks payable to: Mr. Fantastic Wonderpants at PO Box 42 Albuquerque, NM

Uvula Enhancer.

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that.

If you're like most people, the first thing you notice on a prospective mate is the size of their uvula. Don't feel guilty, it's natural, everybody is checkin' out everybody else's uvula. But what if you are one of those unfortunate few, born with a tiny uvula? Are you just destined to die alone? Unloved; in this uvula obsessed culture?
   Not if I have anything to say about it! I've invented a prosthetic uvula that you simply staple unto your existing uvula to give your uvula that full and sexy look that hot wanton people you would like to sleep with, find so appealing.
   Order yours today. Just send a check for $34.99, a money order for $15.73, three special edition Lincoln pennies, and a travelers check in the amount of $.42, to: Flip's Hot Sexy Uvula, PO Box 4242, Albuquerque, NM USA and in 13-57 weeks, your anemic, flabby uvula will be a distant memory. Hello ladies!

Transient-O-Gram

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that.

I was pulling off of the freeway recently, lost in thought, contemplating the best way to tell my wife that I was sorry that I forgot our anniversary, but I would still like some sweet, sweet loving, when I was startled by a thump on my window. I looked up and saw a bedraggled man holding a "Will Work For Food" sign. 

   EUREKA! I gave him a five spot and Transient-O-Gram® was born. I drove him to my house, he rang the door bell, and when my wife answered he told her, more incoherently and profanity laced than I ever could, that her husband was sorry about the anniversary thing but would still like to have some sexy, fun times.

   It didn't work. My wife hates me now and I live in the kids playhouse in the backyard. But that doesn't detract from the genius of Transient-O-Gram®. On practically every corner of the city is a host of eager, untapped workers. And for around $10, they can deliver your message. 

Would you like to wish your Aunt Robert a Happy Birthday? Send a Transient-O-Gram®.

Want to tell that girl at the store that you'd like to bag her groceries? Send a Transient-O-Gram®.

Need to let Vito the Blade know that you'll be a little short this month? Send a Transient-O-Gram®.

Order your Transient-O-Gram® today!

Sleep Deprivation Really Means...

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that.


I have often wondered, if offered the chance to have more money or more hours in each day, which would I choose? Definitely money. Because it's impossible to get more than twenty-four hours into a standard day; right?! Not so fast, friend. What if I told you I've discovered a way create up to eight, yes EIGHT, extra hours every day? Would you like to hear about that? Would you like it enough that you would pay me, in three easy payments, the low, low amount of $19.99? No? Hmm. How about I tell you my plan and then you pay me what you think it's worth, in three easy payments. Great! Here's my plan; stop sleeping! It's so wasteful. While you are sleeping, you aren't painting the kitchen, or getting exercise, or watching your shows, or (my personal hobby) writing the Great American Novelette. So stop it. Just follow me through the steps of the program, and I'll show you how easy it really is.

16HSLS: (Hours Since Last Sleep): I had a full day of work and then spent a wonderful evening with the family. Now it's time for my extra hours to begin. Looking forward to a night of fruitful writing.

23HSLS: Browsed StumbleUpon for three hours, followed by opening and shutting the fridge door trying to solve the light conundrum for an hour or two, and then discovering that pop tarts are freakin hilarious, somewhere around four in the A.M. But at least I have a good solid hour to write before getting ready for work. 

40HSLS: Work sucked. Family was unusually loud and annoying. But now, it's the magic hours. 

41HSLS: Work sucked. Family was unusually loud and anno... Wait. I already wrote that. Need to focus...                Where's those funny cats? 

44HSLS: Did you hear that? What the hell was that, it sounded like an eyeball breathing. SH*T! Quick, I'll hide in... snxxxxt. WHA...?! I'm hungry. Where's the kitchen go to?

45HSLS: HAHAHAHAHahahahah. POP TARTS. hahhahahahaha. They pop and they're tarts. But they're aren't tart or poppy. HAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAA. snxzzt. hhaahaaAHAAAHA!

