jps: (pic#897548)
Friday, June 12th, 2015 01:21 pm

The days are unusually cold and gray. They tick along like the gears of some giant clock that exists behind the everything. I’d like to think that there is some ghost in the machine, but it’s just too hard to believe. It seems more likely that my life exists on a razor edge of being and not being. In any moment it could all go very wrong, but even that would only be for a little while.


One has to get up in the morning and that kind of thinking makes one want to hide under the bed instead of getting out of it. It’s best just to push those nasty thoughts to the basement of one’s mind where the monster of reality lives, well chained.

My girl and I have been working. We have a handyman business that we are slowly lifting off the ground. I am not the handy side of this; my girl and I are the business end. We have a 1099 that swings the hammer.

The Florida side of things are ever present. It’s where I make my real living and involves mostly collecting rent and pissing people off. It seems that no one wants to pay rent; and when they flush a diaper, it’s my fault the sewage backs up. I am the “owner”, which means; I am “the man”. “The Man” is never cool.

We also started a web management company, when a friend of ours agreed to a proposal I sent her. We are going to build, migrate, market, and manage her web presence. It’s been fun so far. We are doing the same thing for the Handyman and Web Management businesses.

We haven’t slowed down much lately. I like it this way. My previous life was rather restrictive. I woke up in a box, drove to a box, worked in the box, and went home to a box. Thinking outside the box was not an option.

If I were to talk to some younger version of myself, I would tell him to live in the box for a while. You have to live in the box to know the rules everyone else lives by. Plus the larger the box, the easier it is to slack off. The key is to make sure no one really knows what you do.

The divorce, while ongoing, has been pretty quiet. My youngest daughter seems a little less angry. The ex-wife has not been heaping on the drama yet. Time is flowing ever onward to the day when I write her the last check. I count the days. It does annoy me that my daughter is so infatuated with my ex-wife’s boyfriend. Everything about him is so cool, while everything about me is stupid. Why am I the dork, when this guy was homeless when my ex found him on facebook? He and everyone else over there are supported by my alimony and child support. After three years of living off of me, he finally has a job chasing squirrels out of attics. He wears a funny hat, loves animals, and buys my daughter booty shorts, so he gets to be the cool one. I remember when I was cool, because I took her to Chucky Cheese and bought her Beanie Babies. I miss the kids I had when they were kids. Sure they left the back seat full of cereal and spoiled milk sippy cups, but they were fun too.

I’ve been reading Terry Pratchett’s “A slip of the Keyboard”. He is one of my favorite authors. Perhaps the favorite, if it wasn’t for Stanislaw Lem. I suppose you could call the race a tie. It annoys me that they both had to die. It’s like drinking from a fountain, watching the water slowly trickle away, knowing they will never fill it. Writers should be able to pass their worlds on, like a king passes power to his heirs. This way I could still read new Disc World, Middle Earth, and The Cyberiad novels. If Harold and the Pirates, ever becomes big; I will find a young heir to carry the torch.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

jps: (pic#897548)
Sunday, May 17th, 2015 01:53 pm

The post office lost my ex’s alimony, and this makes me smile.

My ex’s boyfriend got a job. It was from one of those animal wrangler type companies, when you are too dumb to get a pest control license.

I’ve been busy. It’s a fun busy. We started a handyman business, which is going well. We just won a proposal to manage a website for our management business, and I am in the process of renovating an apartment building for the real estate business. I am also writing a comic called Harold and the Pirates, or if you are a super fan, HATP. I have big plans for that comic. I am going to be an internet star, even though I am too old and not good looking. I am going to hire a kid to pretend to be me, only cooler with a better hair style. I need a hipster that still uses Livejournal, but does so ironically because now the latest social media is to just write shit on bricks and throw them at people. They are special bricks that only take five characters and use bluetooth to connect to each other via the wall. They aren’t available for sale yet, but you can give money to their kick starter and get a great deal at $100.00 dollars a brick. Early adopters get special yellow bricks, which are cooler than the red bricks everyone else is going to have.


