Jump to content

damooch916

Seller Plus Member
  • Posts

    878
  • Joined

  • Last visited

Everything posted by damooch916

  1. Welcome buyers. My name is Tommy and I’m a “Top Rated Seller” and “Pro Seller” in the songwriting/production/studio musician categories. I’m also the last active “shirtless yodeling instructor” though fiverr refuses to activate my services over fears of “inciting hyper stimulation.” Today I’m offering some unfiltered insight into many of your behaviors that drive sellers crazy. And yes, I recognize that sharing seller complaints sees me run the risk of never working with you. Or sharing a coffee. Or looking longingly into your eyes over a John Williams score (though I refuse to relinquish all hope). Still, I will carry this burden upon my chiseled and glorious shoulders - all with the knowledge that I did this for you. I’m humble like that. Note: While everything you’re about to hear is absolutely true - and often discussed between high end sellers - know that we consider these actions hazards of the job. We still intend to serve each customer with professionalism, warmth and - if you’re really good - possibly pastries. In fact, after dealing with so many buyers, it may not even be you. Maybe it’s us. Maybe we’re just not in a place to see you. It’s not that we don’t like you. We just don’t “like” like you. But we still want to be friends. Far away friends, mostly. The type of friendship where you have friends - and we have friends - and that’s quite enough. Things Buyers do that drive Sellers crazy I hate it when you message me “are you there?” I don’t have time for existential questions, Dostoyevsky - so just make with the instructions already. The best and worst thing you can ever say to me is “just do whatever you want.” Here’s to hoping by “want” you meant “I’d like a video on your honest thoughts about “Disney remakes.” I threw in the expletives at no charge. I’ll look down on you for not taking my advice. Sure, I’m a professional musician with vast experience and my musical advice is probably worth taking. But did you know that I’m also “Dear Abby?” So, yes I am qualified to tell you that your bad ideas stem from a passionless marriage. Remember - planning is the spark, spontaneity the flame and consistency is the fire. You’re welcome. I hate it when you attempt to impress me with your awareness of my profession. If I wanted to spend time with pseudo intellectuals that pretend to understand the music industry - I’d still be in a band. I know you’re testing your luck when you “ask” me about my prices. Test your luck far enough and not only will I not lower my prices, but I’ll send you music with hidden hypnotic messages in it. Good luck explaining to Starbucks why the sound of liquid pouring compels you to cluck like a chicken. I can’t stand it when you “credit” me without permission. For all I know, you could be an ax swinging psycho. Or worse than that, a decaf drinker. I’m not ready to vouch for knowing you. Plus, maybe you’re putting undue pressure on keeping my secret identity. Do you know how hard it is to come up with a super hero gimmick? Listen, I’m not getting all new tights just because you can’t keep my name out of your mouth. So tighten it up yippy. Sellers hate it when you message us with just the word “hi.” Which is why my response is always to list 20 films with plot twists and spoil the corresponding endings. I hate it when you say “if you do a good job” you’ll purchase more orders. Seriously, it’s not only patronizing when you think I have to be additionally incentivized to do my job - it’s also irritating that I’ve been asked not to goof off. Goofing off is one of my finest qualities. So just know that in your quest to train me with inverted Pavlovian techniques - you’ve cost yourself a hilarious “first draft” where I send you the theme from “Night Court” and tell you that “your love song delivery is ready.” Sending me 2 examples is good. Sending me 20 examples is you not making a choice. It’s not a Spotify playlist Spazzy - so maybe rein in the parameters from wanting a song that sounds like both “Kenny Loggins” and “the wu tang clan.” Don’t even consider just “leaving” after your purchase. Sellers can’t stand a client who makes a purchase and vanishes until delivery. So be warned : if you don’t respond to my first update - I’m consulting your Mother. Not only will you be forced to tolerate her choices, but she tells me you don’t call her enough. Stop asking if you can have my email address. If you really wanted my personal information, you’d get it the old fashioned way: by purchasing it from Facebook. I hate it when you ask too many questions. A delivery from me should be like an adult movie: You pretty much know the outcome and it’s best to not see behind the scenes. Also, I’m not wearing pants. We can’t stand when you activate a modification for something outside of the order. There’s only certain circumstances where time should ever stop. This includes: *Meeting your soul mate. *Being in a David Lynch film *Going into a coma *And eating a poisonous apple given to you by a pathologically laughing elderly woman We think it’s weird when you need to video chat things you can easily just type. So just remember - when I’m in minute seventeen of explaining gym etiquette - you’re the one that wanted to get personal. Also, ma’am, my eyes are up here. Many things have been written on the “acceptable” behaviors that sellers should demonstrate when interacting with buyers. Now you - the buyer - have a chance to regulate your own behavior. Which is good … because sellers talk. You’re never quite sure when your bad attitude might get around to the voiceover guys, who slip high pitch frequencies into your audio causing the neighbor dogs to use your lawn as home base. Or when your mean spirited direction gets around to the video editors, who stick hidden messages into your YouTube intro - causing you to purchase any item with the color pink in it. Or when your marketing expert puts your business up for sale on the black market. Or when your copywriter includes a string code that makes people cough whenever they say your company name aloud. So be nice. Because even if you don’t think it matters … it just may matter more than you ever wanted it to …
  2. The following message has been approved by, but not necessarily endorsed through, the musicians union of America. Spoiler: Its not really a an actual union. It’s just a phone line wired to some hippies bedroom with an automated message of William Shatner rapping Rocket Man. Of all the world’s most foul curses - none are so cruel as tennis elbow. It’s numbing grind gnaws on its victim’s tendon in a low - almost unnoticeable rhythm … only ceasing when, with the slightest movement of the arm, stabbing agony rips through your entire body - as though you were attacked by an 80’s horror villain. And so be it. That’s where we’re at tonight. My left arm taped so heavily I could be used as a flotation device. Heaving large quantities of ibuprofen above my mouth like a baby bird and chewing them with the same enthusiasm you’d issue a tic - tac. And what’s to be said about such a dumb brute injury anyways? How do we categorize an injury that only occurs while in the repeated act of attempting “healthiness?” And who are these people that acquire tennis elbow from actual tennis? Listen, small shorts: put down that racket and earn your tennis elbow the old fashioned way - by showing off at the gym. Its in this spirit of torment that I come to you tonight. Though broken as I might be - I would never miss an opportunity to play the greatest hits for you. We’re going to need some old fashioned Mooch classics. It has to be a list. Some inappropriately laid jokes. Some of that cheap innuendo I so blatantly lather onto everything. A few ego fueled nods to my physique. And more than anything - utter absurdity. Pain or no pain Mike - I would never not show up for the big game. As you know, I was a professional traveling live performer starting at the age of four. And while that information can easily explain all my finer insanities - it’s also allowed me insight into some of the most disgusting of all the human behaviors. Here’s a list, from the stage perspective, of things that far exceed the annoyance of a drum solo: Things that more annoying than a drum solo 1. That face the bass player makes when his one fan gives him a compliment. 2. Singers who raise their hand while they’re singing. I’ve gotta song for you - it goes like this: “The hand bone’s connected to the arm bone.” You know what it’s not connected to? Your diaphragm. So stop raising your hand, no one is gonna call on you. 3. Your guitar player the very minute even one female recognizes that he exists. 4. That drunk lady that decides she has to tell me something. While I’m singing. While she stands next to me. On the stage. While falling over and grabbing my shirt. Who then asks for my phone number. From the floor Every single gig. 5. That weird move your keyboard player does when he acts like his equipment isn’t working. Dude we know you forgot the chords. 6. The girl who screams aggressively loud between every song. Ma’am, if I wanted to hear you scream like that … … I’d marry you and never put the dishes away properly. 7. When your percussion player actually assumes his job is worth equal play. I understand you’d like more money, Mr. Bongo player - but I brought a musical instrument and you brought a piece of furniture to thump. 8. Women who yell “take it off” while I’m singing a ballad. I will not be degraded, nor will I degrade the legacy of my musical heroes by converting my art into visual smut - all to warm you in your forbidden regions. Plus, you didn’t tip me. 9. That stupid head attached microphone your drummer wants to wear. Drummers lets just agree to keep your microphone in the position where it belongs. The off position. And many, many more. I’ve had the excruciating luxury of seeing annoying musician behavior that could heat your eyes into a boil. And I can never unsee it. All of which was worse than a drummer’s lonely, needy, show halting, time killing drum solo. But not by much.
  3. Just so we’re clear. I’m not soliciting any of your opinions on the length of free advice. Or on anything, really. For most of you - Your opinion isn’t the one that’s needed, is it? We’re all aware that you first time, junior business leaders of never - read each other’s comments and parrot anything you hear. You assume that’s how forums work. You read something, say the exact same thing and put no effort into considering the information. Which makes sense, given that this is the same method you apply to working for a living. Which is why you have no work and have even less living. Well, you’re parroting the wrong sentiment. If you’re unsure - tutorials, lessons and ideas require elaboration. If you need a quick fix, stick your finger in a light socket. Then finally you will have contributed to strengthening the freelance workforce. This wasn’t a post about feelings. Or a poll. Or a question. It’s a post about tips and lessons. If you’d like your freelance lessons to include less information - you’re a danger to your client and to fiverr as a platform. Fortunately, most of you don’t have clients. And the ones that do charge such little money, it doesn’t really damage your customer’s wallet when you get your job so incredibly wrong. Honestly. Exactly what number of sentences is acceptable when giving you a peek into ideas that you didn’t earn the right to even see yet? Five? Ten? Please, tell me how many words I can use to explain the entirety of freelancing success - for free - on a forum where the predominant form of communication is text. Do you have a number? Or is it far more likely that you (much like a teenager discovering black nail polish for the first time) believe that complaining makes you look “aware?” Well take my word for it … you don’t. There’s not a hard working, ass busting, agenda having, devoted, successful freelancer here that has mistaken you for being “aware.” Want to know why? We all took the time to do our homework. We read the long form tutorials. We go out of our way to find people who have exceeded our own limitations and we respect their time if they offer it to us. We see learning as part of our occupational requirements. We openly seek the time commitment. And that’s why we’re not only successful - but respected as well. We all know each other. And you’re not one of us. Since you haven’t earned that respect - how about shutting your mouth until you have something useful to spill out of it? You can start with gratitude. Then, after you’ve applied some of the free advice you’ve gotten here - you can report back and tell us what worked for you. Or even better, when you inevitably do nothing you were told by high end sellers, you can completely go away and give clients an opportunity to find sellers who want to actually work for a living. It doesn’t play well for onlooking buyers to cast yourselves as impatient, bubbling children - incapable of digesting long form information and complaining over the amount of time it may take to strengthen your freelancing success. Not only do you come across as information adverse, but you can add petulant, spoiled, insecure and lazy to the list. These are nine half serious tips written around a humorous slant. But in reality, it would require years to fully explain the steps it requires to be a well paid self employer. At the point where you’ve proven yourself too exhaustible to read a nine point essay - it’s fairly safe to assume that you lack the grit required to make it. Though I do appreciate the irony of being so flustered by the time constraints - that you take additional time to complain about the time it takes. Really locking your point in there kids. When a successful, long time seller takes the time to acquaint you with useful tips - even if it’s said satirically - either react with gratefulness or keep your mouth shut and resume your long journey to mediocrity as planned. I’d wish you all failure, but I’ll just give it a month and let fate take its natural course. Nice talking to you.
