The Journal of Joe The Peacock. Yay.

What's In The Box?

2009-11-09T20:56:00.004-05:00

So, I cut my own hair.

I know, shocker. But why the hell would I pay a barber to slap a No. 2 guard on a clippers and run it over my head when I can do that myself? Especially since I've been doing it myself since I was 16? That'd be silly, huh? So that's why I don't pay the barber. But all that money-saving I do every three weeks ends up taking its toll on the tools, and after my last haircut, my 16-year-old hair clippers bit the dust.

So while at Wal-Mart grocery shopping, I picked up this new clippers kit:

Deluxe Chrome Pro! Sounds nice, huh? And it comes with a nice leather pouch, and a bonus clipper... How great! What a fine way to spend $40 bucks! But I had JUST cut my hair, so I didn't need them right away. So I just plopped the box on the counter and let it sit there until I needed them.

And that time came last Monday. And I was actually almost giddy to use them - there's something fantastic about using new stuff, isn't there? It's exciting! I get that way about everything from these hair clippers to a new stick of deodorant. So you can imagine my immediate shock and disappointment when I opened the box and saw this:

Yeah, that thing at the bottom there? That's not a hair clippers. That's...

A Dean Koontz book. And along with it, was this bottle of Vitamin Water:

And to round it all out was a child's purse placed in the box to simulate the fine leather case that the clippers were supposed to come in:

And as a bonus, the purse was actually full of seashells:

...Yep. I got hornswaggled. I've been a victim of the old "box full o' other people's shit from where they stole the hair clippers" scam.

I feel silly. Not just because of this, but because my hair has also crossed into "shaggy" territory. I look downright unkempt. And I'm pretty sure Wal-Mart won't let me return this, given it's been so long since I bought it (and I can't find the damn receipt).

But hey... SEASHELLS!

Preorder my book today, get a free 2nd autographed copy!

2009-11-02T13:55:00.005-05:00

Tomorrow, my first ever major published book will be released by Penguin books.

Today, I asked the nice people who read my website and twitter and faceybooky thing and Fark to help me make a last-day splash on preorders. I wanted to ride a good momentum into the release date. And because I know a LOT of my readers were holding off until the book is out to get a signed copy, I have made an offer: Preorder my book today, email me the Amazon receipt and your address, and I'll send you a 2nd autographed copy, free (I'll also honor this for anyone who has already preordered the book).

Within 2 hours, we're #3 on Amazon's Humor bestseller list:

Holy. Crap. You guys are so awesome!!!

***UPDATE 5:07pm ***

Can you guys believe I'm #2 in Humor again? I'm also #2 in Essays - I've beaten out two David Sedaris books!!!

Pumpkin Muffins Are Violence-Enablers

2009-10-27T10:39:00.002-04:00

I wanted to surprise my wife this morning with pumpkin muffins topped with a gingerbread butter icing.

I slowly slinked out of bed, carefully removing her arm from my chest like Indiana Jones did the idol in the Mayan shrine. I let the dogs out in the murky cold rain and began prepping the muffins, only to discover that I was not only out of milk, but also eggs. So after letting them in and toweling them off, I set off to Publix to grab the aforementioned necessaries.

I was freezing, mostly because of my very poor choice of footwear - a pair of Adidas flipflops. I figured I was just going to run in and run out, but the cold wet morning made it much more of a slog through hell... And the lack of jacket and close parking didn't help.

As I was walking to the door, I saw a man who I swear to God, if I didn't already know he's too much of a jackass to do his own shopping, I'd think was Kanye West... Shutter shades and all. And beside him was the shortish, mid-50's checkout clerk I've known for years at the store pushing this man's cart full of groceries out the door to his car. Now, I'm pretty sure just seeing that this fuckstick had a woman pushing a cart out into the cold rain to haul his groceries for him was enough to get me to start barking, but what really set it off is when I saw him pull out the umbrella... And hold it only over himself.

If I was on the witness stand, this is the part where I'd say "I don't remember doing this, I was out of my mind." Because I mostly was. But I marched over to the pair and immediately yelled "What the FUCK, man?"

Dude cocked his cocky head my way. The clerk was taken aback - she knew who I was, but we aren't on conversational terms or anything, just pleasant hellos and goodbyes and whatnot when I shop. So seeing me in this light probably startled her.

"Wha?" The guy barely managed to squeek out.

"Why the fuck is she pushing your groceries out to your car, you fucking jackass?" I half-asked, half demanded. "It's not like you can't push a fucking cart yourself - and why couldn't you at least offer that umbrella to her?"

He couldn't answer. He tried, but I didn't let him.

"Fucking... Lady, let that cart go!" I yelled to her. "Let this dude, push his own shit!"

Now, it's her job to push groceries out to the car when requested. Her JOB. She was doing what earned her her paycheck. I understand this logically. But there's something incredibly disgusting about entitlement - I hate it, all of it. No one is entitled to a fucking thing on this Earth, and when you're a healthy male capable of pushing a wheeled basket out to a car and you opt to let an older, much smaller woman do it for you, I just don't CARE what rationalizations you have for the task, it's wrong.