And I am learning to play classical guitar. My cats “the boys” are critical but fair. They hate it, but I am learning the D string, learning the D we call it. I think they will be happy with me once I stop singing along with the music. I am never going to stop singing.

This is what happens when you give me too much time and space. I seem to fill it. I don’t like slowing down. Dead people slow down.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

jps: (pic#897548)
Thursday, May 14th, 2015 08:42 pm

Hey ex-wife,

I met you a lifetime ago in the cluttered aisles of Kmart. I hated that job. One needs a certain amount of love for people at their worst to enjoy retail. I wanted to quit before they hired me.

I bought a manual type writer, and I was going to write “the novel.” It smelled like magic, and the hard staccato clicks banged words into existence with efficiency. I was going to be too famous for retail.

I am not sure what you fell in love with back then or what you saw from over your register. You were dating a heavy set hairy guy from sporting goods at the time and you were not happy.

I left Kmart to find my life in the islands of Key West. In a shitty apartment, surrounded by cats, whose descendants were the pets of pirates, I set my fingers to bang out the words. I didn’t know we were writing love letters, but somehow the black lines flowed into the life we became.

It ended on our bed when you rather calmly asked for a divorce. You were pissed when I smiled.

There is so much that I don’t understand about what happened in between. I don’t know when you stopped loving me. I don’t know why we never had a real conversation, one where we connected. We never talked, and when we did, it wasn’t honest.

I know that something was broken with us from the start.

The sex sucked.

I worked so hard, twelve hour days, cooking dinner when I got home, and cleaning. There were times when I thought your only job was to anchor the couch into the living room floor.

I didn’t cheat on you a little. I cheated on you a whole lot. I wish I could tell you that I regret it. I can tell you that it is not as much fun as a healthy relationship.

Do you remember when you had your family empty our house, took the kids, and accused me of domestic violence, so you could get a personal protection order? I do. Do you remember ever apologizing? Yeah, I don’t either.

I took you back, because I realized that every other weekend isn’t a way see your kids grow up. I stayed with you for over decade, because our kids were that important.

You made out pretty good in the divorce. You got alimony, child support and a nice check. Your parachute has been golden.

I was angry at you for a long time. I hated you even. I could list out the reasons why, rank them by rage level, and include a brief justification. But my rage has cooled to a hard dead little ball, and empathy isn’t a strong trait of yours anyway. There is little value in bringing it all up.

In two and a half years I won’t be supporting you, and our house will be sold. The rock we rolled downhill will finally come to a rest and sink quietly into the past. I count the days sometimes.

Most days I just wake up, smile, hug my cats, and smile again. I am living the dream I had when we were together, only I am awake and this is real.

I guess what I want to say is thanks for letting me go.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

jps: (pic#897548)
Saturday, April 25th, 2015 03:27 pm

Relationship Counselors all seem to be undiagnosed hoarders. Their offices are full of crap designed to make you feel more at ease, while you pour your thoughts out into their bank account.

I’ve sought out two in my life. One was for marriage counseling, prior to my divorce and the other was to try and fix the alienation of my youngest daughter. I don’t recommend it, lots of wasted time and money.

The marriage was lame from the time it started. It needed to be put down. A quick death would have been nice.

My daughter was different. I needed that to work.

When she said that Mike was more of a father to her than I was, it hit somewhere deep. Maybe that was what she wanted. The divorce has been so ugly.

The anger has settled to a dull roar. It has moved in, brought its friends, and they are never leaving. There are days that I want to call my ex and tell her how I really feel with a liberal sprinkling of foul language. I don’t. In the twenty years I was married, the one thing I have learned is that you can get very little satisfaction from my ex.

I was replaced before I even knew the marriage was over; and that’s fine, good even. I moved on as well. I just didn’t think that my role as a father would be so easily replaced. My ex worked her magic, and the parental alienation was set. In the black and white world of a teenager’s mind, I am black, and they are white.

My girl seems tired of watching me torture myself every other weekend, which is filled with a lot of teen girl eye rolling, sighing, and rude retorts. My daughter is sixteen now and really doesn’t want to see me most of the time.