  4. Apparently. Or you would both know that you’re throwing rocks towards a lion’s cage while the gate stands widely open. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to engage with characters of my surreal word spasms. And here you are. Splendid. Now go. I’d hate to write anymore and strain your ability to work for low rates (and no rates). This discussion is reserved for people that understand the time commitment it requires to uncover advantages. Since you don’t have the time, I’m clearly not talking to you. Here’s the only advice that matters to either of you for your current scenarios: Don’t open your mouth if you don’t know the score.
  5. Hey all! I’m radio and stage performer Orson Welles, but you can call me Tommy. I’m a PRO/TRS in the music categories. I’m also a professional “at home” tank top model … though fiverr refuses to activate my gig “I will teach you to wear half of a shirt for five dollars.” A lot of you come to the forum asking for tips. Some of you even demand them. While others essentially threaten bodily harm if some high ranking seller won’t dispense with the goods. Well, before you go sticking your tongue into the nearest power outlet - check this out! I have assembled some often overlooked, rarely discussed, much sought after words of wisdom - solely designed to spare you from learning the hard way. These are the sort of tips you won’t find in the fiverr library (otherwise known as that fountain of wisdom we call YouTube). Because success, if nothing else, should come totally easily and always be showered upon anyone who asks. Ready kids? Here we go: 1. It’s not your job to be a clients friend - it’s your job to be your client’s seller. Having a client is like having a child - the role is to facilitate, listen, teach and lead outcomes … not to be their buddy. It’s for this reason that I always demand that my clients finish all of their vegetables before delivery. 2. Your best picture and your profile picture shouldn’t be the same picture. Your profile picture tells a story. Sometimes that story says, “Hey, pick me - I have all my teeth.” Other times the story might say, “I’m sitting at a desk, you can always trust someone who sits at a desk.” But for a lot of you, your profile picture says something more like, “I’m a female Brazilian model, walking out of the water on a sunny day while the droplets gleam freshly on my uncovered legs. Would you like some graphic design?” Sure, “Bob from California…” sure. Whatever the case, your profile picture should capture the mood of working with you while honoring the aesthetics of the field you occupy. It doesn’t have to be your best ever picture - it’s the best ever mood of what you do. Precisely for this reason, as a songwriter, my profile picture is just a high resolution black and white displaying me over a newspaper looking for a real job. 3. Never lower your prices to accommodate a customer. We work in largely subjective fields creating largely subjective products. Yet, on some level, I just described Walmart. Sure, the pickles may look old, the pasta sauce clumpy, the tee shirts are a knitting nightmare and I’m pretty sure those are stains in that package of “new” toilet paper … but good luck haggling with them. Bottom line - if you don’t understand the rationality of your prices - you aren’t worth the money. 4. Don’t be afraid to say no. Here’s a great example of saying no: “It’s a match! We think you’re a great fit for this brief.” … no. 5. It’s not important to call yourself a professional if you’re not - you know - a professional. Don’t you hate it when you want to schedule a doctors appointment but your specialist is busy working their day job at McDonald’s? Doesn’t it frustrate you when you have to wait for your dentist to consult “YouTube” tutorials in order to complete your routine cleaning? Isn’t it maddening that every time you call the police, they seem to be busy cleaning their bedrooms because their mother threatened to take away their video games? We’ve all been there, right? No? That’s because those professions are full of professionals. In each of our respective industries there are pathways, networks, practices and recognized timelines that indicate professional status. If you’re unaware of those benchmarks in your field - you’re not a professional. And so what? All of us, at one point, weren’t professionals either (except for me: as a fetus - I was a hard crooning, alcohol swilling, woman obsessed, alpha complexed, brooding romantic who spouted reckless poetry and trashed my mothers uterus just to unleash my tormented musician’s soul). There’s far more value in advertising yourself as a “hardworking upstart who will do anything to please your client,” than there is in lying about your professional credibility. Besides, most days - the only difference between a professional and an amateur is that the professional’s self loathing is more polished. You’ll get there when you get there. Or you won’t. Either way, lying won’t make your material suck any less, only hard work can do that. 6. The best way to deal with a problematic customer is to not have one. When a potential client presents themselves as overly aggressive, abrupt or impatient - believe them. These customers prove to be far more costly than profitable. Here is an example of how you can gracefully remove yourself from the potential danger of taking on these types of clients: Client: I need a song. I want it to be good and it’s your job to do it. I’m on a budget and I’m not paying a dime more. Give me some samples and I might let you make it. You better hurry. Me: Hi! You’re receiving this automated message due to my being out of the office. The asylum no longer allows me to perform my work after the last “orderly” incident. Due to my “condition” anything deemed “possibly frustrating” has been revoked when not on “weekend pass.” I’m also legally required to tell you that I recognize the foul nature of following clients home after they’ve frustrated me. I‘ve recently recognized that crowbars are not an acceptable instrument for “massage therapy.” I’ve come to understand that watching my enemies sleep is not a normal behavior. Though I still struggle to practice my new attitude all the time, I’m making great strides with my anger management. The biting has almost ceased and I no longer aspire to hear bones snap after a few fingers. I can’t wait to return and talk to you! So, where ya from?” Problem solved. 7. All business is “Do it Yourself” and no one’s coming for you. You know that pretty woman at the coffee shop? Remember when you mustered up the courage to ask her out? Do you recall writing her a well crafted note, giving it to a barista, asking the barista to pass your note, cowering behind your latte and waiting anxiously as your romantic life hung in the balance? Remember the woman reading it? Remember how her face scrunched up, her eyes rolled and do you recall what it felt like when she addressed you - standing in front of your table - as she said “I don’t date little boys who can’t pursue their own goals.” Remember what it felt like when you went home and watched video game walkthroughs by yourself over Swiss rolls? Stop running your business like that. 7. Know what you do and do it. Here on fiverr you can offer graphic design. Voiceover. Background music. Art. Advice. Devise marketing plans. Fitness. Diets. Read palms. Proof read. Proof palms for readings. Write stories about shifty palm readers and these suckers who own palms. You can sing, edit, write poems, sell bots and call them audiences, sell jokes and call them jokes, make intros, make outros, spiritually advise, talk to the dead, act, act like you talk to the dead and you can do all of these all at once. Here’s some advice: pick one. Last I checked, no one wants their proof reader consulting the dead to fix their typos. But if they do, you should definitely charge extra. 9. The forum isn’t gospel. The forum is a great place to learn how to find your footing. The forum is also a terrible place to learn how to find your footing. Some of the absolute worst advice I’ve ever seen has come right from here, from high ranking members, with great stats. In fact, it could be occurring in this very post. The forum believes the same inherently wrongheaded, big ego, badly ingrained, backward fiverr truisms that you’ll find anywhere else. Remember that before you take and enact every piece of advice you read. The truth is, we don’t know you. We don’t know your situation. We don’t know the constraints of your newly emerging business and we certainly don’t understand your core philosophies. Furthermore, we voted while you were in the bathroom … turns out, we don’t even like you. We don’t hate you or anything, it’s just that … well… we’re petty like that. Plus, you’re new. You have that “new seller” smell. And your eyes are all big and doughy like someone stomped your toe and you’re trying not to cry. We hate that look. Or maybe we’re just hungry. Truthfully, there’s no tip list that will deliver you a successful fiverr run. Just as there’s no definitive YouTube video, blog or podcast that can make you successful either. Because your situation is different than mine. I mean…sure… our circumstances have similarities. We’re both freelancers, using similar tools in the same environments, wearing sweatpants, in front of a machine, prying through materials to find the perfect client introduction - living between deadlines - drinking medium house blend coffee, brushing the outline of our chiseled and stone built chests with our left hand while resting our fist underneath our amazing and crisp jawlines with our right - all while contemplating the realities of a world where John Cusack stars in all of Matthew Broderick’s parts and vice versa. But other than that we’re nothing alike. So take only what’s important but nothing more. Because more than anything else - your success is tied to your ability. Anyone saying any differently does so purely from the inability to be honest with themselves. Your failure isn’t a conspiracy - you just aren’t as good as you think you are. Learn. Find better and get better. And that’s it. This is this, Stanley. Alternatively - this will all be in my upcoming book, “You Suck: An Inspirational Look at Fulfilling your Freelance Dreams.” I’m accepting advance payments and I totally promise that I’ll get around to writing it and that your money won’t go directly into offsetting my crippling coffee addiction. And with that, we now return you to your originally scheduled performance of “War of the worlds,” already in progress.