48HSLS: The devil-woman is trying to kill me. She keeps shooting these little evil alien bastards out of her tummy, and they intend to suck up all my life essence, leaving me a lifeless husk. Probably make a piñata out of the husk. Fill it with Pop Tarts. Dad must be an acronym for dead essence dummy-head. They won't take me alive, dammit! This tinfoil will keep me safe. 

64HSLS: No job. Said I looked terrible and I wasn't allowed to wear my safety tinfoil hat. Good riddance, they must be in league with the devil-wife. Hid in the cupboard until everybody went to bed, Pop Tarts are my only friend left in the world. 

67HSLS: Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop...                Pop. 

68HSLS: Pop Tarts are inside of foil. I'm inside of foil. The Pop Tarts want to get inside of me! Damn you Beelzubeatrice, is there no safe place from your accursed machina... u. uh     uh

70HSLS: uh.                       tions?   Who said that?                    Huh?

72HSLS: AAAaaaaaAAAAAARGH! AAAaaaaaAAAAAARGH! AAAaaaaaAAAAAARGH! AAAaaaaaAAAAAARGH! AAAaaaaaAAAAAARGH! 

Racy Clothing

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that.

It is funny to me, that in this enlightened day and age we live in, people (especially men) find it necessary to have to buy their racy clothing in secret, under the cover of darkness, like it is some disgraceful thing, in back alleys, and disgusting corners of the internet, full of shame, like a junkie looking for a fix, or knowing that nobody would understand, like a black guy from Detroit that votes Republican.
   But it doesn't have to be that way. I say NO MORE. I wear racy things and I'm proud. And now I sell racy things. My official site isn't up yet, but here are a few of the items that flip's Racy Wear, will sell.

Speedos. Oh yeah.

Speedos you can run in, too.

Race suits also make for excellent lounge wear.

Like he's wearing nothing at all.

Very aerodynamic.

Faster than lightning. 

Quarrel Facilitators

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that.

It is a quarrelsome time in human history. Scratch that. I guess all of human history is quarrelsome. It is a time in human history when the quarrelsomeness is available for all to see, almost instantaneously. And then pick apart and post, like, share, repost, troll, blog, tumbl, tweet, and stumble.  (How is that even a real sentence?) What the world really needs is for somebody to step up and offer a solution. I have stepped up. Now I don't pretend to be smart enough to know the correct answer to all the world's problems, but I can offer (for a small fee, of course) the means for a resolution.

   At flip's Quarrel Facilitators we utilize the latest methods of arbitration, and non-violent conflict resolution, with qualified therapists, supervising reverse role play, empathy building sessions, scream therapy, drum circles, and hypno-regres...
   No. Just kidding. In reality, I built a life-size version of the Thunderdome, from the Mad Max movie, in my back yard. Two persons enter, one person leaves. Quarrel over.

flip be illin'

We now interrupt your regularly scheduled A-Z postings with the following breaking news. flip McFliperson has fallen ill. After a short, day long stint in the emergency room and another day rolling about in bed intrepidly whining, flip is making a slow recovery. A-Z posts to resume shortly. Stay tuned for further updates.

Picasso Home Builders.

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that.

A house can be the most expensive piece of art that many people will ever buy. That's why so many home builders bear artsy names: Renaissance Builders, DaVinci Fine Custom Homes, Bob Ross's Happy Homes, Van Gogh Deluxe Homes and Kindergarden Mike's Finger Painting Homes (maybe that's not the best example) to name a few. 

   I recently convinced some acquaintances with too much money and a love of art to allow me to build them a home worthy of Picasso, perhaps the greatest artist ever. (Excluding Thomas Kinkaide of course. And whoever first put Elvis on crushed black velvet; that guy is a freaking genius.) They agreed to allow me total freedom and anonymity to create my masterpiece, and in six short years I was finished. With great anticipation I unveiled their new beautiful abode, and gave them a tour.

   UNCULTURED HEATHENS! As much as they claimed to be art lovers, in reality they were just like all other visionless sheep. Instead of heaping accolades on me, they have slapped me with a lawsuit. Here are some of their ridiculous complaints.

1) They object to the front door being seven feet of the ground. I was just pointing out that as much as we pretend, we don't want everybody to have access to our hearts. 