Maybe one day she will see that I am just some dumb idiot who is no different than all the other people out there in the world. Maybe I will be human instead of the flat one sided caricature her mother painted in her head.


And that’s all I get

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

jps: (pic#897548)
Thursday, April 23rd, 2015 07:34 pm

I like to sit and watch my reef tank naked. It’s an expensive and weird. Not the naked part. Although, I do live with two very judgmental cats.

I have a forty five gallon reef tank with several coral frags, a giant cleaner shrimp, Coral Beauty, and a healthy population of hair algae.

The hair algae had been all that was in there or at least all you could see. It grows in a dense mats all over everything. It looked like I was making biodiesel in my bedroom.

I have since managed to get some control of it using a mini reactor, frequent water changes, a tooth brush, and extreme German granny porn. How extreme? As much sex appeal as a road accident extreme.

I like to lay in bed at night, while my cats attempt to smother me with their asses, and stare into the water. It reminds me of a time when I wanted to be a marine biologist, before I found out that I wasn’t quite smart enough to be a marine biologist.

But where some dreams die, others grow. Well mostly they died. I never became a scientist, or got super powers. I was a tech writer for a bit and some have called me a misogynist. I’m divorced. That was fun. It still is. For any of you men out there that get turned on by financial domination, I recommend it.

I give over half my money away to the ex. My ex lived off the money for a bit, while she tried to run a home daycare. Now she works at Walmart in the lawn and garden section. She has about two and a half years to pay me half of the equity of our house, where she is living. She has a better chance of crapping out a pine cone backwards than keeping the house. When I try to be a good person, I hope that she somehow makes the money. I paid for that house with soul sucking hours. Sure, I wasn’t breaking bricks, some guys have it worse, but four hour commutes, and shitty bosses will kill, eventually. I like to pretend that maybe she appreciates the fact that I enabled her to be a stay at home mom for awhile. There wasn’t much of that when we were married.

I’m not a little bitter about it though. I am like swallowed a whole box of coffee grounds a lot bitter.

But my unhappiness only goes as far as I let it. I like to remind myself of how much better things are now, how my job is not really a job, and how I won at life through sheer luck.

I also like to stare into my fish tank naked.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

jps: (pic#897548)
Sunday, April 19th, 2015 12:17 am

I’ve eaten so much at Golden Corral that I can barely move. It was all you can eat, and I ate more than I should. I ate more than anyone should. I’m sitting here digesting an entire food bar.

I am melting into the couch, while my girl watches Dance Moms on the DVR. It’s a show about drama whores and their children.

It’s hard to take dance competitions seriously. It’s one of those subjective sports, where unless you fall or do the horny fishermen, it’s anyone’s guess who won.

She also watches a bit of Jerry Springer. What do the bouncers think about their jobs? These guys get the crap kicked out of them each day by people, who in the moment would so love to kill each other. Maybe one day I will get my Jerry Beads, but I don’t think I have the nipples for it.

Then there is Maury Povich. There is something so satisfying about the guy not being the father. It’s sweet because she isn’t looking for a father at all. She is looking for a child support check. She is looking for a guy to “man up” an start buying stuff. When he isn’t the father, you can just see all the lies she told herself evaporate. The elation from a man who dodged the consequences from his one not stand explodes. This usually followed by the women doing the sprint of shame off stage. It’s okay though. She will be back screaming brain shattering nonsense and swearing that this one is the one.

My girl doesn’t like to watch Steve Wilco when I am in the room. Steve Wilco, that Uncle Fester smug little fucker. The worst kind of bullies are the self righteous ones. Steve Wilco’s entire premise is that he is the arbiter of the truth. His tools include a smug attitude and a lie detector. Like detectors are less accurate than a magic eight ball. They are no longer admissible in court, and I have only seen them taken seriously by certain government contractors. Most jobs require little more than a secret or top secret clearance, but a few require a life style poly. Even I don’t have the life style required for a life style poly. I think these jobs are staffed by hamsters. Steve Wilco uses the test and a line of questioning to incriminate people of actual crimes, shit people go to prison for like rape, molestation, and child abuse. He does this with a test that is at best inaccurate. Who knows what the man does to keep his ratings. The show usually ends with him throwing some guy off his stage, flinging a chair or two, and everyone goes back to their shitty impoverished lives.