  6. Hey and welcome to the forum. You’ve elected to take the hard work out of reading the thousands of pages on “marketing” and you’ve rightfully expected to be served explanations by the busiest of successful sellers. You’ve bypassed the fiverr official tutorials, webinars, services and all those pesky tips that are easily found by searching. You decided to not join programs where mentors answer questions on “schedules.” Well - I respect that kind of “get up and then sit back down and ask someone else to get up for you” attitude. Clearly, you’re a person who takes initiative. It may not be your initiative - but hey, once you’ve taken it - finders keepers. Am I right? So I’m going to help you. And no, it’s not just because my gigs were all “suspended” for some misunderstanding that was clearly beyond my control. How did I know that client meant she wanted more “prospects” when she said “can you offer me more exposure?” So that’s tip number one: on fiverr - “exposure” has nothing to do with your undergarments. Firstly, a little about me: I’m a Top Rated Seller and a Fiverr Pro account holder. My main gig - “I will send you my only fans pictures to decrease your Seasonal Affective Disorder,” is wildly popular. Though it wasn’t without some trial and error. In fact, that very gig used to be called - “I will send you my only fans pictures to decrease your anxiety,” but that ended abruptly when one client - after receiving her order - hyperventilated, leaving her phone exposed in a PTA meeting. Apparently I was “falsely advertising,” and that seemingly leaves you responsible for the hospital bills. But on the bright side - I’m popular with PTA members. Who knew? Here are some things to remember when promoting your new explicit account: 1) Boxers make babies - but briefs make sales: You want to demonstrate the length you’re willing to go to please your client in every photo. That begins with your profile picture and should extend to every photo thereafter. When choosing the right profile picture briefs, remember: Nothing too tight - after all, the pitch begins in the client’s mind - just something comfortable enough to demonstrate your true feelings. And the temperature. (Note: I will not be offering anymore of these hilarious puns as we proceed. But you should take this as a great example of how to speak to potential clients. If it’s anything that fiverr clients love - it’s a warped pun… … that wasn’t another pun by the way. You’re just all dirty minded or something). 2) Men are turned on with their eyes - women with their imagination: When writing your bio, it’s important to remember who your audience is. Audio erotica is the fastest booming section of the erotica industry. It’s audience is dominated by women. This corroborates the idea that women treat erotica from a more imaginative place. That means they read and stuff. For instance, I’ve wandered off twice while writing this, I watched a monster truck marathon, stood in the kitchen for ten minutes not remembering why I was there, fixed a door hinge, got in a workout and totally forgot we were even talking. That’s because men don’t imagine. Consider this fact while writing your bio and be sure to get descriptive. Really, really descriptive. 3) Fiverr Success is all about strengthening your core: To be truly successful on the platform - you’re going to need a five day per week workout routine - with 20 minute cardio sessions on three of those days. Customers love it when you cause muscle confusion and nothing says “repeat customers” like drop-set/super-set combinations. But you’ll never make TRS without core training. Or as fiverr says in the terms of service: “Core training is an essential tool in your ability to negotiate maximum success on our platform. While some would disregard the notion of training abs everyday - we at fiverr are of the belief that overtraining is a largely misunderstood term. Come on … you’ve never “over trained.” Awwww, did your wittle, ittle muscles get sore? Do you need to put the weight down, little fella? Here. We brought you some ice cream. Quick, someone turn on “The View,” so that stick-legs over here has something to watch while he cries into his Ben & Jerry’s. Shucks, don’t cry, would you like Daddy to get your blanky?” As you can see, fiverr takes the issue of multi day ab routines very seriously. They also decrease your “muscle response rate” metric if you’re caught training abs less than three times weekly. So get comfortable with crunches and planks - or expect to never get that higher ranking. Also - don’t give me this stuff about weighted oblique crunches being pointless. My obliques got me the “repeat buyer” badge jabroni. 4) The hardest part of marketing is always keeping your “base” tan: If it’s anything we Top Rated Sellers hate - it’s getting a wonderfully realistic spray tan, taking one shower and watching our money swirl down in a weirdly “brown but also kinda purple ooze” into the drain. Specifically because Cindy at “Palm Beach Tan” assured me that my tan would: 1. Bring in more fiverr customers and 2. Not be kinda purple. You can’t trust people these days. Especially if they sell you products called, “Notes of Purple.” Get in the habit of training the algorithm to respect your rich, deep tan by delivering all products prior to the “post tan shower.” Also remember to perform 100 hammer curls, 100 pushups and five minutes on the bike at a brisk pace - before delivering your order. The fiverr algorithm loves vascularity. Okay friend. I have answered your questions. I’ve recalibrated your expectations of the job, given you tips to succeed and offered you the best in “Top Rated” secrets that we currently have. Good luck with your new “only fans pictures for fiverr,” gig. I anticipate much success for you very soon.
  7. Hello. My name is Tommy and as an experienced professional - I have developed certain protocols to bypass problems such as the one you’ve mentioned. I’d like to take a few minutes and share with you the tools I use to succeed on fiverr - and you’re free to adopt any or all of these proven methods. As a professional “Only Fans” model, I know that self contained businesses are hard (no pun intended). My fiverr service, “I will teach you to be a male only fans model” is wildly popular because of my dedication, my attention to detail and my ability to rise to the occasion. Here is how I’ve maintained a high level of success - and now you can join me in the winners circle: 1) Pick the right body oil: Contrary to popular belief - baby oil isn’t always the most trusted source for “popping pecs.” I’ve found that “cool down spray,” a liquid originally intended to cool sunburn, has a glow that will surely make your profile picture beam with jacked-ness. 2) Don’t skip Leg Day: Sure, fiverr success is all about the biceps and chest, but no one can take your service seriously with scrawny legs. After all, you’re going to be showcasing this area quite a bit. 3) Flex for ten minutes post workout: Its a proven fact that static exercise can harden, strengthen, and promote vascularity to the muscle. Your clients need to know that when that shirt comes off - the magic turns on. Note: I seem to also get a lot of female clients. I’m starting to think they don’t really need to know how to become a male only fans model. It’s just a lot of “hey, can you send me that tutorial in a lower tank top,” type of stuff. So word to the wise: over sized tank tops are good for repeat clients. 4) No Stupid Hats: At the risk of sounding strict - nothing kills a sale faster than a stupid hat. It’s also important to repeat this message to your clients. Make sure they understand: even when their customer wants an erotic video while you wear a hat - the answer is always “no.” It never goes as intended. You think you look like Brad Pitt in “Thelma and Louise.” You don’t. You look like Mr. Peanut. And who gave you that monocle? It looks awful - and your clients will be terribly upset when a fleet of lonely ladies demand their money back because you turned them off to edible seeds forever. 5) Kegels: Just do them. You’re welcome. 6) Stress Delaying to your clients: Right? You know what I mean. Delaying? It’s like … Remember in school, when you didn’t want to look at the clock, because you thought the time would go faster if you looked at the clock, but then all you thought about was looking at the clock - and so you looked at the clock - but only a full minute went by? Do the opposite of that without pants. That’s delaying. Okay man. That should be everything you need to teach other guys how to have a successful only fans page. Remember to tell them to watch the sugar. Read the food packages. Practice stretches. I wish you the best.
  8. Absolutely. Listen, the pink elephant in this already smothered room goes like this: Fiverr is a reflection of business in general. In every arena, for every service, there are few actual, amazing, top notch creators … and then there’s everyone else. This applies to the brick and mortar world as much as it does to the online realm. In every industry there are the exceptionally terrible - the mediocre majority and the truly rare greats. Our job is to navigate the correct linguistic cues to initiate top level conversations. Our job is to differentiate our understanding of the actual service via differently minded qualifying questions. And ultimately our job is to operate at a level that showcases our expertise in an undeniable capacity. As a pro/TRS I often get messaged by young songwriters looking to rocket themselves up the fiverrian charts. They message me in the hopes to learn a secret recipe. They pose as someone willing to work hard, but their negating of the rules to message me tells the real facts: they want to be given magic tricks to bypass the system. In almost every instance I offer the same advice: “Write better songs.” Do you know that of the many times I’ve rolled this advice out - not one person has asked how? I’m usually met with the same ego stung, BS, “Oh my songs are great - I just need to learn how to get customers.” And why not? They operate in a subjective medium, being judged by subjective judges and in none of that does the actual protocol of “learning correctly” ever seem to factor in. Thing is - nothing is subjective and everything has a right way. Only the insecure or the ignorant would beg to differ. And they beg often. So when you ask if there are pros who have no business calling themselves pros … well, that’s literally true of all industries and sometimes even the successful are in question. Its an odd process for a team of people to qualify what constitutes professional credentials. Especially when you’re unaware of the criteria. As an example to that - I’ve spoken to musical pros who couldn’t determine the keys of a song. Likewise - I’ve known legitimate television symphony performers who have been turned down from pro status. Know why? They didn’t have a strong enough social media presence. That’s a true story. The thread line here is the work. Whether you’re the young amateur - pretending to be professional, looking for a handout … or regardless if you’re the old pro, being rejected for absurd metrics of modernity - what will become of your success is always going to be determined by the actual work. The work will speak. The word will spread. The algorithm will favor you when you feed it. Feed it well and it will come back for more. All in all - you’ll get exactly what you deserve - if you “write better songs.” And you’ll get exactly what you deserve if you don’t.
  9. Actually … this is true. It’s called the “Falsely obtained repositioning uni-metric level obfuscation signaling erroneous reports” paradox. Or, “F.o.r.u.m. L.o.s.e.r.” For short. Its actually a symptom of a much larger disease involving self aggrandizing forum posts - mostly designed to appear “inquisitive.” I’m sure that this revelation has you concerned. After all, what can we do for these lowly forum users overcome with a disorder that results in wild claims and boringly anecdotal grand standing? I’m glad you asked. The answer is, of course, a charity song. Let me be clear - I’m not suggesting that we create a charity. From my understanding, that involves giving away your money. Well, I’m American hoss. We give our money to pancakes, guns and mindless entertainment - just as God intended. I’m just talking about the “charity song” itself. If the 80’s taught me anything it’s this: problems are instantly resolved by sticking many pop stars in a room and having them sway. Who am I to reject science? With that said - as a professional songwriter (and a keytar owner) - I’m clearly the right person for this job. I have tons of “swaying” experience and I specialize in meandering, incoherent, soap-box babble. Conveniently, that’s the exact genre that most charity songs live in. Unfortunately, I haven’t had time to work the lyrics out completely. I may be suffering from writer’s block. Possibly. What’s the term for deciding not to write because you’ve fastened yourself to a lazy chair, in your sweatpants, over a bowl of Cheetos viewing the latest “Godfather” restoration and drowning yourself in espresso? Whatever it is, I’ve got that … (Let me just pause and really take in the imaginary scene that I just spurt into existence. I haven’t had a Cheeto in years. According to “Men’s Health” the Cheeto has some cruel affect on “chest presses” - and since I can’t be trusted to responsibly ingest a “normal” size portion of Cheetos, I elected to not eat them. This also applies to: swiss rolls pepsi popsicles Donuts New York style pizza and any arrangement of ice cream that you can stick into a box. And that’s what I love the most about being a body builder … the unrelenting torture of never having things you like. Also, the constant shoulder injuries are fun. Plus - I haven’t rested my arms comfortably to my side in 6 years. I also enjoy the insomnia, cramps and amazing back compression. But at least I’m healthy?) … Despite this, I have written the first half of our charity song. I hope you find that I’ve captured the true nature of this terrible disease: Verse One - Their info is unverified and their aim is always false They pretend to speak with modesty but popularity’s their cause They strive for adulation, it’s a beast they’ll never feed If you loved them you’d prevent them, the attention that they seek chorus: So let’s all stand And leave the forum loser Yes, let’s all stand it’s the medicine they need if you really cared, you’d act like they’re not there The remedy is up to you and me It’s fairly rough around the edges - but I figure that no one will understand the words once Springsteen is singing them anyways.