2) They couldn't understand why all the bedrooms are in the basement and filled with water. What is a bedroom other than a womb? A womb is filled with fluid. How can you not get that?

3) They complain that the hanging stairs don't go anywhere. They do. They lead to the ceiling. If that isn't a statement on the human condition, I don't know what is. We are all struggling up life's steps and it is meaningless. 

4) They say that toilets don't go in the kitchen. On the wall. Says who? Convention? Great works of art defy convention. 

5) They object to all the windows in the house hanging from the ceiling and the walls and laying on the floor. If you can't see the symbolic aspects of windows, then you are a soulless swine and I hate you. 

And this was just the first page of complaints. I must rest in the knowledge that great artists are hardly ever recognized in their own time. But in the future I'll totally be infamous. That's good right?!

Office Mafia.

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that.

Each office has it's own ecosystem. It's own pecking order. It's often a reflection of society at large. The one thing you don't often see, is the overtly criminal element that all societies have.
   I aim to rectify that. Starting today, all office pools run through me. Anybody tries to cut in on my action, gets shanked with an official sharpened Dilbert® slide ruler. 
   This sure is a nice desk. It would be a shame if your stapler was to disappear, or your Trolls® suddenly decided to take a nap with the goldfishes, or if the goldfishes decided to take a nap with some Wasabi sauce, or if your spreadsheets were to lose a formula. That's right for only $5.99 a week, I'll offer you protection... from me. (Wait. Is that right? That seems a little weird. How can I be sure I won't mess up that desk as soon as my back is turned?)

   Drugs. From now on all drugs run through me. Aspirin, Tums, and Motrin can be had for $1 a pop. The harder stuff is free, the first time. Once you're on the Aleve you won't be able to stop, and then you're mine. 
   I haven't really got a plan for the prostitution arm of my criminal organization. I thought maybe I'd try to talk to "Tight Pants" Pablo down in receiving, he doesn't seem to be very discriminating. And he always needs money to travel to his Karaoke contests. (If I hear The Children Are Our Future, one more time...)
   Well, the Office Mafia is set up, with me as the Kingpin. I'll add criminal enterprises as my influence spreads, in no time at all, I'll be rolling in my ill gotten gains. My office today, your office tomorrow, the world... a week from next Tuesday. Probably. 

*Update: Mary-Elizabeth from the secretary pool is already the Don(na?) of the Office Mafia. She didn't take kindly to me infringing on her territory. She had Sally-Sue and Wanda-Mae-Jenny-Ann work me over pretty good with archived TP reports. They scar your soul, but don't leave a mark. Also I'm pretty sure that I am now the office Ho, Mary-Elizabeth grabbed my butt and told me "that sweet little hiney is mine, to do with as I please." Oh Dilbert®, patron saint of office peons, please take me now. 
   

Nutritionist To The Rich And Famous.

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that.

Because I am slender, people will frequently ask if they can buy some meth off of me. When I tell them that I don't actually use meth, they frequently pull a gun on me, and demand that I produce, said meth. (After all, I live in Albuquerque, the celebrated meth paradise of AMC's Breaking Bad.) Seven times out of ten, I don't get pistol whipped, and the conversation invariably turns to my diet regimen. After enduring countless inquiries on my caloric intake, I decided to publish my diet. One, because I believe in helping your fellow man, and two, to make some sweet cash. Here is my diet in a nutshell, please send money. Which I may or may not use to buy beer with.
   1) Breakfast: Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Make sure to have a balanced diet of coffee. Unless you're on vacation, then a beer is a suitable substitute. A beer is also OK on an extended weekend. Or a regular one. Or if you don't have anything particularly pressing to do at work that day. Mondays. Mondays are almost always an acceptable day for beer breakfasts. But for goodness sake don't skip breakfast, 'cause it's like really important or something.
   2) Lunch: I prefer to eat healthy for lunch. Usually I just have a beer or two, and a stick of gum. The beers are for me, the gum is for my customers. You should save the gum for after the beers, otherwise it defeats the purpose. And since gum has almost NO calories, you can probably afford another beer.
   3) Dinner: At this point you should have some actual solid food.  A day old pizza or a Taco Bell burrito or a cigarette. AND THEN a beer. You don't want to deprive yourself, that's when you fall off the wagon. And the key to my diet, is rewarding yourself for making sensible diet decisions. But mostly beer.
   4) Dessert: I don't know... try a beer.