And then I call the man a scumbag under my breath. My girlfriend usually looks up from what she is doing and says “what?”. “Steve Wilco is a horses ass,” I say. She looks at the TV for a moment and says “Oh I wasn’t watching it.”

I like to poke fun at her for watching these shows, but I am the one that gets emotionally invested in them when they are on. She just likes background noise. It is probably not a good sign that I need a Xanax candy bar when I watch this stuff.


Steve Wilco is still a smug ass hole.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

jps: (pic#897548)
Thursday, April 16th, 2015 12:50 am

Gravity is an efficient form of interstellar propulsion. It is currently being applied using sling shot orbits around interstellar masses. This process utilizes only a small amount of fuel and can propel a craft accurately through the visible universe.

It cannot be piloted well through the non-visible universe. This is the portion of the universe that exists beyond our telescopes, due to the limitations of the speed of light and objects that are difficult to see, because they emit little to no radiation and have little to no gravitational effects on the universe around them. Another limitation of interstellar travel is that current technology can only travel at best a small fraction of light speeds.

A gravity drive can be constructed using a super dense and super massive ball of protons. This super dense material is held in a plasma by a magnetic fields. Magnetic fields are generated through the use of anti-protons.

The ship travels by falling towards the dense ball of protons and as it falls the anti-proton field pushes the ball away. The super massive field bends space time causing it to compress in front of it and stretch behind it.

The result is a space drive that allows a craft to travel many times the speed of light in relation to space around it.

It is important to note that one mustn’t mix the two proton types.

Creative Commons License
Harold and the Pirates by Jason Peal is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
Based on a work at Harold and the Pirates.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

jps: (pic#897548)
Tuesday, April 14th, 2015 01:29 am

We see time as a stream of events. It  flows, and we are the stone in the stream.

Have you ever watched a movie frame by frame. We know that movies work by running the frames together quickly enough to fool our brains into thinking there is only one continuous action, instead of many singular events.

Space time appears as an endless stream of movement. What if the nature of existence was that our entire universe is a series of slices all frozen still. We exist forever within an infinitely divisible set of individual space times. The entire life span of the universe exists right now, both past and present.

Space time itself is not constant. It can be stretched thin or compressed into a singularity. It is acted upon by gravity. Gravity is a universal force which interacts across time and the multi verse.

When enough mass coalesces into a single point, the resulting singularity drops matter and space time into what will become another universe. The big bang is the very beginning of this process.

Dark Matter are areas where there are intense gravitational pockets. These pockets are caused by massive objects of an adjacent universe, where the mass is intense enough to effect the other universe across space time. It is in these areas that space time can be compressed, so much so that it can in places become become more uniform. The individual slices of space time become glued together like the pages of a book. The entire span of space time for that universe exists as a single compressed strand.

The universe ends when it’s expansion stops. It’s expansion is powered by its initial drop into existence. The resulting explosion of space time causes it to form. Gravity acts against this process as a weak but persistent force. Over time the universe collapses back into a singularity, starting the process again.

Creative Commons License
Harold and the Pirates by Jason Peal is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
Based on a work at Harold and the Pirates.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at

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Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

jps: (pic#897548)
Tuesday, March 31st, 2015 12:34 am

Do you remember being young and in the firm belief that the universe existed the day you were born, the world was timeless, everything was always there, would always be there? Your parents were these timeless mostly benevolent beings that would always be there.

Do you remember how the world always seemed just on the verge of magic?  A tree stump could become a house for little people. The sky full of cloud pillows shaped like fish that swam through and endless blue shell.

I like to reel my mind back, stopping a little ways in to look around to remember what the grape soda tasted like a summer camp. I can smell the chlorine in the pool at my grandpa’s condo, my always hungry stomach and the taste of veal cutlet, carrots, and mashed potatoes.

I remember my sister staying with me. Suzanne and I were separated. She left for a booty call, spending half the day in the shower first. When she went home, I cleaned the bathroom. It looked like she shaved a cat in there, and I remember laughing while I scrubbed the tub down.