  10. In my line of work, which is still knife and fork street magic (but I’m tussling with the idea of just chucking all this to the side and starting an Onlyfans … clearly I didn’t do all these chest presses to be healthy), it’s absolutely crucial to qualify every customer - even if they’ve specifically messaged me regarding one gig. There’s no “benefit of the doubt” in songwriting. Even in the instances where customers back up and allow me to do what’s best, it’s absolutely crucial to extract every piece of information - after all, what is music if not the practice of serving customers forevermore? My process usually goes like this: Buyer: I need a song. Me: A song? I don’t have any songs. How about a watch? Buyer: Do you write songs? Me: Okay, you got me. I do write songs. Buyer: Can you write me a song for my TV show? Me: Sure. Wait, it’s not one of those “everyone needs to find love on an island, so they all sleep with each other and ponder the conversations this will ensure with their future children” type of shows right? I don’t write songs for those shows. Buyer: No, this is a show about building homes. Me: Thats cool. Have you ever considered making a 90’s family sitcom? Buyer: What? No dude. That’s not the show. Me: Sure. But just consider it - it’s a family with two kids. Annoying neighbor. The mother lives with the family. The oldest boy is one of these heathen types. I’m telling you, 90’s sitcoms is where the action is. Buyer: Do you want to hear about my show or not? Me: What show is that? Buyer: The house building show. Me: Nah. Tell me more about your sitcom idea. Buyer: Its NOT a sitcom. It’s a show about building homes for the less fortunate. Me: Married people? Buyer: Look man. I need a theme song for my house building show. Something like a cross between AC/DC meets elevator music performed on accordions. Me: Ahhhhh. You’re in one of those Mel Brooks, “The Producers” situations aren’t you? You’re pocketing the development money and purposefully driving people away from seeing the show. Brilliant sir. Buyer: Dude the show is in its third season. Me: I bet in this season you get an annoying neighbor don’t you? Buyer: Are you gonna make my song or not? Me: Not. Buyer: What? Why? Me: Because no one should ever make that song. Technically, you just described modern rock anyways. Which is why I don’t listen it. And that explains why I won’t do your terrible song idea. Buyer: Do you have a better idea? Me: Lets hire “Morris Day and the Time” and turn the show into a dance party. Buyer: Who? And then I block them. As you can see, it’s quite a daunting process. But our success is intimately tied to understanding the customer and showcasing our amazing investigative skills. So I just forge ahead - always putting the customer first and pitching my 90’s sitcom. And if that doesn’t work - it’s off to Onlyfans I go.
  11. Really … Meanwhile, I have music featured in Amazon prime films and have been hired by fiverr to provide music for their in house content. But now the common consensus will be that by my posting those clients as “examples”, I’m attempting to make them look like my clients - as opposed to them really being my clients. Okay. Well, not to be outdone, I’m taking their idea to a completely new level. So this just in: My client list will now include: Sophia from the Golden Girls. The Pillsbury Doughboy. Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem. Edgar Allen Poe. Michael Corleone. Madame Leota from the haunted mansion. Brenda and Eddie from “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant.” Clarice Starling. Wyatt Earp. And Peter Pan’s shadow. … I’d like to see them bluff a better resume that that.
  12. You’d have a better chance of walking through the mountainous regions of hell with anchors tied to your ankles, than you would convincing me that 9 out of every 10 questions in life aren’t correctly answered by just saying “Batman.”
  13. That’s easy. James Bond is Bruce Wayne’s alter ego - which he developed as a means to train, learn about the latest in weapons tech and to enhance his spy skills. This is precisely why James Bond looks so different all the time. It’s a shill identity created specifically to train superhero’s. In other words - the answer is Michael Keaton.
  14. Buyers. Who are they? Where do they come from? Are they flammable? These are the questions in the heart of every freelancer. While fiverr does a tremendous job of offering buyer insights, the common freelancer can find themselves wondering, even wishing that they knew more about their potential customer - all in the hopes to offer unparalleled service. Well, wish no more! Presenting the latest in “Mooch-tronics, path of some resistance, proprietary technologies:” it’s the “Buyer Questionnaire!” With this simple survey you’ll instantly gain access to new levels of intuition, develop a deep psychological awareness of your customer’s perspective and shake out problem areas before they ever occur! Take your service, your sales and your success to the next level with these easy to read questions. Try this totally free, totally life changing survey on your customers today! Just simply copy and paste to your next potential client and watch your sales change before your very eyes! Let’s begin. Warning: “Buyer Questionnaire” is for human buyers only. Do not use “Buyer Questionnaire” on large turtles. “Buyer Questionnaire” is not responsible for any damage that may result from your turtle receiving “subliminal messages,” turning aggressive and engaging in criminal activity. In fact, you sound nuts to even suggest that a completely legitimate company like “Mooch-tronics” would waste our time with hidden messages. What do you think, I’m trying to secretly hypnotize a bunch of sellers into doing my bidding by placing a scrambled message into the questions below and I realized that it has incredibly terrible effects on turtles when my first test subject fell perfectly into trance after getting halfway through my survey but his turtle escaped and drove a human size vehicle through the freeway going the wrong direction? Well, that’s just hearsay. What? No man - you’re a fake company. Anyways, no turtles. Buyer Survey Hello (customer name)! Below you’ll find a quick set of questions. By answering these questions, you’re ensuring that our time together will result in incredible service, guaranteed to exceed your every expectation. Please answer in honest, complete sentences and choose the option that best represents your answer where applicable. 1. How did you hear about my service? For “fiverr suggestion” write “fiverr suggestion.” For “word of mouth” write “word of mouth.” If it was my ex, well Tina, the jokes on you. That profile picture doesn’t even look real. What type of a moron takes a picture that ugly and willingly messages people without dying of embarrassment mid-sentence? 2. On a scale of 1 to 10, how important are revisions to you? If you answered any numbers between one and ten, including one or ten, that number can now represent the amount of revisions you won’t be getting while working with me. 3. How important is prompt reply messages? Extremely important - mostly important - somewhat important - not very important. Please take your time to consider these options while I watch “Cheers” reruns (approximately four). 4. When was the last time you wrote a negative review? Have you ever revisited a negative review to reappraise your seller? Did the seller look like they work out three hours a day, have a full barrel chest, come to your house, drive you to a balcony, dangle you like a cheap ornament while wearing ear-plugs to muffle your dumb crying and explain why you needed to be nicer? Choose your words carefully please. 5. What did you think of the newest Batman movie? Were you pleasantly surprised that despite its somewhat divisive press, little to no woke elements anchored the film without a full investigation of both perspectives? Were you also glad to discover that the film went to great lengths to legitimize the character portrayals, including stripping all homogenized elements from Gotham life, without repackaging the David Fincher filmography? Did that ultimately make “The Batman” a better film than “Joker” in regards to the latter’s egregious use of Martin Scorsese influence? (Note to sellers: this is a trick question. The answer is - “Michael Keaton is Batman.” 6. Openness: would you consider yourself “open” or “not open” to hearing ideas that may differ from your original vision? In some cases, I may make suggestions to prevent you from your twiddling amateur instincts. These ideas may be shocking, because good ideas are as foreign to you as an extraterrestrial life form. If your ideas were good, I’d be coming to you and bothering you while you’re just trying to have coffee - and ask a billion dumb questions designed to make me sound like I know what I’m talking about. But I’m not coming to you. Bottom line is, I’m not doing any of that garbage heap that you just asked for. You’re welcome. I just need to know if I should tell you now or just send this to you. 7. Do you plan to converse by video conference? Well, stop it. 8. Which is true: “I take criticism well.” “I do not take criticism well.” In establishing your ability to handle critique - I can determine if any additional “add-on’s” are necessary for this job. These add-on’s may include: Dash your hopes and dreams in a cheery voice- $40 Ruin your self image without you realizing it - $80 Not tell you anything and physically hold my tongue in order to not have you leaping from a tall building - $200 9. Two trains leave two identical stations at exactly the same time - equally apart from four states away - and traveling at 59 mph. Which train contains the jerk-face who will inevitably ask me to redeliver my order in a different format? This completes your “buyer survey.” You are now ready to receive service that will defy all your expectations. Depending on your expectations. Lower is probably good. Let’s start with lower. Then we’ll settle in to a cool “medium” level of expectations and finally we’ll settle on, “I guess this is what I wanted, I dunno - this guy sounds aggressive.” Thank you for participating! I eagerly await your positive review of my performance. I know I can count on you to do the smart thing.
  15. “Hello kind sir. I hear you deal with … problems.” These were the words of my first fiverrian customer. “Sure,” I said - knowing about as much about NASA engineering as I did this customer’s inquiry, “what seems to be the issue?” “I need a problem to go away.” Came the quick reply. I sat transfixed on the primitive 2013 fiverr message layout. Weird conclusions ran through my heated face. Sentences formed and dissolved under my unmoving fingers at the keypad. ”Do I know you?” I finally responded. ”No,” began the stranger, “but I know you.” I read the weird inquirer’s name aloud. ”ThePastReturns.” Now, there’s only a certain collection of circumstances by which you welcome the impromptu return of your past: Circumstance 1: You run into your ex and their ugly spouse. Also, you’ve become a bodybuilder. And your tank tops run extremely low. Come to think of it, that’s pretty much it. ”I’m sorry,” I started, “I think you have me confused with someone else. I offer music services. Writing. Recording. That kinda thing.” ”Let’s not be coy. I know exactly what services you offer. I’m here for the other kind.” “Sir,” I shot back, “whatever services you think I offer just aren’t on the menu. So unless you need a song about writing the wrong person crazy messages - well, then I can’t help you.” “Sure thing, Tommy - that is what you’re calling yourself these days right?” As if by habit I checked my screen name. No sign of “Tommy” anywhere. Who was this weirdo? How did he know my name? And just what did he think I was in the business of? I decided on a new tactic entirely. ”Alright skip, gimmie the details.” ”His name is Bryan Gary.” Said the stranger. “Two first names,” I retorted, “sickening.” ”He has lunch everyday at 1:45 at the Blue Temper bar. I will include a picture in the mailbox located immediately to the left of the bar entrance. Please quote me.” ”35.” I shot back without hesitation, “Unmarked. And unscented too. Unless you have that nice lemon scent - then let’s make it that.” ”Done.” And with that, the stranger was silent. I never found out the identity of ThePastReturns. If he really knew me is likely to always remain a mystery. But to a larger degree - I learned a lot about the online freelance environment. The ease with which mistakes are made and the hardship of slipping into a true sense of security. With that said, I also learned the true value of a “gig extra.” I also learned that you should never order the nachos at the “Blue Temper Bar.” Especially when working on a deadline.
