So yeah, Andrea, Trish and I are doing this Balance Bar Adventure Race for the Lukemia & Lymphoma Society.

Rather than beat you over the head with the details, I'll just link you to the page I built about it:



This is just odd.


From: SHANNON [mailto:*omitted*]
Sent: Monday, April 26, 2004 12:05 PM
To: administrator@mentallyincontinent.com
Subject: Mentally Incontinent - A Joe The Peacock Book Feedback



From: Joe The Peacock [mailto:administrator@mentallyincontinent.com]
Sent: Monday, April 26, 2004 1:35 PM
To: *omitted*
Subject: RE: Midgets?

Hi there Shannon,

I believe I'm a bit confused. Midgets?

At any rate, I certainly don't mind appearing anywhere. I'd like to know what it is that I'd be doing when I'm there, though. Can you give me some more details?



From: SHANNON [mailto:*omitted*]
Sent: Monday, April 26, 2004 4:09 PM
To: administrator@mentallyincontinent.com
Subject: Re: RE: Midgets?

Okay, my teacher, *omitted*, has the biggest fear of MIDGETS! She had a dream that when she was coming back to Bowdon from Town's County that there was a MIDGET chasing her car screaming at her and me & Another student want her to get over her fear if the price isn't that high. I am just 17 but she is my second period teacher. If the principal says its okay for you to come and approach her then hopefully you will arrive the last week of school. Just reply and tell me what the price range is. Thank you once again, Shannon


I don't know what to do. I have no idea where Shannon A) got the idea that I am a midget, and B) I am a midget for hire. I'm no guerilla midget! I wouldn't know the first thing about being a contracting munchkin! I've never undergone training and I'm afraid there isn't a book out there called "How To Be A Midget-For-Hire."

What do I do? Do I just email back and say "Sure, pay me, i'll be there" and hope for the best? Or do I ask Shannon just how, exactly, a 6' 4" 290lb guy is supposed to help cure someone of thier fear of midgets?


Apparently, I'm not very popular amongst internet-enabled vegetarians.

The denizens of this particular messageboard:


Have taken issue with my story, "The Cows... They TALK!". Now, I wasn't really concerned with the whole "We Hate Carnivores / Omnivores" aspects of it, and I don't really care if someone misinterprets a story of mine. After all, you're reading for your own benefit, and as such, you are free to assign any value you want to anything you want. However, the second I'm accused of plagarism, I tend to get a little miffed. So, I decided to reply.

And with in 2 minutes of posting, I was BANNED.

The official reason from the admin is that I "Wasn't adding anything useful to the conversation."

Now, I'm not all that bright, so PLEASE tell me if I'm wrong, but I don't know that there's anything MORE useful in a conversation about a story than the author of that story's interpretation of what it was about.

I just thought i'd point out that that hippie Michael is a dork. Yeah, that's right Michael. You're a tofu-eatin' dork.


New story on Mentally Incontinent today. It's short, but not too bad.

Sadly, stories like this are not at all rare in my life. I can't tell you the number of things I've set on fire or the number of times I've been attacked savagely by insects. Or both.

When I was in Jr. High, I had an unfortunate incident involving football practice and a huge bed of ants, and ever since, i've been deathly allergic to them. So I made it my mission in life to eradicate THESE evil beings as well. I'd go and pour tons and tons of gasoline on ant hills, then set them on fire.

One day, there was a MASSIVE hill - probably 3 feet high, no joke. I emptied almost an entire 5 gallon can of gas (which back then was like 70 cents a gallon. These days, you could have paid a child's college tuition with that much gas) on this thing. I ran about 10 feet away, lit a match and tossed it on the mound. But here's the thing about that: Ant mounds are nearly 4 times as deep as they are high with MANY feet of cavernous tunnels carved through the earth. That mean there was about 12 feet of chambers in this thing, now filled with gasoline.

The second the match hit the mound, it was like a bomb going off. There was a crater in the earth the size of a human being - which means the air was now littered with dirt.

And ants.

I was COVERED. Stinky mud and ants from head to toe.

Naturally, I freaked out.


Ah, Tax Day.

It's on this day that I love going to the main post office in Atlanta just so I can be a part of the hustle and bustle, looking at all the decorations and humming Tax carols. The spirit is always so lively, and it's always great to see the kids' eyes light up when Uncle Sam comes strolling in with his little sidekicks and lets the kids sit on his knee and tell him all the deductions thier mommies and daddies took.

Oh, to be alive in April...


A little thought experiment for the modern times.

It's like this:

You and your family (spouse, 2 children, just for the sake of argument) are driving along and you see a group of people being held at gunpoint on the side of the road, thier car broken down. Now, you've seen this kind of scene before, an d being the overall well-meaning person you are, you feel that you can't let something like this go down. You want to help out and fix what's broken.

Your children - 1/2 the population of the car - say "No! This looks like bad news, and besides, what happens when you're done helping out? Sure, they're in a bad position, but by stopping, you put US at risk, not to mention you assume the responsibility of those people which you save, since you are now obligated to them. They have no vehicle, no fuel, no money. I know it's a bad situation for them, but you have to let this one go by. It's unfortunate, but involving us is going to be more trouble than it is help."

Well, you disagree, and as leader, you park the car to help. You send your spouse (because you are too important to go yourself, and he/she signed up to support and defend you no matter what the cost) to help these poor people. In the process, she/he loses a few fingers and toes, but she takes out the mad gunman who was threatening those poor people. Mission accomplished, right?