The two looked at each other, then it looked like he was about to turn back to me and say something. He could have even been saying "Okay" and agreeing that he had made a bad choice. But again, I didn't let him. "Fucking NOW, jackass!" I said.

He put his umbrella in the basket, took control of the buggy, and began walking straight ahead. The clerk didn't have a clue what to think, much less what to say. I just went on into the store to finish making muffins for my wife.

That was my morning. How was yours?

For The Ladies: The Ins And Outs Of Getting Racked

2009-10-26T13:06:00.004-04:00

This post is primarily for the ladies out there.

The reason it's for the ladies is because men already know all of this stuff. They've known it since the age of six of so. It's a constant part of our consciousness. It never leaves our minds, ever. It's pervasive to the point of being an immediate physical reaction that precludes thought and logic... Anytime anything approaches any area even remotely near our twig and berries, we immediately go into "guard" position.

But women just don't get it. They don't quite understand why the pain of being racked is such that it deserves this sort of attention. And the hard part of this is that it's several reasons packed into one, all of which aren't very easily described. But I'm going to try.

Of course, there's the embarrassment factor. Contact was just made with our unmentionables. A violation has just taken place. Aside from the immediate and lasting impact of the actual pain, there's been an emasculation, and we don't like it. That's our BOYS. You don't touch our boys... Unless its a mutually agreed-upon exchange involving intimate contact, and even then, you do it GENTLY.

Then, there's the generational impact. It's instinctive to men to protect the progenitor of future generations, and when we get racked, there's a base animal rage that flows through us in reaction to the possibility that we may have just lost our "go juice," so to speak. It's primal, and its uncontrollable, and if we could, we'd immediately kill the individual who just attempted to kill the millions upon millions of unborn lives packaged in our danglies.

But we can't, because it hurts in a way that nothing else has ever hurt, ever. I won't go so far as to say its the most excruciating pain I've ever felt... Breaking a limb (or several), or pulling a muscle / ligament from the bone, or yes, childbirth, might have higher pain thresholds. But the worst part of the pain from being racked isn't the physical sensation of pain, it's the complete shutdown of the rest of our entire bodies.

The sensation is akin to being punched in the stomach... But coupled with the inability to breathe and the black hole that just formed in the area of impact, there is a dull, throbbing pain deep within our bodies. If you asked any man to point directly to where it hurt, and they were capable of moving and/or speaking at that moment, you'd get a pointer to somewhere between the nads and the small of the back. And the pain actually varies based on the type of impact. The following guide assumes no puncture or laceration, with a force insufficient to permanently incapacitate the area:

The full-blown nutshot: This is full contact, full force on both orbs. The pain is severe, but distributed. The body shuts down. The lungs lose air. The throat can only groan. The mind concentrates immediately on the affected area.
Pain index: 8
Time of incapacity: 45-60 seconds
Lasting pain: 5-7 minutes for immediate tenderness, dull aches for an hour

The single-nut slammer: This is full contact, full force on one orb. The pain is severe, concentrated to a single roundy. As with the full-blown nutshot, the body shuts down, you can't breathe or talk. But the pain is actually more severe, being in just the single bobbly.
Pain index: 9
Time of incapacity: 60-120 seconds, depending on force
Lasting pain: an hour or more for immediate tenderness, dull aches for 2 hours after

The glancing blow: BY FAR the worst of the three. You'd think hitting both boys would be the worst, but no. The slight clipping of a buckeye is, without a doubt, the worst pain a man can feel. It's crippling, and for reasons you'd never expect - we can still move; we're not completely incapacitated like the full-blown nutshot or single-nut slammer. But I'm fucked if I know why I'd want to, because every single muscle and nerve ending is now tied directly to that ball. If I so much as flex my index finger, I feel pain in the area. It's not dull, it's VERY sharp and piercing. It's almost like being stabbed. A completely different sensation, and it destroys the rest of your day.
Pain index: It goes to 11
Time of incapacity: hard to articulate. Not incapacitated like the other two injuries... But you sure as hell think you are.
Lasting pain: The whole day. Maybe even the next afternoon. In case I haven't been clear, it's BAD.

And so, combining all of this into one morsel of knowledge, you now know why, if you asked a man which he'd rather have injured - [any body part here] or his best buddies, he'd pick [any body part] 9 times out of 8. It's not just the pain (although, that has a lot to do with it). It's the combination of evolutionary imperative, pride and excruciating pain.

And you now also know why you guys can't go comparing this pain with childbirth. Yes, you win - childbirth is more painful. But the buildup to it is 9 months, and you know it's coming and can opt for a cocktail of awesome drugs to cope. But with dudes, you get the double whammy on the double baggy of unexpected pain with loss of pride, topped with the cherry of knowledge that it could happen again almost immediately, and without warning.

And as always, ladies, you're welcome for yet another look into the world of men.

Digital Fatigue

2009-10-24T23:15:00.002-04:00

I don't have a clue if "Digital Fatigue" is a real term or not - and I can't be bothered to Google it, because if it isn't, then I am a fool for using made up terms, and if it is, then I am a thief for stealing it. So let's just let the term float around this post, like that butterfly you couldn't catch in the jar as a kid, but was still there in your company, as much "yours" as if it was in that jar. Fair?

Good.