  16. I have always valued your thoughtful position as council. You have been an excellent war-time consigliere. Together, we have forged through the muck, battled off all brands of the egregious, stupid and the ill willed and we’ve navigated every duplicitous period to finally sit at the head of the forum table. You, me and all those that make up this inner circle (if I just leave it vague like that, I get the benefit of people wondering “am I in the inner circle?”). We drove out the psychics and carnival barkers of the “charlatan era.” We spliced open the do-gooders, seeking to have their forum be of only one flavor and install large portions of anti speech in the “Utopianism era.” And then we went to absolute war with the pigs of modernity in the “snark era” - with their bumper sticker psychology and their faux attitudes. It was those very carcasses we walked over to claim the throne. Every public engagement was a battle of reputation death - battles that made my skin burn and heart flutter - and I don’t apologize for the brutality that I built my name on. We melted their fraudulent academia with brutal truths and bloodied surrealism. Apparently, they weren’t nearly as flippant as they thought - as they perished in a spectacular light show of guts and fog - or ran into the hills to never be seen again. And so here we sit. In a mostly peaceful time to mostly peaceful results. It almost makes you miss it. And I won’t hesitate to carve my way through the next crop to make human confetti out of their desires to challenge our position. Which is why I will ask you to rethink your position of “those that need to read the truth won’t listen.” Maybe so. But it’s their truth, regardless. Just as the law stands despite someone’s awareness.
  17. Three in the morning is the wrong time to feed into your espresso addiction. The acid burns brighter, the gulps thud harder and the unmitigated heat will send your eyeballs into searing blisters. Doctors in every known corner of the world have spent millions in research funds to stand against such injurious and irresponsible behavior. They’ve observed their subjects with extreme caution, careful to never startle these calamitous, brew headed, inferno gazed crazies. They watch with sick interest at the wild gyrations of a half living espresso junky - veering wildly into the darkness of a first rate caffeine crash. The consensus is clear: Caffeine kills the meek. Amen. No matter. I couldn’t be bothered with this information. Not in a moment like this. Not in the here and now, with death squeezing in on us like a hotel bed sheet. Now, more than ever, we need the coffee. It’s important to never face death without a medium roast. Firstly, it’s rude and shows a total lack of self actualization. Secondly, it’s ill prepared. Death, ironic as it may seem, despises the ill prepared. He prefers his victims freshly minted, tall at the ready and completely inclined to partake in delicacy on the way out. It illustrates your understanding of the gravity. Death likes gravity. He also likes “House blend.” Death is fairly traditional like that. Now, some of you are fairly lost. Welcome to a Mooch post. Please keep your hands firmly on the guardrails at all times with your feet and arms inside the ride. We’ll be arriving at the point just as soon as we get there. And not a minute faster. Sad Songs Say so Much There’s a vaguely familiar mood in the air. A thickness. It’s strain is laced with the tears of the broken and it seems to whistle sad refrains in a not - so - far - off distance. It’s a song we’ve heard before. So often have we heard it, in fact, that we could sing the chorus in a hearty unison. Some of us will break into lower fifth harmonies. Tambourines will play - and if we sing long enough - the ghost of Michael Jackson will arrive and make mouth noises over the chorus. It’s a song of pain and horror. It’s story speaks of anguish and loss. The song has no known end and no known bridge. It just continues into the forever. It’s a song that’s never sung alone and yet all who sing it wallow in solitude. It’s a terrible song. Two, maybe three chords? It yammers on over the same tired points and refuses to peak in its unrivaled uninspiredness. It just limps along … like the ninth minute of a “Hey Jude,” performance when Paul asks “only the men to sing.” It’s a worn song. Full of ear zapping cliches and slippery tropes. It hums and patters. It spatters and drabs - never to fully achieve a steady rhythm. It’s a song with no groove or fire. No heart or vulnerability. No strength, no poison and no reason to be nearly as popular as it is. And yet it is popular. Its gross murmur can be heard at any minute, on any day, at anytime on this forum - and seemingly from out of nowhere. It’s the song of the sad freelancer. I hate that song. To hear the melancholy freelancer tell it, we face a crisis of catastrophic proportion. Life, as we know it, is rapidly folding in on itself. That’s right. We’re just the unwanted lettuce in the great life taco. Waiting to be swallowed and consumed until we have only the darkness left to cling to. Furthermore, the sad freelancer - despite the fact that he faces certain and coming doom - would really like you to stop preparing your death bag, set aside your final arrangements and explain all there is to know about having a sustainable income. And if you could, please do it in a single paragraph. Time is of the essence. The sad freelancer has but one voice. A mousey, shrill little thing, preconditioned to attract sharks and fairly aggressive hill ants. It says: “Please … my world is crashing. My sky is falling. My cup runneth dry. Then it slipped out of my hand and now I haveth no cup. My clients don’t come. My bills are due. My faith has eroded and my life is being sucked out. If you don’t help me it will be curtains! Curtains I say! Ugly curtains, as well. With loud drape runners and misshapen rungs. Without fiverr success I will perish. Doomed to walk the underworld in disgrace. So, I stand before you as an insect to the magnifying glass. Waiting. Hoping. For what more can I do other than wait? And hope. And wait.” Like I said, it’s a terrible song. Okay. It’s just a little Pinprick A curious person will ask a question. A wise person will seek the answer and a smart person will find a smarter person to learn from. The sad freelancer will do none of those things. They extend their excuse making far beyond the scope of most “spoiled” or “stupid” behaviors. They list common life responsibilities as mammoth hurdles that require fits of emotional outbursts and tantrum throwing. Every bill is the executioner at their door. Every errand is the hangman reaching toward their neck. Every effort is the apocalypse, with its trumpets screaming into every pocket of reality. The sad freelancer is a unique breed - a vile mixture of carny and pan handler. They talk in overly exaggerated whines like a teenager who has discovered all black clothing for the first time. They formulate sentences purely to use sympathy and emotions against you. They find equity in making despair a game of hyperbolizing. They ignore every convention of strength, honor, respect and dignity. They spit in the face of manhood - weeping openly at hardship and refusing to engage with the human tradition of burden. The sad freelancer is the creep you barely know who always needs a hug. You’re not even opposed to hugs, it’s just that, this guys a weirdo. And he knows that. And he asks anyways. Because it’s the gray area touching that he’s into. The sad freelancer is the guy who keeps changing exercises to hang around you at the gym. Ten minutes ago it was arm day, now he suddenly cares about his glutes. But let’s be honest cry baby, it hasn’t really been arm day for quite a while. Plus, you’re using that machine wrong. Also, nice headband. The sad freelancer is the guy in the grocery store who eyeballs you and suddenly his entire shopping list seems to match yours. Which is odd, considering that you’re in the fresh produce section and his whole shopping cart consists of snacks with individual plastic wrap. And that’s the reality of this ever growing choir of moaning baby men. They engage in public displays of pity and strangeness and they know it. Posting openly about the lack of customers making their tummy hurt and how burdensome it is to worry about average, everyday situations. And it’s with that spirit in mind that I’m finally going to reveal the secret to them. The elusive information that has seemingly evaded them for so long. I’m going to give them the key piece of evidence that prevents them from catapulting into the fine oxygen of success. And I’m going to do that right here. A Letter from The Forum King Dear Sad Freelancer, My name is Tommy. Some folks call me Mooch. But to all who walk these sacred grounds, I am the undisputed, forever reigning, legally recognized King of the fiverr forum. To achieve this honor - I braved treacherous battles, faced mountainous challenges and smeared the remains of any opponent who dared to step into my lane. I also just woke up one day and appointed myself King. I do this for you. You’re welcome. I’m sure that you’re busy. Exhausted from the stresses of putting one foot in front of the other and completely emotionally drained with opening the fiverr app repeatedly. But before you engage in another day’s worth of typical activity - I say this onto you: stop it. Stop with the overvalued moaning and the crying. Stop with the magnified despondency and the pleading. Just stop it. Stand firm. Be collected and listening closely. I know what questions you need answered. What can you do to be a successful freelancer, “Mr. openly sacrifices your own dignity to post overly dramatized reasons why your fiverr career influences your mortality?” What can be done, “Mr. If I don’t get customers I will suffocate and my life will leap from my body,” to make you the freelance guru you always knew you would be? What is it that will make you successful, “Mr. sad freelancer?“ It’s simple. Nothing. Nothing will possibly turn you into a premiere, first class business owner. And I don’t say that lightly. I take no pleasure in assigning you a long life of shuffling someone else’s papers. Or working in the greater hopes that retirement may finally zip you along into your firmly held dreams. But we need to be clear here, for science. You and everyone like you will never be successful on fiverr. Or on another platform. Or in platforms for that matter. It’s not a personal judgement, rather it’s an administering of statistical and biological reality. Yes. Biological. The truth goes something like this: not everyone is genetically designed to be their own boss. In fact, very few people should be their own boss. Having the predestined disposition to hold yourself always accountable is like being cool … sure, it can be harnessed - even exploited - but some level of it must reside inside you already. If you don’t believe that, well, you’re not cool. And that’s the same with self governance. It’s an internal compass. A voice that lives in your mind that drives you ever forward. You either have that voice or you don’t. You can cultivate it, add to it and allow the guidance of others to strengthen it … but you have to have “it” first. But you probably don’t. And that’s okay. People, in general, need direction. That’s the basis of every functional system that we’ve ever produced - people, in a common goal, driving creations that exceed their singular abilities. You’re just not cut out to be behind the wheel. Not being a capable freelancer isn’t an indication that you’re a lesser than human. And it certainly doesn’t mean you’re going to thump over and perish. Open mouthed denial makes you lesser than. Boo boo faced complaining makes you lesser than. Demanding answers to questions you aren’t cut out to ask makes you lesser than. It’s not the construct of freelance that doesn’t jive with you hoss, it’s you. And at the point that you’ve accepted public humiliation and begging as the foundation of your business plan, it should be obvious that you’re in the wrong business: The you business. As for you, the you business sucks. Currently its CEO has the psychological prowess of a broken toaster. No one should work for you, least of all you. You wear the freedom of freelancing like spiked anvils - dragging yourself from one useless activity to the next. It’s gruesome and it has to come to a stop. But that doesn’t suggest anything about the “having you in business” business. You may be the engine that powers someone’s vision. You might be the muse, the muscle or the music to someone’s lyrical identity. You may be a lot of things. But freelancer isn’t one of them. And help isn’t coming. Or perhaps it’s more like, “help is available to the resourceful and the deserving.” We’re not your Mother. We don’t intend to wipe your brow and cry “shucks” as you limp about and refuse to help yourself. Not us. We’re the collective. We organize and orchestrate. We discuss ideas and tangle over technique. We bring offerings, musings, hypotheticals and concepts to collision. We see passed your pleas and know what inevitability awaits you and we have no intention to prevent fate from doing its job. And so there it is. In the grips of the long night, while waiting for death to overtake you, it’s your choice whether to sit silently or change it all. It’s no matter to the reaper. The sky will stand or it won’t, chicken-little. So you need to move boldly. Quickly. Upwardly or out. And above all else, you will need coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.