*In all likelihood your liver will decide to relocate to a less toxic location, say Chernobyl. To combat this, question your liver's manhood and call it a bi-atch. That almost always works. If not, have a beer and sign up for an organ transplant. At least you'll be thin.

Motivational Speaker.

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that.

Anthony Robbins has an enormous solid gold statue of an otter having sex with a bald eagle. And that's just wrong. BUT, it just goes to show how stupidly wealthy he has gotten, by giving pep talks to business types. And there are way more companies than there are Anthony Robbins. I think I found a niche that needs filled.
   The only problem is; I don't know the first thing about business, (as is well documented in this blog) and the only time anybody ever tried to motivate me, was in Marine Corps boot camp. Ah whatever! It motivated me; I'm sure it translates just fine into the business world.

   You are all pathetic ferrets! You flipping disgust me! Why in the motherloving flip, did any of you puppies ever think that you could get ahead in this goshdanged business? You are snot! You are less than snot! You are the snot inside the other snot. You are a giant snot sandwich! I flipping hate every one of you wanna be ferret middle management puppy ant whiny flippers. FLIP! Flip you, and flip you, and flip you! I hope every one of you lazy ant flippers dies! You're a sorry lot of weak minded puppies and disgusting ferrets. Die! Maybe your replacement won't be such a flipping sissy!

*Update. My speech at the Girl Scout Jamboree didn't go over quite as well as I might have hoped. I didn't get rich. Unless you count restraining orders. I was ROLLING in those. Holla!

**Highlight text to view uncensored filth.

Laboratory Test Subject.

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that.

Every since PETA took over, laboratories are having a difficult time getting their new products tested and approved. Now that you can no longer put lipstick on a pig, the big companies are having to pay people to test their products. If you are brave and don't mind being a petri dish in evil science experiments, you can make a decent living as a human Guinea Pig.
   My latest lower intestinal rash from the side effects of teeth whitening gel had cleared up, and my monthly $2000 cable bill was due, so I perused the medical test subjects wanted section of Craigslist and applied up for Laboratory Test Subject. I was immediately approved.
   I showed up to the address listed on the ad. The lab seemed a little sketchy compared to most of the laboratory assistant jobs I've taken, but hey, they offered to pay "as much as you think the procedure was worth... post procedure." I showed up and was given the basic lab volunteer qualification test: "Are you here of your own volition?", "Are you currently alive?" I passed with flying colors.
   The nice man with the impossibly large facial scar and the white in a previous life lab coat strapped me down to the table and asked me one last time if I was voluntarily submitting to be a laboratory test subject. I said "D'uh! Yes, already. But it's actually pronounced La-BOR-a-TORY, not Lo-BOT-omy." The man nodded his head conspiratorially, and placed a gas-mask over my face.

*Update: I LIEK KITTEHS! BARK, BARK! INSTEDE OF MONIES, I GOT PAYD IN COOKIES. MY NEW DOKTORS SAY MY BRAIN SKAR MAKES ME HAPPY! Happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy. KITTEHS are my friend.  I liek, laboratororories, lobrotomies, lobostomies, lobotomies. BARK!

Klutz Proofing.

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that. 

I am a klutz, and apparently I am not alone. Everywhere, I see people with cuts, bruises and bumps. I doubt in my middle ages I will be able to train myself to be more graceful, but unless I come up with something I'm bound to die in some tragic "he stood up too fast into the underside of a cabinet" accident. And whatever I come up with to help me, I can market to other Klutzes.
   I tried using baby proofing technology to klutz proof my home, but that didn't work. It was prohibitively expensive, and I have hurt myself on nearly every square inch of my home, I couldn't just get rid of everything that had scratched or bruised me. Plus what about when I wasn't at home? Today's modern klutz spends many hours away from home every day, Then I came up with a simple yet elegant solution. I'll Klutz proof myself, then I'll be safe wherever my day takes me.