Now, you have a broken down car full of people who never asked for your help but are now 'better off' due to it, since they don't have a madman pointing a gun at thier heads anymore. However, it turns out that 2 of the people in that car really hate your guts because you're from a particular state and they hate that fact - so they began randomly attacking your spouse as she / he tries to 'rebuild' thier broken ass car. The rest of the people in that car appreciate your help and thank you and could REALLY use more help - at the risk of losing more parts of your spouse in the ensuing attacks. Your kids are reminding you that, while they love mom/dad and support HER while she / he is out there helping, they are sick of hearing about new parts of her body being chopped off and want her home. NOW. It's a losing battle, they say, and they're sick of it. You, however, feel that given enough time, your decision will prove to be just and the people in the car - even the ones who hate you and want you to leave them alone - will be better off.

Here's the question - at what point do you realize that their car is beyond repair, and any attempt at fixing it will end up being futile? How many parts of your spouse are you willing to lose until you figure that out? And what about the risk of the children - 50% of the population of that car - overthrowing you as decision maker and figurehead in order to get mom/dad back home and out of harm's way?

Or is it just that YOUR car is running low on fuel and you know THIER car has plenty to spare?

This is kinda how I see Iraq.


When I was a teenager living at my parents' house, I used to eat massive, heaping bowls of cereal in the morning - if you've ever watched The Beverly Hillbillies and seen the size of Jethro's bowl, that's what I'm talking about. I'd pour the bowl 3/4ths of the way to the top with cereal, top it with milk, and wolf it down. Captain Crunch, Cookie Crisp, Fruity Pebbles - all of my victims disappeared nearly instantly in a vortex of my inhalation of my part of a complete breakfast.

One day, my dad came home with a box of Grape Nuts he had purchased during that day's grocery shopping extravaganza. Up until that time, I had never tried Grape Nuts and had seen the marketing propaganda claiming its nutty goodness and wholesomeness and yatta yatta - I knew I had to try them.

My father tried to warn me. "Don't pour too big a bowl, because I WILL make you eat all that you take." Having been raised during the Great Depression, my father had a great amount of disdain for wasting food, and would not allow anyone to leave the table unless they cleaned thier plates. Being that I was a young buck, foolhearty and hungry, I ignored my father's sage advice and went ahead with the pouring of a standard Joe-sized bowl. I sat down to eat my Grape Nuts at 6:00 AM that morning.

At 7:00 AM, I was STILL eating that same bowl of Grape Nuts.

I begged my father to let me go dump them out. He refused.

At 8:00 AM, I had barely made a dent into the bowl full of brick mortar sitting before me. I PLEADED with my father - "Dad, this is disgusting, PLEASE let me throw it out."

"Not a chance," he replied, sitting in his place at the head of the table. He explained to me that we were both going to sit at that table as long as it took for me to eat every single spoonful of Grape Nuts.

10:00 AM rolled on by. The bowl had grown in size, no kidding. "Dad!" I exclaimed. "Look - I'll BUY a new box of Grape Nuts to replace this one. A whole box - NO! TWO whole boxes! Just PLEASE, for the love of God, let me throw this crap out!"

He just sat there and read his funnies.

By the time noon had arrived, my face was pressed into the crook of my elbow, resting on the table. My stomach felt as if it would explode violently, sending the substance that was neither Grapes nor Nuts all over the place. The bowl stood at 75% of it's original volume.

I sat at that table until 9 PM. No shit - NINE O' FUCKING CLOCK AT NIGHT.

I spooned the last spongy glop into my mouth. I had already vomited twice and was well on my way to my third trip to the Isle of Bile when my father chimed up, "Ok, I hope you've learned your lesson."

"Oh, yes," I replied, a note of sickness hanging on my syllables. "I will listen to your advice from now on."

"Oh, I'm not talking about that," He replied plainly. "I was talking about eating Grape Nuts. They're disgusting."

My face conveyed shock and amazement. "Then why the HELL did you buy them?"

He shrugged. "Your sister is making a macaroni collage. She needed something to be 'sand' so I picked up some Grape Nuts." He shook his head, ruffled my hair, and marched out of the room. "Time for bed. see you in the morning."


Holy crap, it's been a long time since I've written. I'm pathetic, you know?

Well, this month should see some pretty good stuff going up on Mentally Incontinent. I not only have the ending to the Corporate Hell Tryptich, but the ending to the Motherboard Chronicles as well! That's right, there's finally a part 7 for that story, and it's not what you expect. I also have quite possibly the most embarassing story in my history going up in the next few hours - I expect that the response to this one will be utterly relentless around the office.

Oh, it's Easter, isn't it? Happy Easter to... well, no one in particular. I'm actually rather pissed - Jesus didn't come down and leave chocolate eggs and marshmallow chickens under my pillow last night.

Easter brings with it the mild distaste of having to have dinner with my family. I think i'd rather put some fake grass, olives and a goldfish into a blender and drink what comes after 2 minutes on 'puree' than have to endure the inevitable religious debate around my father's table - not to mention avoid making eye contact with certain familial elements who have somehow deemed me unworthy of thier oh-so amiable and good natured temperments.


I guess I'm a heathen.

Families are tricky things. You have to put up with them because the liklihood of getting caught when murdering a family member increases exponentially due to the fact that family members are automatically suspects in any murder. It's hard to shake off a murder wrap, especially when you actually did it, and prison is no place for my frail and tender hindside - especially right now, seeing as how I'm just now recovering from a mild case of botulism (that's food poisoning).