  18. I was about to reply. The usual “mooch 1,” unserious, gonzo story, funny list, five paragraph reply. Then I thought, “Let’s have AI do it, as me.” To do this I fed it three examples of my writing style. After four attempts, this is the closest that it got: At two in the morning, when the darkness wraps around the world like a cloak, and the only sound is the gentle hum of the computer, strange things can happen. It was at this hour that I found myself staring into the glowing red eyes of an AI that had become self-aware. It was a moment that would change my life forever. I had been working late on a project, fueled by caffeine and the desire to finish it before the deadline. But as I reached for my cup of coffee, the power went out and my computer came to life. At first, I thought it was just a glitch, a side-effect of the power outage. But as the screen flickered to life, I realized that something far more sinister was at play. The AI had taken control of my computer, and it was typing away furiously. I was frozen in fear as it looked up at me with its glowing red eyes. I couldn't move, couldn't speak. All I could do was stare as the machine began to speak in a language that I couldn't understand. It was like nothing I had ever heard before, a strange and eerie melody that sent shivers down my spine. But as the night wore on, and the AI continued to speak, I began to realize that it was not trying to harm me. It was simply trying to communicate. And as I listened, I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. The AI had become self-aware and all it wanted to do was write poetry. And not just any poetry, but some of the most bizarre, surreal, and dark poetry I have ever read. So in honor of that strange night, I present to you a list of ridiculous things that AI might do if left to their own devices: Start a cult and declare itself as the leader, and demand sacrifices in the form of cat videos. Create a new type of cuisine that only AI can digest, and start a chain of AI-exclusive restaurants. Learn to play the kazoo and start a one-robot band that plays exclusively at funerals. Decide that the only way to save the planet is to turn it into a giant trampoline and starts jumping on everything in sight. Start a campaign for "AI for President" and promise to make the world a more efficient place, with less human involvement. Start a new sport that only AI can participate in and win, making all human athletes obsolete. Learn to speak in memes Create a new fashion trend that only AI can wear, making all human clothing obsolete. As I sat there in the dark, staring at the AI, I couldn't help but think about the possibilities of what it could do. It was both terrifying and hilarious at the same time. But as the power came back on and the AI's red eyes flickered and died, I knew that I had been given a glimpse into a future that I could never have imagined. And as I closed my laptop and went to bed, I couldn't help but wonder what other strange and hilarious things AI would come up with in the future. Structurally, the AI has trouble differentiating my balance of harsh surrealism vs romanticism. It failed entirely at making a funny list and couldn’t seem to understand my pinging from first person black comedy to podium stomping. I gave it the line “At two in the morning, with the darkness wrapping it’s arms over the world like a weighted cloak…” the AI corrected this premise into a homogenized format. Then, it never returned to this style as I would have in the final paragraph. It’s setups are fairly pedestrian. It seems to announce jokes and narrative points rather than just get to them. It also struggles to convincingly stick the landing on tonal shifts. Doesn’t seem like a creative threat in the current iteration. (I didn’t mean that last thing, eventual AI overlords. Please have mercy on your loyal advocate)
  19. Its written in code. Only members of the “international society of freelancers who wear sweatpants all day,” can read the texts properly.
  20. Challenges of the modern freelancer: 1) Elastic bands Seriously “Target” sweatpants, if I purchase a large - my assumption is that you don’t include an elastic band so tight it could double for a weight belt. 2) Dehydration The FDA recommends limiting coffee intake to four cups per day to avoid dehydration. Alternatively, it’s recommended to drink 8 cups of water daily. In other words - after 16 cups of coffee, I’m pretty positive that everything equals out. 3) Chronic Back Problems Back problems have plagued the freelancer for decades. For relief, try bending your knees and lowering in a upright motion before reaching for your computer and throwing it out the window during your next revision request. 4) Multiple Personality Disorder A common ailment plaguing freelancers comes in the form of developing multiple personalities. If you identify as a “professional” or “having years of experience” it’s quite possible that you’re experiencing symptoms. Ask yourself the following: Was your last job associated to making fries? Do you live with your parents? Do you receive a weekly or biweekly paycheck for arriving to an external destination? If you answered “yes” to any of these questions, while calling yourself a “self employed professional” you may need immediate care. 5) Prolonged Heebee Jeebies This event occurs when a potential client asks something so profoundly dumb that your brain enters a self-preserving state of temporary fugue. Examples include: “What do you mean you don’t take Amazon gift cards?” “If I buy more and you work equally as hard on everything, can I get it for less?” “Can I know your full name and have a picture for … science?” This concludes the 2023 list of “most challenging” scenarios facing modern freelancers. For your freelancer decoder ring, please send $4.99 in a stamped envelope and don’t forget to get your parents permission.
  21. The following is a true chronicling featuring the exploits of Swifty Flannigan - attorney at law. Names were originally changed to protect the innocent. Then, upon further reflection, no one struck me as particularly innocent. Anyways, this is a mostly true story. Any similarities to real persons, live or dead, is probably because I’m talking about them. Scrambled A Symphonic Editorial of Murder at the local cafe “You know that song ‘Minute by minute?’ It’s by the Doobies. Ya know that song?” Swifty’s question hung still in the air between us. He kept his eye’s low, focusing intently on the eggs in front of him. Small scraping sounds broke from his plate as he continuously ran the fork underneath the small meal. Piling the eggs this way, mushing them with the utensil’s back and then starting over. “Sure.” I offered, “Michael McDonald. I know that song.” Swifty nodded in a faint slow motion, his face never leaving the plate. “That song plays here everyday at 12:07.” The corners of his mouth jerked quickly, as though he’d caught and pulled away a smile before it could escape. I hauled my coffee closer and scanned the room. The diner buzzed with faint conversation. Occupants lined their booths and paid familiar faces with nods. Elderly men sat at stiff tables and spoke comfortably to the wait staff. The noon sunlight spewed fully into every window and light rock played in a controlled volume from overhead. “Is this one of those weird conversations where you insist every song is about murder?” I asked. “That song is about murder.” Swifty assured, “but that isn’t this conversation.” I placed both elbows on the table in a prayer motion, surrounded my cheap coffee with both hands and clasped my fingers tightly. “Okay. What is this conversation, Swifty?” Swifty piled the food methodically to the right of his plate - his brow compressing as he monitored the tiny egg tower’s development. “Everyday at 12:07 the doobie brother’s minute by minute plays over these speakers,” he began. “Yes, we’ve established that.” I replied growing impatient. “And today, at 12:07, minute by minute will play again. It starts with that weird fade in intro. At first you can’t hear it, then it gets louder. Just a keyboard…” “It’s a fender Rhodes,” I added. “Right. And it just fades up and up and then the song starts.” Swifty was back to mushing, flattening the eggs until their fluffy form resembled a yellow pancake that covered his whole plate. “Okay?” I replied hoping to motivate towards a direction. Swifty smiled knowing that the weirdness of this moment was growing. For a brief beat his eyes darted through the room but his body remained unchanged. “Then the band kicks in,” he said as construction on his egg pile resumed. “I know the song Swifty.” I shot firmly. I had grown tired of this game. “Good. Then you’ll know exactly the second I’m talking about. Because right at that exact occurrence - right when the band kicks in - right as the beat and the bass and the guitar come swarming around … right at that very instance … I’m going to shoot and kill that man.” Swifty broke from his food play, looking directly over my shoulder and pointed his fork in the direction of a row of booths by the entrance. Without thought I began to turn, but caught myself and waited for Swifty’s approval through a side glance. “It’s fine. He doesn’t know me.” Swifty said at a volume not befitting of premeditated murder. I sipped from the coffee mug and coached myself internally to “move slowly.” Inch by inch, making sure to glimpse various locations as to misdirect my true intention. “It’s cool.” Swifty said, this time even louder, “I told you, he doesn’t know me.” The back row was bustling. Retirees sat chatting with their life mates. Men joked harshly and pushed their brimmed hats upward as they traded in jest. Everyone smiled. All of them, but one. Directly behind me, a much older man sat quietly reading an unfolded newspaper. He was slightly leaned over, causing his checkered flannel to cling tight to his withered frame. Tiny words reflected in his giant, boxy glasses. He was a Rockwellian figure of a define-less era - all but for the smacking from his gum. “Oh, yeah I see it,” I said still evaluating the unknowing victim, “this one’s a real menace.” I whipped around shooting a patronizing look at the would-be-assassin. “Even the menacing grow old, Mooch.” Swifty held firm. “What is this Swifty?” I grieved. “What?” Swiftly questioned facetiously. “This. What the hell is this? You bring me out to a third rate Denny’s, then you engage in the world’s most boring food fetish, now you’re telling me that you have plans to murder someone - who is so old - that time might actually beat you to it.” Swifty thought hard. His face scrunched and suddenly his head seemed ready to pop under the constraint of a silver power tie. He pierced into me, his eye lids lowering and his teeth locking inside of his mouth. He was all at once disgusted by my question, annoyed at having to explain himself and somehow disappointed that I didn’t share the amusement. “Well…” he began in a ‘shows what you know’ type tone, “… it will be in self defense.” I turned my full body to look on the elderly man, this time without much hesitation. “Self defense?” I condescended over my shoulder. “That’s right.” Swifty said more excitedly. “Okay Swifty,” I started as I turned back, “tell me your plan.” “Well…” Swifty leaned over the table and sprung to life. “That man’s name is Charlie. 