Anyway, that's what I'm suffering from lately - Digital Fatigue. I'm sick of technology. I seriously can't stand to open Twitter or visit Facebook or turn on my Xbox or even use my iPod right now. I can't really explain it any better than this: for the first time in my adult life, the thought that technology's pendulum has begun to swing in the direction of harm has crept into my head.

I can't tell you how horrible the hives are when I hear someone who used to make fun of me for being so internet-inclined and device-savvy get excited about this brand new Pandora app they found for their iPhone. In fact, you can't go to dinner in any restaurant in the United States these days - from Waffle House to Per Se - without seeing someone with their nose in a mobile device... Even the servers.

Sure, the argument has been made before, with every single major advancement in technology. The telegraph would ruin letter writing. Radio would cause cancer. TV would wreck society (and of course, it has, but never in my years have I honestly considered society something that wasn't wrecked in the first place). And it's not that I see the internet or even technology in general as evil... I'm just plain tired of it. It's like the rest of the entire world finally caught on about this thing I and many other first-adopters had to fight like hell to not only build, but be respected for even using.

"You met that girl on the internet? She's probably psycho... Or a GUY! HAHAHAHAetc"

"You read that story on the internet? Can't possibly be true... Huh? What the hell is 'Reuters?'"

"You bought that over the internet? Aren't you afraid it'll break?"

"You chat with people on the internet? Don't you have a life?"

And now, everything's Twitter this and Facebook that and App Store those. Everyone I've ever known - even people in the 3rd grade - have the same level of access to me as my best friend Mike does on Facebook. I take no joy in discovery on the internet, or with development or digital design, because to me, the discovery is now gone. No matter where you look, someone's already there, planting a flag and pretending they're the ones who discovered it. And they're not... They just can't see the people standing 20 feet away on the same plot of digital land, because their attention is solely focused on their own individual standing in this social internet whatever.

Again, I'm not saying these are bad things. I'm just WORN. OUT. Pretty shitty timing for it, too, given that my new book releases in a week and 3 days.

How To Flood Your Kitchen

2009-10-23T10:45:00.003-04:00

There are many, many ways one could go about flooding their kitchen, and I'm not going to judge you for picking a method other than my preferred method, even if you are stupid for ignoring a clearly superior method... You asshole.

1) Have your wife complain that the hot water is running out too fast. This is the lynchpin in the entire process - your wife must complain during a shower that the hot water is running out too quickly. Or, it could be your husband. I won't judge, even if he's not the sort of man to go about flooding your kitchen and passes off responsibility to you... That pussy.

2) Have a truck with a flat tire in the driveway. This is optional, but will help greatly with the process, as you need something else to work on while you're flooding your kitchen. Or it could be a car.

3) Turn off the hot water valve at the water heater. This will halt the flow of water into your water heater. You can leave it on, but then you'd be a fucking retard. Don't be a fucking retard. Turn it off.

4) Connect a drain hose to the exit valve of the water heater. This is so you can drain the water heater and clear it of sediment and clear any air pressure that has built in the resovior. Yes, I know I spelled resovoir wrong. I don't give a fuck. I won't let you or this stupid red line underlining the word tell me what to do. I'm my own man, who fixes his own water heater and floods his own kitchen.

5) Turn on the hot water valve in the kitchen. This is to open the pipe and allow air to enter as you drain the water heater. If you don't do this, you won't get any movement out of the exit valve on the water heater.

6) Remove the sprayer nozzle from its hose. This is so you can blow into that end and expedite the siphon action on the exit valve on the water heater. NOTE: It is VITAL that you leave the hose without the sprayer handle hanging over the edge of the sink and pointed at the floor when you go out to begin drawing the water out of the exit valve.

7) Watch a ton of shit pour out of your water heater. This crap is why your hot water stops getting so hot, and why your wife complains in the shower. Or your husband the pussy. Either one.

8) Jack up your truck and begin working on the flat tire.

9) Decide to stop working on the flat tire because you cut your finger and need to put a bandage on it, and after you've done that, decide the water heater has done enough draining for the day.

10) Turn off the exit valve on the water heater.

11) Remove the drain hose.

12) Turn on the hot water valve to the water heater.

13) Finish working on your truck's flat tire. Take as long as you want. The more time you spend doing this, the better result you'll get on your final goal.

14) Hear the dog barking.

15) Look back toward the kitchen door leading to the garage.

16) See water flowing through the space of the slightly-opened door.

17) Say aloud the following words: "Oh, SHIT!"

Congratulations. You've just flooded your kitchen. I'm very proud of you.

Being The Early Bird

2009-10-15T09:29:00.001-04:00

You ever hear that the early bird gets the worm?

What the fuck kind of incentive is that?!? No only do you have to crawl out of an environment that as close to the womb as you've managed to attain since being born, probably interrupting a really great dream involving twins (any dream, with any twins - twins are just neat, no matter what they're doing, even fixing bicycles). But you have to do it to eat worms!!!!

That's why I'm never the early bird.

Also, did you ever notice that, while the early birds try to fly with full stomachs, they lose their agility and can't dodge the engines of the Boeings flying the first-of-day commuters?

All that waking up stuff... Highly overrated.