My grandmother took us to circus. My cousin and I told my grandmother that the elephants had buts that looked just liker her’s. She was pissed and yelled at us. My cousin was a bit of a bad influence.

Sometimes I walk through their houses. Houses arranged in a way that can only come from being comfortable in the same place for decades. I see their things in their places.

I have some of their stuff, but nothing they owned keeps their magic.

I’ve grown old enough to see the past in a kind of still life. The  houses are gone, the people I thought were timeless have passed.

It all goes way too fast when you are standing still.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

jps: (pic#897548)
Monday, March 30th, 2015 01:56 am

So I deactivated my Fetlife account. If you are reading this; and you are not my girlfriend or a bot, you probably didn’t know I had one. Yeah JP is a closet freak, don’t tell my mom.

When I was married, I had this idealized view of everyone else’s sex life. I imagined you all looked awesome naked and frolicked like little sex fairies. Everyone else was having a good time but me.

Fetlife was where the cool kids hanged out, those open minded, sexually free people that have all the fun.

When my girl and I got together, we both got Fetlife accounts. I thought, “Oh my god. I am finally with the cool kids.”

I forgot that cool kids are assholes.

She is immensely popular. There are dudes and even a few women messaging her every day. She could post a picture of her toe, and there will be fifty people sending her messages begging to suck it.

I am less popular than old chewing gum, only I don’t even get to stick to your shoe.

There  is something far too old and far to conservative about me. I’m soft about the middle, thinning up top, and from an age where a man was a man. He wasn’t a cis man, a post op man, or a pre-op man. Men didn’t buy a shit ton of hair products either. We washed with whatever crap there was in the bathroom, and we didn’t smell like flowers and oatmeal.

Our fathers fought in Vietnam. They went to work, supported families, married, and maybe even stayed married.

Men my age are divorced, work uncertain jobs, and lead a kind of disillusioned existence, now that the life our role models lived no longer exists

I’ve adapted pretty well in some ways. I like that the gays are getting married, although I am not sure why. I can use some tech, and I even waste a lot of time on them.


I have no idea how  pintrest works, and everyone hates me on Fetlife.


I can only complain so much. I have the best sex life any man could ask for. My girl is fun and wonderful, and it doesn’t seem to bother her that I am not one of the cool kids.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

jps: (pic#897548)
Friday, March 27th, 2015 01:46 pm
First let me say that I hate self check out. I remember when working a check out line was a job. Now they expect me to do it for free when I buy groceries. What’s next? Am I going have to sweep the floors when I go in there? But Giant management at some point decided that the customer’s time and money is not that important to them, so they hired less cashiers and created more self checkout lines.
So with a basket full of steak, salad, bread, and other over priced crap, I weighed my options. There were three lines backed up with carts and cashiers moving at a minimum wage pace and two open self checkouts.
So self checkout it was…
I started checking out my items, put in my bonus card, which didn’t work, and scanned my credit card. Nothing. The machine read system processing and froze. Not sure what to do I sat there and waited for help. Finally, a woman came with a thick accent that I could barely understand and asked if I needed anything. I pointed at the frozen screen, and she told me to wait. She seemed to excel at waiting as it involves doing nothing. They are good at doing nothing.
Finally, I start to get pissed. I say “How long do you want me to stare at this thing?” Apparently, the answer to this is to the point where I am about ready to start throwing shit. She reboots the system and cancels my transaction. This takes about fifteen minutes. I then take all my crap to another self checkout register, which also freezes.
Rather than rip the monitor off the self checkout machine and use it to beat to death ever single register in the store, I decided to leave and never come back.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

jps: (pic#897548)
Thursday, March 19th, 2015 01:00 am

My girl’s pop owns a Honda Accord, and he had some work done to it by a friend who left the battery cables off it for a while. It’s the redneck way of clearing an error code.

Honda likes to fuck its customers through the radio. On most Hondas, the keyless entry and alarm system are wired through the radio. This means that you can’t just replace their shitty radio with something that doesn’t sound like a pregnant tin can shitting its brains out through your ear hole. You have to wire the new radio through the fucking old one.