*Nobody would buy my suit. People would rather suffer life's small injuries than look like this all day. Plus after twelve hours wrapped in plastic, body odor becomes lethal. Single people were unable to attract mates, and people lost jobs due to their appearance. I guess I'll try again tomorrow.

Jalapeño Holistic Body Products.

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that. 

Holistic body products are a multi-billion dollar, a year, industry. If I can take even a tiny piece of that pie, I will be, like, double wide trailer rich. And I think I found my niche.

   I love jalapeños. I love the spicy burn they provide to food. From my morning breakfast cereal, to my milkshake after dinner and everything in between, jalapeños add a little kick that makes everything more better. I recently found out on the internet, that the reason people like spicy food is that capsaicin (the secret ingredient in hot peppers) causes your brain to release dopamine which makes the brain happy. 

   So, I came up with some holistic body products that are made from jalapeños. You'll be double happy using my products, Holy Jalapeño Hot Body. One because they are holistically 100% all natural, and two because they will release dopamine. It's a, "can't fail idea."

*WARNING! There is a full recall involving all Holy Jalapeño Hot Body products. DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES USE ANY HOLY JALAPEÑO PRODUCTS! Third degree burns occur wherever the products are applied. The recall covers all products, including: hair dye, eyeliner, lotion,  face cream, underarm deodorant, toilet paper, feminine products, prophylactics, bunion cream, soothing body wash, baby shampoo, q-tips, tanning lotion, suppositories, lingerie, athletic supporters, shaving cream, brazilian bikini wax, jewelry, band-aids, hemorrhoid cream, and anti-acid formula. 

Improv Theater Sort Of.

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that. 

Laughing Yoga; the only thing dumberer than this blog. Oops sorry, it appears nothing's dumberer than this blog.

I SO want to be a comedian. I want to do something creative and funny with my life. Something funnier than going to school to be a computer animator and ending up as a plumber, or wanting to be a writer while simultaneously being the worst punctuator in history, both of which, aren't really funny they're more pathetic, or dare I say... ironic, or I would say that if I were Alanis Morissette circa 1990-something, which I'm not, so you can stop with the rumors, we don't look anything alike, ok maybe just a little but I'm taller and have much nicer legs, and besides why do you care if a then thirty year old plumber decides to moonlight as a Canadian pop-star and take the world by storm with raw emotional power, a naughty mouth, and rebellious yet melodious riffs? But I digress. 

Not a plumber. Probably.

   My point is. I would love to be a comedian, but I'm just not quick enough. All the famous comedians can boast of their Improv backgrounds, where they are presented with situations and they respond with comedic genius without missing a beat. My brain doesn't work that way. I think of the perfect humorous response to any situation, approximately half and hour or ten miles after it occurred, where I invariably exclaim "that's what I should've said" and collapse in waves of self laughter. (A thought ocurs; aforementioned could be the reason for my astounding large amount of traffic accidents; need to look into that.)
   Thinking of the funny thing to say when I am no longer in the humorous situation isn't funny to anybody else but me. And I'm not rich enough to pay myself to make myself laugh, so until I am rich enough, I need to find another way.
   All my attempts at time travel have been unsuccessful, otherwise I could just zap into the past and hear the joke and then zoom forward to the present after a short jaunt into the distant future where I keep my joke writing study, and after a finely crafted joke is delivered I could be the new crown prince of laughter. But alas.

...and then I'll say. Grandma's on the roof! Hahahaha.

   If I was telepathic, I would know what joke or situation would be presented, and I would have time to come up with a witty retort. But unfortunately I'm as telepathic as fresh roadkill; I don't even know where this current essay is headed and I'm writing this drivel.
   I suppose I could kill the audience and cast after I heard the set-up to the scene, and then when I had a polished masterpiece I could revive them all and they would be astounded by my brilliance. But my life imbuing skills are a little nonexistent. Last time I took a CPR class, I managed to "kill" every Resusci-Anne doll at the Red Cross building. They made me promise to not, under any circumstance, ever, EVER, attempt to help save someones life. Ever. Guess that's out.
   So I've come up with the latest innovation in Improv. The audience or the other actors tell me what's going to happen. And then I'll go and write up some funny stuff, and then I'll hire a better looking me to play me, and then we'll practice and storyboard and refine and then after several short lunar cycles, as long as everything goes exactly to plan and nobody deviates from the script, I will take the world by storm with my mad improv skills!