A Last Line Before Dying

2009-10-08T14:26:00.003-04:00

Okay, the subject of this post needs explaining. No, I'm not posting a suicide letter to the web. I have a lot to live for, like Tuesday night's U2 concert. I mean, sure, I could commit suicide NOW, and I will have seen Tuesday night's U2 concert, but then I wouldn't be able to see future U2 concerts. Of course, this could also be true if one or several of the memebers of U2 committed suicide now too. Which means that I didn't commit suicide for no reason.

Well, not for no reason. Just not that reason, because it would be moot (not mute, morons-who-misuse-this-term. MOOT. Know it.)

But there's also more to live for than just U2 concerts, I suppose. Like butter cookies, or watching a baby giraffe learn to walk. But it's the U2 concert that reminded me of an assignment I had to do in high school, where we were tasked with writing a letter to someone, assuming it's the last letter we'll ever write before we die. And why did the U2 concert remind me of that? Well, now you're asking me to explain how my brain works. And if I understood THAT, I'd probably never need to write again.

I think it's one of those long chain association things, where going to this show reminded me of going to the shows in high school, which reminded me of how many people thought it was weird that I was into U2, considering my affinity for Public Enemy and the Rollins Band, and how no one there really understood anything about me anyway, especially my teachers, which is where the memory of this stupid letter assignment came from.

I remember the teacher, Mrs. Williams, explaining in detail how the assignment should make us feel. Do we have things we wish we'd said that we haven't said? Is there anyone we've wronged that we wish to apologize to? Anyone in our lives who did something wonderful who we never thanked?

But the assignment on the board said, rather clearly: "A Last Line Before Dying: write a letter to someone in your life as if it's the last letter you'll write before you die."

We were asked to read our letters aloud to the class - which, as an aside, I now realize was a VERY unfair thing to ask teenagers to do. Think about it - you've just asked a 15 year old to spill their guts about something they're horribly remorseful for or share a private moment of thanks with their peer group. And perhaps this whole endeavor was in the spirit of freeing us and having us write in the moment or whatever... Bu knowing Mrs. Williams, I think she just got off on watching people in pain.

Anyway, so people read their letters aloud, and they typically fell into one of the two categories I mentioned above. "I'm so sorry I forgot to feed your cat and it died," "You were there for me when my parents divorced and I never thanked you," "I wish I'd gone bungee jumping with the rest of the wrestling team," all of that.

To the best of my ability, I've recreated my letter below:

Dear Clara,

Yeah, I agree completely, Seinfield is definitely one of the best shows on TV. I don't get much time to watch it these days - not that I'm busy or anything, it's just that my dad has put me on restriction from TV... Again. I think I've seen three programs on television in the past year. I did get my TV back last week, but then report cards came out yesterday and, as usual, five F's and an A in PE... So. Last night, in a tizzy, he unplugged it and put it on the shelf above my desk, where' it's been precariously perched since. It doesn't really fit up there. But he wanted to give me a constant reminder of what I'd be missing out on until I bring my grades up... AGAIN.

Anyway, I've been drawing a lot lately and have been considering submitting my work to a comics publisher... AGAIN. I know I write a lot of the same things every single week, but that's pretty much what goes on in my life. If it's not football or wrestling, it's restriction and drawing. And the occasional trip to the Emergency room.

I've had quite a bit of coffee this evening, and can't really hold my leg still. I'm shaking the entire desk (and probably the rest of the room) with the insane bouncing. It's making drawing difficult. I'm just glad I have my headphones on so I don't have to hear the toys and crap on my shelf clack and bang. I swear, one of these days something's going to...

Only instead of "..." i had a long streak of ink trailing from the o.

When I read this aloud to the class, everyone was confused. Mrs. Williams asked me just what the heck any of that had to do with my feelings before death.

I explained to her that I had more than 20 different pen pals - some international, some I met at the crazy Christian camps my parents sent me to during the summer. But I LOVED writing letters (and still do - thanks to email, i'm down to only three people I trade actual pen-and-paper letters with, but hey, I'm always up for more if you're bored and promise you'll write back). I wrote one a day, just about every day, to various people.

And I realized, if I was going to write one last letter before I died, it was likely to be to one of those fine people - and more than likely, it'd have been to Clara, a girl I traded two letters a week with. And I also realized, since I'm not the suicide type and death rarely comes when we expect it, that it'd more than likely not be all that interesting.

Some of the kids in the class caught on, and thought it was pretty funny. Mrs. Williams gave me an F.

I hated high school. But I loved the U2 show the other night.

...Hey, you signed up to read this thing, I didn't hold a gun to your head... Or drop a TV on it.

Coffee Snobs Can Enjoy The Complex Flavors of DEEZ NUTS

2009-10-06T11:33:00.005-04:00

Hi there, coffee snobs. You know who you are.

It's about time someone calls you on your bullshit. Fuck you and your complex flavors and your aromas and your delicate blend nonsense. I'm glad you've found your way around your own pallette to enjoy a bittery black fluid as some sort of delicate vintage of fermented beverage. But really, if you've found time in your day to roast your own beans to the perfect color, grind them with a titanium burr-grinder to the perfect kernel size, brew them at exactly the right temperature and enjoy the complex flavors of the perfectly brewed cup of coffee, you're not doing enough with your life.