When my girl’s pop got his car up and running again, the radio would not work. All it would say was code 1, until you fucked with it, then it would say code 2, until you kept fucking with it and it said code e.

It seems that Honda decided that their radio was so important that they programmed a lock on the radio, so that when it lost power it requires a certain key be entered before it will work again. Yeah, they took the most worthless thing on the car and put an anti-theft feature on it. The code is included with the car, unless you bought it used like he did.

Or you can clear the code by unplugging and replugging the battery, find the serial number of your radio by turning it off and turning it back on while holding the 1 and 6 key, and call honda to get the unlock code.

Really Honda? Why not just kick your customers in the teeth every time they buy one of your fucking cars. Maybe you can put a fucking dildo on the seat so your customers can go fuck themselves, since you hate them so much.

None of that worked by the way. I can clear the code e from his radio, but it wont respond to holding down the 1 and 6 key. He is going to try and bring the car to the dealer.

Lesson learned….never buy a Honda. They are assholes.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

jps: (pic#897548)
Wednesday, March 18th, 2015 04:14 pm

I’m kind of annoyed today. I am going through my yearly combination of Christmas stress, Obamacare stress, ex wife stress, and end of year tax stress. All these forces combine to just piss me off to the point where I hope that a one ton block of chronic would fall out of the sky, not to get me high, but to kill me and provide a decent party for those around me. It’s also been a dream of mine to have a hot girl do bong hits off my but crack.

I have a limited amount of time to go through the Obamacare enrollment process. I have been putting it off because I knew it would be cluster fuck. Sure enough, I can’t even log in. I was a democrat before Obamacare and now I want to see both of my political parties drown in their own shit. I would rather see the libertarians take office in a violent and rapey coup. But I can’t get what I want, including decent health insurance.

I tried to log in and the website failed, great. So I use the “forgot password” feature. That’s cool. It sends off a reset password request to a e-mail address that I never use.

Why? Well because when I first went through this fucking mess I used my main e-mail account to set everything up. This account failed to the point where it isn’t connected to the website but in their database filled with someone else’s information, because the person I called on the phone was a fucking retard. I can’t get any of those assholes at Obamacare central to understand this, so this dead fucking account will stay there until a giant rock from space comes down and kills everybody. It basically serves the purpose of preventing me to use my primary e-mail address for my health insurance.

So I have to look up the password for my spam account find the e-mail and log in. From there the gate keeper asks three security questions. Great, I wrote down all the security questions and the answers last year. No, the fucking site asks me two questions I set up and one I didn’t. It wants to know the date of my parents anniversary. Okay, if I were a good person I would know this. I don’t. I don’t even know the date of my own wedding anniversary. This may or may not have anything to do with my divorce. She knew she was marrying a social retard when we started this.

So I call my dad and vent. He says “Well Gene was able to login just fine”. Who the fuck says that. If I told him I had prostrate cancer would he say “Well Gene’s Prostrate works just fine. “ Fuck Gene. The asshole doesn’t do much other than cost us money. I asked my mom when their anniversary was and she said she didn’t know and hung up on me.

If anyone needs me, I will be alone in my room beating off.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

jps: (pic#897548)
Monday, March 16th, 2015 07:28 pm

How long do I have to practice guitar before I can become a pretentious asshole? How long before I can develop a cocaine addition? How long before I can play the g chord and d chord without this embarrassing pause in between?

I like to sit at home and serenade my cats with the gentle plucking of my dad’s old Brazilian guitar. I have been practicing for a while now, playing classical guitar exercises from a long dead Mr. Frederick Noad. It sounds nice enough, but I would love play something someone has heard of instead of exercise 27. I want to learn to play acoustical versions of Chumba Wumba to widen the cat’s musical tastes.

I also like to study the universe lately. Sitting on my bed, I can hold my Ipad in one hand and keep the boys from fighting with the other. The universe appears to be a massive, pointless, exercise in things. This makes me happy; because when bad things happen to me, I know it’s nothing personal.