"So funny. Almost like somebody wrote his lines. And yet somehow spontaneous as well." 

   

Hurricane Preparedness Expert.

*flip is currently chronicling his attempts to get rich. Oddly enough, flip's exploits are being recounted alphabetically. (That's A-Z, for the uninitiated.) flip is also referring to himself in the third person. ' Cause flip's just cool like that. 

I like to be prepared, but not everybody does. If I play my cards right, I can turn that to my financial gain. I will help people of my community prepare for the upcoming Hurricane season. For a small, and by small I mean reasonable, and by reasonable I mean, moderately large fee, I will help them with the necessary steps to hurricane survival. I will teach them to shutter and board up their windows, how to moor their boats properly, how to avoid basement flooding and other essentials. There will be discussions on the possibility of jacking houses up and placing them on stilts, or even moving them above high tide. I will conduct seminars on evacuation routes and sheltering at the local Y. I'll make millions.

   Not one person signed up for my service! Not even when I cut the price, to a reasonable $10,000. And then to $500. And then $19.99. Or when I offered to do it for a pack of gum and a ride to the bus depot. Turns out hurricane preparation isn't at all popular in extremely landlocked desert states that happen to be at 5000 feet of elevation, with little to no water. I tried to salvage the sale by warning of other emergencies, but my stupid state doesn't have any forms of violent natural disasters; no tornadoes, earthquakes, ice storms or volcanos. (Although we did have a really nasty Texan infestation not too long ago, but we applied a cream and it cleared up nicely.) I swear; a guy just can't catch a break.

Graffiti Spell Checker.

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Fire Prevention Expert.

As one of the small percentage of the population that has actually been on fire, (You just called me a flamer, in your head, didn't you? Real original. Like I've never heard that one before.) I feel obligated to inform the public on the benefits of not being on fire. For a small fee, that you can pay at some later date, I will now give you some handy fire safety tips.
   If at all possible, one should refrain from lighting ones self on fire. It is a fairly uncomfortable experience. You, if you are anything like myself, will not care for it very much. To recap: You, good. Fire, good. You on fire, not so much.

Please make checks in the amount of forty-two gazillion dollars, payable to flip "don't burn me bro" mcfliperson.

   

Elevator Operator.

I was at my court mandated therapist's office the other day, and I couldn't remember what floor I parked on. I thought, it sure would be nice to have an elevator operator in this elevator to tell me which floor the ground floor was. I wonder why they did away with elevator operators? I bet many people, like me, would love someone to have pleasant small talk with while being guided knowledgeably and confidently to their destination. I could do it, I have lots of spare time now that Nickelodeon is no longer running a four hour power block of Full House episodes. I bet people would even tip me.
    I love the idea of bringing back the old time glamor, but not the uniform that accompanies it. Every since I was a young lad in the Girl Scouts, I have had an aversion to uniforms. I think in my new elevator operator gig, I will dress a little more informally. Sometimes elevators are SO hot! If I'm working on one of those elevators, I'll wear a banana hammock. But you can't walk through a lobby wearing a speedo, so I'll wear a raincoat until I get to the elevator. I'll even dress up for special occasions, for instance at the start of hockey season I'll wear a hockey mask. This is gonna be great.

DIY Dentistry And Doctory.

If there is one thing that people are always complaining about, it's how much everybody hates hipsters. But another thing that people really don't like, is the high cost of medical care. Doctor and Dentist visits are expensive. People often have to choose between medical care or 80" plasma TV's, or gold plated Prius's. It's sad really, having to give up the necessities of life, just because some doctor wants to live in a house.
   But now with the internet, and this brand new emerging site called YouTube, it's possible to take care of yourself from the comfort of your own home. I'll set up a channel where people can view DIY videos for free. I'll make millions selling ad space; it's a no-brainer. I'll have several some short videos covering some basic procedures. There is wart removal, tooth extraction, blood drawing, basic anesthetics, Dremmel teeth cleaning, liver transplants, root canals, basic brain surgery, and lastly, advanced sex change.
 