Get the fuck out of your retardo selfish life and go volunteer at a homeless shelter for an afternoon. You'll soon figure out that the perfect cup of coffee is the one you can afford to drink right this very second.

Now, don't get me wrong - weak-as-piss, overbrewed crap coffee makes me gag. And I absolutely do prefer a well-brewed cup of coffee to a watery hodge-podge of soaked grounds that's been warmed to room temperature - this is why I like Starbucks and not Waffle House. The coffee is strong, stout and tasty. But there's a very fine line between crap, "something made correctly" and "something taken to its unnatural, elitist extremes." See-thru coffee = crap. Starbucks = correctly made. What you guys are doing... Well, I think you've gotten the point by now.

And no matter how well the coffee is made, there's no point in drinking the shit black. It's bitter and gross. I absolutely require cream and sugar in my coffee - it's how I like my drink. It's tasty. It makes me happy, and it speeds the delivery of caffeine to my system, which is coffee's purpose. It's high-octane and legal and makes me a better person. The flavor is something you tolerate until you learn to enjoy it. Humanity's relationship with coffee is a multi-generational case of Stockholm Syndrome with a beverage. It holds us hostage, and we learn to love it. Case closed. Any attempt to find delicacies in a cup of coffee makes you a fucking prick.

I'm not sorry. Shut the fuck up already and let me drink my coffee.

The Final Book! LQQK!

2009-10-02T12:33:00.003-04:00

Check it out, I just got a copy of the final finished OMG I HAVE A FREAKIN' BOOK:

It's so great to see the final, finished product and touch it and hold it in my hands an call it George. But to be very honest, that's not the most exciting part for me. The best thing about seeing the final book was seeing my sister, Virginia Hall's awesome photo being credited on a Penguin book:

Maybe it's just the big-brother factor, but that's really the thing my heart screamed with joy about. I am so proud of her and her career, and we got a chance to work together on something - and it makes me super happy.

Anyway, yeah, there's probably going to be a lot more book shit going on in this blog the next month or two. I'll do my best to be actually funny and worth reading between those posts.

Book Release Party Nov. 7th 2009 - Set In Stone Edition

2009-10-01T17:18:00.003-04:00

The book release party is now set in stone!

It's official: Twain's in Decatur, 7pm Saturday November 7th, 2009. There will be drinks, there will be food, there will be books with sharpies and perhaps even a dork to sign them. You have to come out and see for yourself.

Decatur is home to both hotels (click for a list - I recommend the Holiday Inn) and Marta, with a very vibrant and fun shopping district. It's a short train ride away from the GA Aquarium, World of Coke (which, honestly, I don't advise, unless you just REALLY fucking like Coke), and other events.

There's a Thrashers game that Sunday, Nov. 8th - Mike and I will be going. If you'd like to join us, let us know so I can get a group discount on tickets.

If you're on Facebook, please RSVP on this event!

If you're not and you still think you'll be there, email me and let me know.

Somebody Said Something Nice About Me

2009-09-29T00:28:00.002-04:00

It's rare, but sometimes, people like the silly things I do. And I'm so very very honored that none other than Mr. William McKeen, professor and chairman of The University of Florida Department of Journalism, said some really nice stuff about my new book.

I thought I'd share that. If for no other reason than to prove that sometimes it does happen.

Also, I totally got in trouble today on the set of SportsNation at ESPN in Bristol for drinking coffee on the set. I feel like a douche, but hey, it wouldn't be me if it didn't involve a) blatantly breaking a rule plastered on no fewer than 4 signs, and b) making a bad impression the first time I ever show up somewhere.

OH MY GOD WHEN THE FUCK IS THIS FUCKING MMS UPDATE GOING TO COME FOR AT&T FUCK

2009-09-25T13:14:00.005-04:00

Seriously, I have been clicking "Check for Update" in iTunes all goddamn afternoon waiting for this much-vaunted MMS update for iPhone. This is serious business, people, because I have some pictures I need to send to friends and family for their PHONES!

have never in my life wanted to send a picture mail more than I do right now. I have all these pictures of my cats, and people NEED TO SEE THEM!

NEED! I FUCKING SAID NEED! Because they're CAT pictures and people LOVE cat pictures and I haven't been able to send any for like months since I moved to iPhone!

You see that fucking picture of that cat? That's Tiny Tim, and there are people in my life who need to see him being so fucking cute on that cat stand! And they CANNOT because they don't read my BLOG!

See Jake there? Jake is so fucking cool, and I can't share him with people who I know who won't read my blog! And the only way for me to fufil their need is to send that damn picture via MMS! AT&T DOESN'T WANT CUTE CAT PICTURES TO BE IN THE HANDS OF THOSE WHO NEED THEM MOST - the people who I love but who don't love me enough to read my blog!

MEWTOO IS TOO GODDAMN FAT TO FIT IN THIS CAT STAND! And I can't show my sister, who won't read my blog, because it doesn't contain any relevant information and she can't be bothered - so how the fuck else is she going to see this FAT FUCKING CAT in this cat stand?