I spend most afternoons with my girl doing things, money things, lovey things, cleany things.

It’s a life made up of infinite slices of instances, little experiences all holding hands. It’s a good life and I am glad she is with me for this leg of it.

I’ve been writing again, working on a comic book script, looking at stories., creating a wordpress blog. Maybe I will be famous some day. Maybe, but lately I feel that I am at maximum social capacity.

Every time I talk to my dad and I tell him that I am going out for the evening, he says “You have friends?”. He says this because in my other life with my ex-wife, I had no friends. We didn’t even have fake ones. The ex-wife hated people. I hate people too, but love them as individuals. This creates the odd dichotomy, where I beg for the gamma ray burst to wipe out humanity and worry about my friends at the same time. I am such an extreme introvert that it sometimes feels like I am driving an aging JP bot around my life.

Introverts need alone time to recharge our social points,unlike the extroverts of the world, My girl keeps me from isolating myself, which is a good thing. Still, when the night is quiet and it’s just me inside my head, there can be a certain terrifying sense of peace. It’s weird how that works.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

jps: (pic#897548)
Monday, March 16th, 2015 06:56 pm

Who wants to read my new comic? Better yet, who wants to draw it?

Harold and Pirates script

Creative Commons License
Harold and the Pirates by Jason Peal is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
Based on a work at Harold and the Pirates.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

jps: (pic#897548)
Saturday, March 14th, 2015 01:32 am

Terry Pratchett died. I am still reading all his books and it makes me sad that one day, I will reach the end. There will never be anything new, just a beginning, middle and the end. I guess that’s all any of us get.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

jps: (Default)
Monday, February 23rd, 2015 12:48 pm
I am in my evil lair flanked on either side by my giant cats as I type this. The only thing I am missing is my slave girl. She is at her house sleeping.

I am not sure why I stopped writing in this thing, but I have some guesses. I'm different now. The divorce and my previous marriage has changed me, like a comic book hero, if comic book heroes were chubby men in their mid forties, which I think would sell. Like Batman, I have set morals and ideals driven by an event in my life. Unlike batman, these ideals are unpopular, run counter to the current culture and piss some women off. I am the hero that no one deserves.

I managed to piss off three women on my facebook with this and earned more than a few looks from my mom.

It's the anti feminism they have a problem with.

It's not like I hate women or something. Most of the time, I hate everyone. It's not that I don't believe in equality based on gender. It's that I believe everyone in inherently unequal. I can understand why this pisses some people off. Whenever I see someone better looking, smarter, and stronger, it pisses me off too.

I could bore anyone reading this with a point by point account of everything that annoys me with feminism, but all I will say is this. Whenever you bring up the inequities that men face in family court, you get not only a blank stare but an outright tongue lashing from feminism. Men can never be oppressed they say, especially white men, because they are the privileged class.

When they passed out membership cards for the Patriarchy, I must have been in the bathroom or something.

But my girl still loves me, so there is that.
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Saturday, August 23rd, 2014 04:38 pm
My girl is sleeping on the couch,while dream of sex and bomb shelters. As the mid forties come, I seem adrift in a nostalgic sea of longing. I am a thirsty man drowning in a Dasani tub. I have everything I want and sometimes feel I have nothing. I am the thing that is never satisfied, always alone, even in a crowed room of friends. I have no one to blame but myself.

I have less hate for my ex than I ever thought possible. Maybe it's better to see the past through the distorted lens of forgetfulness. Maybe when the emotions die and all that's left is a vague memory of shadows, things seem less important.

The coral business imploded. My dad's business partner kicked us out of the website and closed it down. He has less business sense than a potato. Like if you literally put a potato in his job, it would make more money than this guy. His whole business makes about 500 a month after being open for four years. The handyman business that we just started has made that in about three weeks.

I find that I enjoy managing something that helps people. I figure that maintenance guys are the unknown heroes of the world. We all celebrate our military, but no one ever thanks the guy that crawled a hundred feet through mud in a crawl space, past the spiders, to fix a gushing water mainline. When you don't have water, it sucks. The guy that fixes it, might as well be wearing a cape, because he just let you shit in your own bathroom like human again.

