The Real Memphis Mike (don't settle for imitations)

 I woke up this morning, made coffee, and before I even got a sip in, I was already being informed that something - somewhere - was unacceptable. No context. No details. Just the digital equivalent of a stranger bursting into your kitchen yelling: “THIS IS NOT OK.” What is it? Nobody knows. But we’re furious. Because in 2026, outrage isn’t a reaction - it’s a hobby. People don’t wake up wondering what they’re going to do anymore. They wake up wondering what they’re going to be mad about. “Give us this day our daily grievance.” And when they find it - and they always do - they gather. Not to understand. Not to fix. To perform. You’ve got the Outraged. The Counter-Outraged. The Late Arrivals, somehow the angriest of all. And of course, PatriotEagle420, who hasn’t read a full sentence since 2008 but is absolutely certain this is tyranny. Meanwhile, the one poor bastard asking, “Wait… what actually happened?” gets treated like he just farted in church. Now here’s the part nobody wants ...

I can't personally verify the truth of this story. A friend told it, and I felt it was comic gold, given a few minor tweaks. I also have to question my friend's taste in pizza. Sir Pizza is a chain joint out of Indiana. That said, Indiana is home to some of the worst excuses for pizza I have ever encountered. Living in the greater Pittsburgh area, my friend and I are not lost for choices when it comes to pizza. Not sure where to go? Ask. - MM I have been eating Sir Pizza for roughly three decades, which is longer than some marriages and at least one of my cholesterol medications. I don’t just order it - I commit to it. I drive out of my way. I plan evenings around it. If Sir Pizza had a loyalty punch card, I’d be entitled to partial ownership by now. Today, however, I made a grave and unforgivable error. I ordered from the wrong location. Not the wrong pizza, mind you. Not anchovies instead of pepperoni. No, I ordered the correct pizza from the incorrect geographic coordinate, ...

 Simmer down...this is more for me than anyone else. I'm chuckling like a goon here. - MM I’m now 60. This is not a drill. I was today years old when I realized the English language did not survive the internet. It was not murdered - it was slowly, painfully algorithmed to death. Not me witnessing the full collapse of vocabulary in real time... Unpopular opinion: If you know, you know...and I wish I didn’t. I did a thing. Yeah. You avoided a verb. Congratulations on your brave journey. Living your best life? Most of you are eating cold pizza in sweatpants at 2am arguing with something named “Kyle (Patriot Mode).” Be aware. Proceed with caution. Yinz ain't ready for that conversation - mostly because it requires complete sentences. And I oop - In my era (go ahead, dock my aura points, I’ve got plenty), we didn’t say “adulting.” We just suffered quietly and developed personality disorders like God intended. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. (No one asked for. No one needed. Y...

 If you've been following along on the home version, you know I've started a new book. While still fiction, it's a departure from what you may be accustomed to from me. Allow me to set the scene: 2 middle aged American musicians, in Hokkaido. If you've ever experienced jet lag and a hangover, you might be able to appreciate this excerpt. - MM Vince really wasn't prepared for his first night sleeping on a tatami mat. In his mind, it was little more than a lumpy futon mattress on an old pallet. He also wasn't ready for Daniel's snoring, which sounded like a congested heifer. Between the lack of comfort, the noise, the booze, and the jet lag - he didn't sleep well at all. And he got so little of it. After a few hours, he gave up. He got dressed, found a pen and left a note.  Couldn't sleep. Went for a walk. Back later. - V  He left the note in the bathroom. He figured one of them would find it.  Hiroshi's neighborhood looked different in the early m...

 My dear friend Yanka has been in the hospital for a couple of days now, and it drives me nuts that there’s nothing I can do about it. She’s thousands of miles away. My language skills are limited, which means there’s only so much I can communicate, and only with certain people. I can’t just call the hospital - and anyone who knows me knows that I absolutely would if I could. Last night I got word that she’s doing slightly better. The phrase I heard was “serious but stable.” I have no direct way to contact her family, so I’ve been sending messages and hoping someone can make sense of my Yoda-like Bulgarian. I’m lucky to have such a friend. Yanka is incredible. She grew up a village girl, became a nurse, and then life took a turn I doubt she ever expected. She won a singing contest, and suddenly she had a career. In 1971 there was the plane crash. Yanka was one of the few survivors, and the experience changed her deeply. A few years later she formed Trio Bulgarka. Their music was al...

 Stop praying for peace. God is not confused. He is not deceived by polished words wrapped in piety. You say you want peace - but only if your side wins. Only if the “right” people survive. Only if the “wrong” ones disappear. So be honest. Which of God’s children are you prepared to sacrifice? How many mother's children must die to make you feel secure? Do not whisper “Lord, bring peace” while funding war. Do not ask Heaven to intervene while empowering men who profit from blood. Do not sanctify violence with prayer and call it faith. God already gave you free will. You use it to elect violence. To excuse violence. To scroll past violence. Then you close your eyes and ask Him to clean it up. Peace is not the absence of bombs and gunfire. It is the absence of the desire to dominate. And you still desire it. You still believe some lives matter more than others. You still believe your border is holier than theirs. You still believe God drafts Himself into your anthem. So, what are you...