Chewbacca is using Cloud as a pillow! THIS IS TOO FUCKING CUTE NOT TO SHARE! I stayed up all night last night getting all these pictures ready for today's big MMS update so I can send them to my sister who will be so thankful! And it's not here yet! WHERE THE FUCK IS IT!

LOOK AT ORANGE JULIUS! He's yawning, and cat yawns are cute, and cute cat yawn picutres make days go by faster and much more pleasant! And my friends and my family who refuse to read my blog can't get these pictures without MMS!

HURRY THE FUCK UP AT&T OR ELSE THE PEOPLE WHOSE PHONE NUMBERS I HAVE WILL BE DEPRIVED OF THIS PICTURE OF BUZZ SLEEPING ON THE PORCH

ARGGGGGGGGGGGH

*** UPDATE 3:06PM ***

I thought I'd share with you guys the first MMS I sent (to Jeremy) after the service went live:

*** UPDATE 3:25PM ***

So I Twittertweeted about my first MMS. This guy then asks:

...That's not at all disturbing. Nope, not at all. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to sit sobbing in the shower hoping all the icky will wash away.

The Best Internet Prank Ever

2009-09-23T15:24:00.002-04:00

So, everyone's all atwitter about the red dust storm covering Sydney, Australia right now:

(click the pic to go to the gallery)

But I know what's really going on.

A group of internet-minded photographers and twitterers decided to red-tint all their photos, submit them to twitpic and flicker, and claim on the net that Sydney had turned red. The press in Sydney is going along with it, because hey, the entire continent is criminal-minded anyway.

It's the biggest internet prank ever.

Dvorak: Smart on Software, STUPID on Comics

2009-09-19T17:57:00.002-04:00

Today's Dvorak Uncensored discusses whether or not Disney got screwed on its recent purchase of Marvel:

As we’ve all heard by now, Disney bought Marvel for about 4 billion dollars. At first blush it seems like a deal made in heaven. Disney makes movies and superhero movies are hot right now.
However, due to prior contracts Marvel had with other movie studios, Disney is essentially unable to make any Marvel superhero movies for a very long time, maybe even forever.

...DVORAK! Dude, what the fuck? How can you be so stupid?

Comparing this to the Ebay deal for Skype is misguided at best. This isn't like software licensing or ownership - there's no outside copyright interest in this deal. Marvel has made a business out of owning creator's rights to any and all properties created for Marvel. This is very well known, and was the very reason Image was created.

Sure, as you note, the other studios get to make the movies. So what?

Now, Disney gets the liscensing and royalty fees, the profits from sales of merchandising, and full market share on increased interest in source material (the actual comics and graphic novels). Plus, it gets the jump on new graphic novel source material (now that graphic novels are essentially Hollywood's brand new darling and are being written almost as storyboards for movies, look for Marvel to launch a "Vertigo-like" imprint in earnest, much like it had Epic back in the late 80's - early 90's).

You're a smart dude. But on this, you made a very dumb leap, assuming software liscensing is anything even remotely like likeness, trademark and character ownership.

The Only Times Being A Geek Comes In Handy: Superman Question

2009-09-18T17:17:00.002-04:00

Text:

Liz: Ok, I need an answer here... does the Superman theory work in reverse? I.e. if I was to go to Krypton and bask in the rays of the red sun, would I gain extraordinary powers? Aside from the power of being a dork, I mean.

Joe Peacock: I am pretty sure you'd become more weak. If red sun planet being grows in strength with the yellow sun, that would mean we're tolerant at a baseline of (ysun), while they are tolerant at a baseline of (rsun) - meaning (ysun) > (rsun) in terms of strength benefit. To go from (ysun) to (rsun) would be to diminish whatever quality gained from the rays of the sun... Making you weaker.

I need to get laid.

Alanis Morrisette's "Ironic" Really IS Ironic

2009-09-17T13:33:00.002-04:00

I was griping at my wife, who loves Alanis Morrisette (for whatever stupid reason), about how "Ironic" really isn't ironic at all. Now, I'm not as bad as, say, the Fark.com Irony Police when it comes to what truly is and is not ironic, but I do believe that all words have a purpose, and should whenever possible be used appropriately.

And not a single instance of "Ironic" in Alanis's song "Ironic" is used appropriately. Behold:

(Seriously, you don't have to listen. It's just here for reference. Don't damage your day any further than it may already be.)

Okay, so, let's take a look at the lyrics in play here:

An old man turned ninety-eight, He won the lottery and died the next day
This is not at all ironic. This is a man dying of old age, who had at least one day of extraordinary luck.

It's a black fly in your Chardonnay
This is just gross. Not ironic.

It's a death row pardon two minutes too late
This is poor timing. Or, a judge with impeccable comedic timing. But hardly ironic.

It's like rain on your wedding day
This is poor planning.

It's a free ride when you've already paid
This is failure to read signs properly.

It's the good advice that you just didn't take
This is either stupidity or stubbornness.

Mr. Play It Safe was afraid to fly, He packed his suitcase and kissed his kids good-bye, He waited his whole damn life to take that flight, And as the plane crashed down he thought 'Well isn't this nice...'
This is unfortunate - both in the fact that the poor guy died on his first ever flight, and that he was such a pussy he couldn't get on a plane on a day before that day so that maybe he could have enjoyed a vacation or two before, you know... Dying.