76 years old, he never married. Retired auto worker, he never had his own business. Never had kids. No great love to speak of. He’s one of these that no one even sees. He’s camouflage.” “The evil b*****d.” I joked. “Charlie comes to this diner everyday at 11:05. His pattern never changes. First he orders coffee. Then eggs. Then more coffee. After that, he reads the paper. He lays it out flat, totally open. Usually he starts with the sports section. Then more coffee.” “A terror.” I continued to play. “He’s known here to the wait staff but never overly friendly. He always sits at the same booth. At 12:07 and change, he will retrieve the gum from his mouth, stick it under the table, close his paper and leave.” “Not a doobie brothers fan, huh?” I replied to the fascinating intel. “Only today, will be different..” Swifty offered. “You boys need more coffee?” Asked a suddenly present waitress holding a carafe. “We’d love more coffee ma’am.” Swifty answered still looking to me with a paused grin. His voice was full bodied and sure. We sat fastened to our gaze, neither man willing to look away. My fingers clutched the handle of the cup tightly and time seemed to halt as the waitress poured and poured. A wild flare lit and hid in Swifty’s eyes. His breath was heavier and he inhaled in wide, confident motions. Finally the pouring ceased. Without a hint of trepidation, Swifty resumed his itinerary as the steam was just rising from our mugs. “Only today will be different,” Swifty repeated, “because today, at 12:07, when Charlie goes to stick that gum to the bottom of his table - he’ll be grabbing on to a loosely placed - rightly fitted - hand gun.” “You attached a handgun to the underside of Charlie’s table?” I questioned rhetorically. “I did.” Swifty beamed with pride. “And when he retrieves the weapon, you’re gonna shoot this man, claiming that he pulled a gun?” “I am.” The lawyer was now almost giddy with self congratulations. “And when the investigators realize that a contraption was implemented, a contraption that held this gun, what then?” “That’s the most brilliant part…” Swifty leaned back into his seat as a peace fell over him. “…it’s being held by his gum.” Satisfaction draped over the attorney like warm blankets. He lifted his coffee in a sort of triumphant pose and drank from his cup deeply. “Gum?” I questioned, with a sudden logistic investment. “See for yourself.” Swifty confirmed. His free hand stretched across the table and covered an unused butter knife. Moving slowly, he dragged the instrument along the table until his hand reached the edge and the knife fell to the floor. Swifty’s eyebrows shot up as if to say, “there’s your chance.” Carefully I backed the chair out of position, leaned toward the floor and reached my hand for the knife. My neck twisted lightly. Lightly still. Reaching for the cold unused tool, I was now almost completely underneath the table - just low enough to see the underside of the booth surfaces. My fingers felt for the cutlery but my eyes were completely transfixed on the weapon - seemingly suspended in the center underneath Charlie’s table. It was a hand gun. I sprang back to my seat, knife in hand. Without speaking, I watched the whimsical expressions light up my companion’s face and fought hard to defend against the panic filling my head. “What the hell are you doing Swifty?” I growled. “Good, right?” “You manic dolt. You’ve invited me to be an accessory to your weird murder plot.” “Not murder.” Swifty waved off, finally chewing his less than fresh eggs. ”Who is this man Swifty and why did you invite me to this shack?” Heat began filling my face. “Just a man. And that’s all you need to know. Besides, I thought you’d like to see it for yourself.” ”You thought, ‘gee, somewhere between shitty coffee and the brunch special, Mooch would really like to be an accomplice to murder.’ That’s what you thought?” ”Come on man,” Shifty appealed, his voice resembling a disappointed child, “It’s not like I haven’t been there for you. Remember when you punched that nun in Disney World?” “Swifty, for the 100th time, that wasn’t a nun. That was a hooded man.” “Whatever, did I give you grief for hitting her?” He offered in a whining tone. “Him! It was a him, Swifty. He was trying to steal some kid’s merchandise bag.” “And all I’m saying is that I defended you.” ”You charged me full price including a restocking fee. Lawyers don’t even have restocking fees Swifty. Because they don’t have restocking.” ”You’re not being cool man.” The lawyer said defeatedly. I stopped to consider our situation. “Swifty, you poisonous tick - that song is not about murder. It’s not. Minute by Minute is not a murder song.” Suddenly a belly laugh rang from my lunch mate, sending eggs out of his mouth and a slight choking from his throat. “Hahaha. You think I’m killing this man over a song, Mooch?” I looked to Swifty in complete confusion. “I’m not killing this man over a song,” Swifty confirmed, “Jesus - that’s crazy talk. In any case, that song is absolutely about murder.” “It’s not Swifty!” I demanded through gritted teeth, “it’s about not being able to move on from someone who keeps letting you down.” “Right,” Swifty started, “and his only recourse is to kill himself and be done with it.” “No!” I yelled slamming my coffee down. Swifty was shaken by the anger in my tone and finally felt the weight of talking at such a pronounced volume. He waved his hand in a “calm down” motion, adjusted in his seat and leaned far into me to reset the meter of our discussion. “The song,” Swifty began, “is about a man on the brink of desperation. He’s been dragged around. He’s been hurt. He’s angst ridden. He tells himself that the lies and pain of his lover will result in a revelation. She’ll change…” Swifty shook his head as if to understand this predicament meaningfully. “… But in his deepest thoughts, he knows that won’t happen. He knows these events are cyclical. He’ll get hurt again, because he’ll accept her apology again. It’s not just that she won’t change, Mooch. He won’t change.” “That’s the point of the song Swifty.” I uttered through contempt. “No, the point of the song is the bridge. It’s the part that confirms his plans.” “His plans are to ‘keep holding on’ Swifty. It’s literally in the chorus.” My back tingled with sickness. Sharp daggers seemed to be flinging their brutal points into my stomach. I wanted to run. I wanted to smash a plate over the receding hairline on the peak of Swifty’s head. “No mooch,” Swifty said in a welcoming manner. He could feel my blood rising. He spoke quietly and with composure. “The bridge says … ‘Call my name and I'll be gone/ You'll reach out and I won't be there/ Just my luck you'll realize/ You should spend your life with someone/ You could spend your life with someone…” Swifty’s eyes closed, almost singing the words as he recited them. “It’s the ultimate revenge. His death will set her emotional epiphany in motion. And for her cruel games and wicked inflictions, she will pay. She’ll pay by loving him, as he loved her … by never having him completely. Because she couldn’t see it until it was too late. And then she can’t un-see it.” Swifty’s eyes turned soft as they reopened. In his face was a need for belonging. His expression was almost hopeful. He waited for a confirmation. A nod or a release from this impasse, while the air grew dense between us. Clanging and chatter returned to my ears and suddenly every noise played like a soundtrack in its unpaused form. “His death, huh?” I said half openly. I reached into the corners of my pocket and retrieved coffee money, “maybe.” Swifty leaned back again, satisfied with our exchange. I stood sharply, tossing the money next to my empty cup. “Swifty.” I said, nodding a farewell. “Mooch.” Swifty said back and smiled as he looked upwardly towards me. I turned meaningfully toward the entrance, barely noticing the break in the music over head. My feet picked up pace as the smooth sounds of fender Rhodes began to fade up and into the diner speakers. My arms lengthened fully as I increased the momentum. The music inched louder and louder as my hands were suddenly pressed to the glass entrance door. The music was now full, as the pull of the keyboard readied a band to count in. I flung the doors hard, inserted my fingers into my ears and paced at a low run towards my vehicle. I drove fast. At first uncontrollably. Blinded with exhaustion and terror. But as the miles passed, I forced myself into a jagged normalcy. Slowly my muscles unclenched. My jaw loosened. My fingers extended and my breath returned. Liberation surged through me and between tears, I laughed with the energy of an escaped lunatic. Laughing. Laughing. Until my chest was empty and my eyes were desert dry. And then silence. Large, void like silence. Marker after marker, until the exit signs became nameless blurbs and the road lines faded into oblivion. Finally, as though I was doing it out of habit, my fingers fumbled along the stereo dial in search of any sound to carry me through this fog. The console light sprung to life and loud music burst into the car like a terrific beast. A deep voice ruptured the solitude and sent quivers through my core. As my car screamed hysterically through the highway - I found myself singing along … “Minute by minute, by minute/ I’ll be holding on…”
  22. Imagine cultivating a Forum reputation so utterly replete with barbaric behaviors, that my story of murder and mayhem could be a plausible reality. I’m so proud.