Card Shark.

You won't find a pokier face anywhere. 

I was flipping through the channels one late night when I stumbled across a show featuring a bunch of indoor sunglasses, earphones and hoodie wearing guys taking other peoples money. And it was legal!     

   Hey, I like wearing sunglasses inside! (Yes, I'm am just that douchey.) And I like taking other peoples money, especially if I can't go to jail for it. I found my path to riches! I decided to become a card shark. 

   To become a card shark, you need two main traits; the ability to count cards, and a good poker face. Check and check. thirty-nine times out of forty-two I can count to fifty-two. AND nobody has a pokier face than me. My nose is pokey, my chin is pokey, my stubble is pokey, hell; even my cheekbones are pokey. I am gonna be the best card shark ever.

*UPDATE: It didn't go well. Evidently, everybody knows there are fifty two cards in a deck. And even worse, some of those guys almost seemed to know what cards had been played. And having a pokey face didn't help out at all. For some reason those other guys always knew if I had a good hand or not. It was almost like they could read the expressions in my face or something. My poker career is over. It's probably just as well, I never once got to yell "UNO!" or "go fish!"

Before And After Body Double.

I still fit into my Marine Corps uniforms from almost twenty years ago. I basically have the same body I've had since high school. (Unfortunately that body got me voted "most likely to actually be a 14 year old girl in disguise," by my classmates.) I came up with a plan to make my scrawny body work for me.
   Before and after pictures are a staple of both the weight loss and body building industries. They feature pictures of clients before they use the program and then their wonderfully transformed bodies from afterwards. But the dirty little secret of the industry is, they charge WAY too much, and more to my point, sometimes the before and after pictures aren't that different.
   That's where I step in. If you needed a guy to stand inside a pair of fat pants, after some supposed miracle weight loss, but really the guy only lost three pounds and that was mostly from the food poisoning he caught while indulging at the local all you can eat taco and sushi bar, I'm your guy. Or if you need a guy to stand there looking skinny and nerdy in the before picture of one the late night infomercial muscle building programs, so the bruiser that usually just looks more tanned and oiled up in his before and after picture, actually looks transformed, I'm the guy.
   My plan would have worked too. If it wasn't for my unfortunate birthmark. I was born covered from wrist to ankle in a Yakuza style tattoo. Damn you genetics.

Author Of Best Selling Book. Reasonably Good Selling. Marginal Seller. Poor. OK, I Haven't Sold A Single Copy.

When I decided to attempt the A-Z challenge this year, I thought about coming up with an original concept that would entertain my readers while helping me stay focused for a month of everyday writing. Then I decided; why start now? I've never entertained readers, and I've never been original, or focused. Last year I wrote about all the jobs I've had, looking for my fortune. And this year will be no different. (Maybe a little different. I mean this year has a 13 in it's title, whereas last year didn't.) 

   When I thought of all the jobs I could list for the letter A, author wasn't the first thing that came to mind. It isn't as glamorous as some of the other A jobs I've had, like amateur gigolo, (which oddly enough, didn't pay anything) art model at a nudist colony (not needed, they claimed), or apocalypse insurance salesman (impossible to collect on, I was told), but it is the one that encompasses all of the others. On their own, those experiences are just failure after failure; a mans dream of becoming a thousandaire slowly dying.

   But, put those experiences in a talented writers hand, (my mom says I'm talented.) and they become chapters in a sure to be best selling book, I'm Not Rich. You Can Be Too. The story of a young man who wasn't afraid to work. (Too stupid? Possibly.) 

   For too long they have been writing books FOR Dummies and FOR Idiots. I say that it's about time we turned the tables 360º on them. I'm Not Rich. You Can Be Too. will be the first in the new line of books to be published in the Books BY Idiots series. Which will quickly be followed by Books BY Dummys, and the cheap knockoff Boks BY Morans. 

   Order now. Well not now, now. It isn't finished yet. Kinda not even started, if you want to get right down to it. But when it's finished, I'll be a famous author. I'll sell literally tens of books.