It's a traffic jam when you're already late
Leave on time. Again, poor planning.

It's a no-smoking sign on your cigarette break
Just because you chose to call it a cigarette break doesn't mean that your location has to support smoking. Maybe call it a coffee break - now the "No Smoking" sign is irrelevant, isn't it?

It's like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife
This sounds more like an obsessive-compulsive victim with way too much money to spend on spoons. Still not ironic. You can do most anything with a spoon that you can with a knife, including open boxes or kill a man. It's just a little harder, is all.

It's meeting the man of my dreams, And then meeting his beautiful wife
Your dreams suck.

As you see, there's not a single instance of actual irony in Alanis Morrisette's "Ironic." And that, my friends is what hit me this morning - it's absolutely genius. It's meta on a scale we didn't really see back in 1996. This song is actually ironic. It's called "Ironic" and features no actual irony... Which is ironic.

Don't you think?

Thank You Everyone (Video)

2009-09-15T16:29:00.000-04:00

Preorder My New Book, Darn It! (Updated!)

2009-09-14T00:17:00.006-04:00

UPDATE: as of 12:15AM 9.14.09, I'm #5000(ish) on Amazon overall and #13 in Humor! I'm beating out Flying Spaghetti Monster and F My Life! That's INSANE!

UPDATE 2: as of 12:36PM 9.14.09, I'm at #1762 overall and #6 in Humor! WHAT THE HELL! This is so great... I don't deserve you guys. Seriously you all ROCK.

UPDATE 3: and now, it's 2:23PM 9.14.09 and were at #1148 and #5 in humor. I am seriously stunned.

UPDATE 4: ...holy shit. #3 in Humor on Amazon, #813 overall. Like... I don't even know what to say.

UPDATE 5: I have officially run out of ways to say "I don't know what to say." It's #2 in humor on Amazon now. All I can say is thank you everyone.

UPDATE 6: I bet you're sick of these. Anyway, hanging strong at #2 in Humor, but check it out: #646 overall, and #4 in both satire categories. THIS IS NUTS

So check this out: The new book is now available for presale on Amazon.com!

Isn't that rad?

So some other info:

The book comes out November 3, 2009. The official Book Release Party is going to be November 7, 2009 in Atlanta, with a location TBA. RSVPs can be made at the MI Facebook fan page or in the RSVP thread in the MI forums. I would LOVE to see you there!

There will be book signings through Christmas, then again starting in January next year. If you have a city you'd like me to come hang out in and be all authory, just contact me and let me know.

And lastly, new stories and a new redesign of MentallyIncontinent.com start next week. Be on the look out.

I love you.

iPhone's Predictive Text is Dirrrrrrty

2009-09-13T15:49:00.003-04:00

I was trying to express to my friend Meg that I finally got what she was talking about by typing "Ooooooh."

This is what iPhone thought I meant:

I think the thing that threw me the most is the number of "o's" in "Pooooooooooop." Who the fuck... You know what? Nevermind. Don't want to know.

Also, thanks to my buddy Shawn Hill for teaching me that hitting the top button and the main button at the same time takes a screenshot.

My New Favorite Shirt (updated)

2009-09-11T13:51:00.001-04:00

I stumbled on a custom embroidery booth at DragonCon today. I didn't like any of the designs they had, but the staff were so damn friendly, I had to buy something. I asked them how much it cost, and they said $32.40 with tax. So I picked the pinkest thread they had and had them make this for me:

It's definitely my new favoritest shirt ever.

Am I The Only Person In America Who Didn't Like District 9?

2009-09-10T00:30:00.002-04:00

Spoilers and shit below. You have been warned.

District 9 had good graphics. Yay.

District 9 had neat weapons. Good.

District 9 was shot well and had beautiful art direction and innovative storytelling and blah blah blah - did Peter Jackson actually just spend $30 million to tell me that apartheid is bad?

Seriously... Did this man just re-film Enemy Mine in the style of Cloverfield with better graphics to tell me it's bad to segregate, isolate, dehumanize and abuse an entire race of people? This really needed a full 2 hours to talk about?

Peter, U2 solved this problem back in the 80's, for fuck's sake! Mandella was freed in 1990 - starting off one of our greatest decades! Shit is fucking 19 years old, man. We get it - humans are dicks, and they are scared of things not like themselves. This was your plot?

I'm sorry folks, I know that District 9 is the big geek jerkoff this summer. But really, this wasn't a very good movie. It was a great reel for graphics professionals, and a fantastic opportunity to lampoon Hitler by way of a bumbling powerhungry South African with a tiny dick. But a good movie?

This fucker got rocket fuel in his eyes, and it morphed him into an alien being.

Rocket. Fucking. Fuel. Turned this guy into an alien. That's like huffing gas and becoming a turtle. And we're supposed to just buy that? He suddenly abandons his human need to use the toilet and is compelled to eat cat food... Yet he still loves his wife undyingly. AWWWWW UNDERNEATH ALL OUR COMPLEXITY WE'RE ALL THE SAME REALLY. Go fuck yourself.