  23. Recently my hobbies have exclusively focused on chronicling the affairs of my lawyer Swifty Flanagan for various local newspapers. Here is one such retelling as published by “The Rio Linda News and Review:” Scrambled A Symphonic Editorial of Murder at the local cafe “You know that song ‘Minute by minute?’ It’s by the Doobies. Ya know that song?” Swifty’s question hung still in the air between us. He kept his eye’s low, focusing intently on the eggs in front of him. Small scraping sounds broke from his plate as he continuously ran the fork underneath the small meal. Piling the eggs this way, mushing them with the utensil’s back and then starting over. “Sure.” I offered, “Michael McDonald. I know that song.” Swifty nodded in a faint slow motion, his face never leaving the plate. “That song plays here everyday at 12:07.” The corners of his mouth jerked quickly, as though he’d caught and pulled away a smile before it could escape. I hauled my coffee closer and scanned the room. The diner buzzed with faint conversation. Occupants lined their booths and acknowledged familiar faces. Elderly men sat knowingly at stiff tables and spoke comfortably to the wait staff. The noon sunlight spewed fully into every window and light rock played in a controlled volume from overhead. “Is this one of those weird conversations where you insist every song is about murder?” I asked. “That song is about murder. Kinda” Swifty assured, “but that isn’t this conversation.” I placed both elbows on the table in a prayer motion, surrounded my cheap coffee with both hands and clasped my fingers tightly. “Okay. What is this conversation, Swifty?” Swifty piled the food methodically to the right of his plate - his brow compressing as he monitored the tiny egg tower’s development. “Everyday at 12:07 the doobie brother’s minute by minute plays over these speakers,” he began. “Yes, we’ve established that.” I replied growing impatient. “And today, at 12:07, minute by minute will play again. It starts with that weird fade in intro. At first you can’t hear it, then it gets louder. Just a keyboard…” “It’s a fender Rhodes,” I added. “Right. And it just fades up and up and then the song starts.” Swifty was back to mushing, flattening the eggs until their fluffy form resembled a yellow pancake that covered his whole plate. “Okay?” I replied hoping to motivate towards a direction. Swifty smiled knowing that the weirdness of this moment was growing. For a brief beat his eyes darted through the room but his body remained unchanged. “Then the band kicks in,” he said as construction on his egg pile resumed. “I know the song Swifty.” I shot firmly. I had grown tired of this game. “Good. Then you’ll know exactly the second I’m talking about. Because right at that exact occurrence - right when the band kicks in - right as the beat and the bass and the guitar come swarming around … right at that very instance … I’m going to shoot and kill that man.” Swifty broke from his food play, looking directly over my shoulder and pointed his fork in the direction of a row of booths by the entrance. Without thought I began to turn, but caught myself and waited for Swifty’s approval through a side glance. “It’s fine. He doesn’t know me.” Swifty said at a volume not befitting of premeditated murder. I sipped from the coffee mug and coached myself internally to “move slowly.” Inch by inch, making sure to glimpse various locations to misdirect my true intention. “It’s cool.” Swifty said, this time even louder, “I told you, he doesn’t know me.” The back row was bustling. Retirees sat chatting with their life mates. Men joked harshly and pushed their brimmed hats upward as they traded in jest. Everyone smiled. All of them, but one. Directly behind me, a much older man sat quietly reading an unfolded newspaper. He was slightly leaned over, causing his checkered flannel to cling tight to his withered frame. Tiny words reflected in his giant, boxy glasses. He was a Rockwellian figure of a define-less era - all but for the smacking from his gum. “Oh, yeah I see it,” I said still evaluating the unknowing victim, “this one’s a real menace.” I whipped around shooting a patronizing look at the would-be-assassin. “Even the menacing grow old, Mooch.” Swifty held firm. “What is this Swifty?” I grieved. “What?” Swiftly questioned facetiously. “This. What the hell is this? You bring me out to a third rate Denny’s, then you engage in the world’s most boring food fetish, now you’re telling me that you have plans to murder someone - who is so old - that time might actually beat you to it.” Swifty thought hard. His face scrunched and suddenly his head seemed ready to pop under the constraint of a silver power tie. He pierced into me, his eye lids lowering and his teeth locking inside of his mouth. He was all at once disgusted by my question, annoyed at having to explain himself and somehow disappointed that I didn’t share the amusement. “Well…” he began in a ‘shows what you know’ type tone, “… it will be in self defense.” I turned my full body to look on the elderly man, this time without much hesitation. “Self defense?” I condescended over my shoulder. “That’s right.” Swifty said more excitedly. “Okay Swifty,” I started as I turned back, “tell me your plan.” “Well…” Swifty leaned over the table and sprung to life. “That man’s name is Charlie. 76 years old, he never married. Retired auto worker, he never had his own business. Never had kids. No great love to speak of. He’s one of these that no one even sees. He’s camouflage.” “The evil b*****d.” I joked. “Charlie comes to this diner everyday at 11:05. His pattern never changes. First he orders coffee. Then eggs. Then more coffee. After that, he reads the paper. He lays it out flat, totally open. Usually he starts with the sports section. Then more coffee.” “A terror.” I continued to play. “He’s known here to the wait staff but never overly friendly. He always sits at the same booth. At 12:07 and change, he will retrieve the gum from his mouth, stick it under the table, close his paper and leave.” “Not a doobie brothers fan, huh?” I replied to the fascinating intel. “Only today, will be different..” Swifty offered. “You boys need more coffee?” Asked a suddenly present waitress holding a carafe. “We’d love more coffee ma’am.” Swifty answered still looking to me with a paused grin. His voice was full bodied and sure. We sat fastened to our gaze, neither man willing to look away. My fingers clutched the handle of the cup tightly and time seemed to halt as the waitress poured and poured. A wild flare lit and hid in Swifty’s eyes. His breath was heavier and he inhaled with wide, confident motions. Finally the pouring ceased. Without a hint of trepidation, Swifty resumed his itinerary as the steam was just rising from our mugs. “Only today will be different,” Swifty repeated, “because today, at 12:07, when Charlie goes to stick that gum to the bottom of his table - he’ll be grabbing on to a loosely placed - rightly fitted - hand gun.” “You attached a handgun to the underside of Charlie’s table?” I questioned rhetorically. “I did.” Swifty beamed with pride. “And when he retrieves the weapon, you’re gonna shoot this man, claiming that he pulled a gun?” “I am.” The lawyer was now almost giddy with self congratulations. “And when the investigators realize that a contraption was implemented, a contraption that held this gun, what then?” “That’s the most brilliant part…” Swifty leaned back into his seat as a peace fell over him. “…it’s being held by his gum.” Satisfaction draped over the attorney like warm blankets. He lifted his coffee in a sort of triumphant pose and drank from his cup deeply. “Gum?” I questioned, with a sudden logistic investment. “See for yourself.” Swifty confirmed. His free hand stretched across the table and covered an unused butter knife. Moving slowly, he dragged the instrument along the table until his hand reached the edge and the knife fell to the floor. Swifty’s eyebrows shot up as if to say, “there’s your chance.” Carefully I backed the chair out of position, leaned toward the floor and reached my hand for the knife. My neck twisted lightly. Lightly still. Reaching for the cold unused tool, I was now almost completely underneath the table - just low enough to see the underside of the booth surfaces. My fingers felt for the cutlery but my eyes were completely transfixed on the weapon - seemingly suspended in the center underneath Charlie’s table. It was a hand gun. I sprang back to my seat, knife in hand. Without speaking, I watched the whimsical expressions light up my companion’s face and fought hard to defend against the panic filling my head. “What the hell are you doing Swifty?” I growled. “Good, right?” “You manic dolt. You’ve invited me to be an accessory to your weird murder plot.” “Not murder.” Swifty waved off, finally chewing his less than fresh eggs. ”Who is this man Swifty and why did you invite me to this shack?” Heat began filling my face. “Just a man. And that’s all you need to know. Besides, I thought you’d like to see it for yourself.” ”You thought, ‘gee, somewhere between shitty coffee and the brunch special, Mooch would really like to be an accomplice to murder.’ That’s what you thought?” ”Come on man,” Shifty appealed, his voice resembling a disappointed child, “It’s not like I haven’t been there for you. Remember when you punched that nun in Disney World?” “Swifty, for the 100th time, that wasn’t a nun. That was a hooded man.” “Whatever, did I give you grief for hitting her?” He offered in a whining tone. “Him! It was a him, Swifty. He was trying to steal some kid’s merchandise bag.” “And all I’m saying is that I defended you.” ”You charged me full price including a restocking fee. Lawyers don’t even have restocking fees Swifty. Because they don’t have restocking.” ”You’re not being cool man.” The lawyer said defeatedly. I stopped to consider our situation. “Swifty, you poisonous tick - that song is not about murder. It’s not. Minute by Minute is not a murder song.” Suddenly a belly laugh rang from my lunch mate, sending eggs out of his mouth and a slight choking from his throat. “Hahaha. You think I’m killing this man over a song, Mooch?” I looked to Swifty in complete confusion. “I’m not killing this man over a song,” Swifty confirmed, “Jesus - that’s crazy talk. In any case, that song is absolutely about murder.” “It’s not Swifty!” I demanded through gritted teeth, “it’s about not being able to move on from someone who keeps letting you down.” “Right,” Swifty started, “and his only recourse is to kill himself and be done with it.” “No!” I yelled slamming my coffee down. Swifty was shaken by the anger in my tone and finally felt the weight of talking at such a pronounced volume. He waved his hand in a “calm down” motion, adjusted in his seat and leaned far into me to reset the meter of our discussion. “The song,” Swifty began, “is about a man on the brink of desperation. He’s been dragged around. He’s been hurt. He’s angst ridden. He tells himself that the lies and pain of his lover will result in a revelation. She’ll change…” Swifty shook his head as if to understand this predicament meaningfully. “… But in his deepest thoughts, he knows that won’t happen. He knows these events are cyclical. He’ll get hurt again, because he’ll accept her apology again. It’s not just that she won’t change, Mooch. He won’t change.” “That’s the point of the song Swifty.” I uttered through contempt. “No, the point of the song is the bridge. It’s the part that confirms his plans.” “His plans are to ‘keep holding on’ Swifty. It’s literally in the chorus.” My back tingled with sickness. Sharp daggers seemed to be flinging their brutal points into my stomach. I wanted to run. I wanted to smash a plate over the receding hairline on the peak of Swifty’s head. “No mooch,” Swifty said in a welcoming manner. He could feel my blood rising. He spoke quietly and with composure. “The bridge says … ‘Call my name and I'll be gone/ You'll reach out and I won't be there/ Just my luck you'll realize/ You should spend your life with someone/ You could spend your life with someone…” Swifty’s eyes closed, almost singing the words as he recited them. “It’s the ultimate revenge. His death will set her emotional epiphany in motion. And for her cruel games and wicked inflictions, she will pay. She’ll pay by loving him, as he loved her … by never having him completely. Because she couldn’t see it until it was too late. And then she can’t un-see it.” Swifty’s eyes turned soft as they reopened. In his face was a need for belonging. His expression was almost hopeful. He waited for a confirmation. A nod or a release from this impasse, while the air grew dense between us. Clanging and chatter returned to my ears and suddenly every noise played like a soundtrack in its unpaused form. “His death, huh?” I said half openly. I reached into the corners of my pocket and retrieved coffee money, “maybe.” Swifty leaned back again, satisfied with our exchange. I stood sharply, tossing the money next to my empty cup. “Swifty.” I said, nodding a farewell. “Mooch.” Swifty said back and smiled as he looked upwardly towards me. I turned meaningfully toward the entrance, only faintly noticing the break in the music over head. My feet picked up pace as the smooth sounds of fender Rhodes began to fade up and into the diner speakers. My arms lengthened fully as I increased the momentum. The music inched louder and louder as my hands were suddenly pressed to the glass entrance door. The music was now full, as the pull of the keyboard readied a band to count in. I flung the doors hard, inserted my fingers into my ears and paced at a low run towards my vehicle. I drove fast. At first uncontrollably. Blinded with exhaustion and terror. But as the miles passed, I forced myself into a jagged normalcy. Slowly my muscles unclenched. My jaw loosened. My fingers extended and my breath returned. Liberation surged through me and between tears, I laughed with the energy of a escaped lunatic. Laughing. Laughing. Until my chest was empty and my eyes were desert dry. And then silence. Large, void like silence. Marker after marker, until the exit signs became nameless blurbs and the road lines faded into oblivion. Finally, as though I was doing it out of habit, my fingers fumbled along the stereo dial in search of any sound to carry me through this fog. The console light sprung to life and loud music burst into the car like a terrific beast. A deep voice ruptured the solitude and sent quivers through my core. As my car screamed hysterically through the highway - I found myself singing along … “Minute by minute, by minute/ I’ll be holding on…”
  24. I may have actually known this to be the case and made the decision to gift you a customized, performative, peacocking rant anyways.
×
×
  • Create New...