Look, I want to be told a story. I don't want to be jerked off and made to feel superior because I, an audience member, can TOTALLY see the allegory to real human situations in a movie that's supposed to suspend my disbelief. And even if I did, I definitely don't want to see an evil dick turn into the hero because he just became that which he hates - because NO ONE suddenly sees the light when they realize they're becoming that which they hate... Not in real life, anyway. Usually they just put a shotgun between their teeth and struggle to get their toes into the pistol guard.

District 9 is a 6 at best, and I'm being generous. This movie does NOT rank in the upper echelons of sci-fi movie history. Blade Runner. Aliens. Star Wars. 2001. These movies instill awe every time you watch them, and are timeless and legendary. District 9 will NOT be in our collective consciousness in a few years, I guarantee it.

My New Favorite Shirt

2009-09-06T22:02:00.002-04:00

A quick WTF story from DragonCon...

2009-09-06T02:30:00.002-04:00

So, I'm sitting in High Velocity's glassy box VIP whatever thing at the Mariott Hotel with a bunch of really great folks (Tony Shasteen, Nightmare Armor Studio guys, my buddies Alec and Shawn, and a ton of other great people). We all totally scammed our way in - we made buddies with one of the servers at the restaurant last night, and she totally lied about how much we'd be spending to let us in. It was fairly awesome.

Now, the thing about Con is that random people walk into wherever you are, and suddenly someone will go "HEY!" and get up and talk and then introduce whoever it is to the rest of everyone. It's a really chill environment, full of bonding and happiness and whatever else you need to hear to get the point that good things happen. And while we're all sitting there swapping stories and laughing, this guy walked in dressed as a satyr (the pan-flute goatboy kind) but with tennis shoes, holding one of his horns in his hand.

We all kinda nod and acknowledge him, all of us assuming someone else in that room knows who he is. And hell, EVERYONE'S in costumes of some sort (except me - I'm my own costume, with this Akira sleeve and whatever). So it's really no big deal... Until the guy opened his mouth.

"I can't get my horn back on," he says during a natural lull in the conversation.

One of us offered the suggestion of glue. He says "You know, this one time, I ate out a girl for 7 hours, and she told me afterward that she had herpes."

Just like that.

The room was stone silent, except for the dull buzz of the low-volume television in the corner. "Dude," someone said after a few seconds, "Who in this room do you know?"

"No one," he replied. "I just came in here to put my horn back on."

There was nothing else to say. He had just topped any and all stories that could have possibly been told the rest of the night, in two sentences.

WTF, furpants?

On Not Caring What Other People Think

2009-09-03T04:00:00.004-04:00

We all have our defenses and our cast-away statements we make when we want to pretend we don't care what people think. And we all care what people think... Most of the time. About what we say, or what we look like... We all care. It's natural to care. Only a sociopath actually doesn't care.

In my case, I tend to say whatever comes to my mind. I give a pretty pure reaction to anything that happens around me. I do so honestly, not because I want to inflict myself on anyone, or prove how "edgy" I am, or live up to some strange ideal of honesty in how I react to people. I simply don't have that little trap that is supposed to sit at the faucet of speech.

And of course, there's a LOT of times I've said some shit that's really offended people. It's happened more than it probably does with the average person. And because I can't really control it, I've learned to defend myself internally with the "well fuck them if they can't handle it" line. But I don't really think that. I do care what people think about the things I say and do. I've just learned how to get past caring and do it anyway.

I'm always concerned with how people see me. I'm abnormally large. I'm absolutely fine with my form - there's not much changing it, aside from losing some more fat bits. But fat or not fat, I'm still a gigantic person. And I'm happy with that person. I like being that person. That doesn't stop me from caring what other people see when they see this person.

But I've began to notice something, and I'm not sure if it's a "coming of age" thing or just something that I've always done, but never paid attention to. I've found that there are moments in my day when I actually don't care what anyone thinks, about what I know or say, or what I look like.

When I'm talking about something I know a tremendous amount about (Akira, or comic books, or information architecture, or how to use a power drill), and someone tries to confront one of my facts, I couldn't possibly care less about hurting that person's feelings with the truth. I actually do not care what they think, because what I'm saying is honest. There's no disputing it. You can argue with me if you want, but one of my character traits is that I spend as much time as I have to to know everything that I can possibly know about something I'm interested in. I know how many hours I put into knowing these things, and how many sources I've double and triple checked my information against. And anyone arguing with me about it falls into two categories:

a) they've read old material, or only one source, and think they're an expert because they shortcut the process, or

b) they legitimately know something I do not yet know.

The percentages of one to two is something on the order of 99.99998% to 0.00002%. And when I run into a b), its their worst nightmare, because I squeeze them like a sponge to learn everything I can possibly get out of them about whatever it is I don't yet know.

And when I'm at the gym or on the football field and I'm absolutely completely drained physically - soaked with sweat, covered in grass or dirt, and huffing and puffing... Arguably at my "ugliest" - I just don't care what anyone else sees when they see me. I can't. I feel too damn good.

I wish for everyone the ability to be an expert in something and to feel their best. I wish I could give that to everyone I know; that feeling of not having to think about how much they don't care what other people think, because they actually DON'T.

Maybe I'm just strange though. Maybe everyone already doesn't, and I'm just the weird obsessive guy who does.