So that's my life, what are you guys up to?
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Saturday, July 5th, 2014 01:20 pm
Look I can tell what you want by that look on your face, but I am just too tired for anal today.

It's a nice quiet day today. My girl is sleeping on the couch with her dog next to her. I am resting off fourth of July excitement. It's one of those days where I just may not put pants on, even after two cups of coffee. The fourth was full of friends and laughs, and we have the Facebook pictures to prove it. I look at the guy that is me in the picture, and he looks like a happier version of me ate the unhappy one. I really need to lose a few pounds.

The “X” sent me an e-mail asking when the check was coming. My girl handled it. My girl handles all my social interactions now. This has been so invaluable. As a person who is into extreme introverting, I just don't have time for these things. Actually, it's not that. It is just that I am extremely bad at social interactions. I am also not good at handling my “X”. My “X” has been reasonably nice lately. I am not sure why. I think it has something to do with the impending train wreck that is approaching.

My divorce runs out completely in about three and half years. Never have I seen a train wreck so far in advance before. At the end of the divorce, our agreement says that we either sell the house or my “X” pays me my half of the equity in the house and assumes the mortgage. Property values are doing nothing but going up while the mortgage is doing nothing but going down. Equity is sky rocketing every year. The “X” is attempting to run a daycare out of her home and doesn't have the credit or the capital to not be homeless at the end of this.

I like to watch numbers almost as much as I like to look at boobs. I set up a liability account in Money Dance with the total amount I owed during the divorce. It decreases every time I make a payment. It's fun to watch the amount I owe her go down to zero as time goes by. I am well over halfway done paying her off. I track my house values versus my mortgage. Sometimes I spend the money in my head, and I take my girl on an imaginary seven day cruise.

The Coral site is starting to move. Sometimes, I feel like I am dragging people kicking and screaming towards success. Trying to change a culture of even a few people is like turning a cruise liner around, while the anchor is still in the water. It's crazy how people can get so attached to an idea that they are unwilling to change, even in the face of failure. Still, I get to play with spreadsheets and websites. My girl handles these things she calls people and customers. I call them gross sales and profits.

The Handy Man business is slowly starting. I am waiting on an EIN number, so I can open a bank account. We have a friend that is going to do all the work while I play with more spreadsheets, invoices, and websites. My girl is again going to handle these things called customers. Another fun step will involve getting a class c license. I get to take an eight hour business course, take a test, and apply for the license. Then I can go after anything that costs less that 10 grand.

The real estate business is also slowly moving. My dad has a contractor in Florida who is building a house on the lot we bought a while back. It looks like we might make a few dollars. In my head I am already spending the money on the next house.

Oh and I am also writing a comic for my little brother's publishing business. If he doesn't publish it, I am going to fart on him again.

Life is just kind of rolling in, one paragraph at a time. Paragraphs, numbers, and love track my world now. I am going to ride this bitch out until the wheels fall off. :)
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Wednesday, June 25th, 2014 08:43 pm
Let's imagine a man, a man approaching middle age, a man sitting in a living room with his girlfriend with a four pound dog sniffing the floor. The sun is bright and clear. Judge Judy has been yelling on the TV as I type.

I can't imagine it either. Sometimes I look at my life, and I wonder what I did to deserve such good fortune.

I haven't written in a while. Life has been busy and contains none of the lonely tragedy it once did. There is no office with a she-witch down the hall. There is no wife building a pillow fort in the bed, so I won't touch her. All the good bits that I would write about are gone. No one wants to read about the especially efficient crap I had this morning. Although, it was quick yet satisfying.

But damn it, I miss writing.

I have been busy. Apparently if you set me in a vacuum of nothing to do, I will find something interesting. Interesting has been taking over a saltwater reef products website, starting a handyman business, and a real estate business.


I have finally fulfilled my dreams of working with no pants on.

After my surgery, I couldn't walk for weeks. My girl fed me homemade dinners and pain pills until it got better. There are five deep scars in my knee to remind me. They remind me of my inherent fragility, my inability to do a double round house, and the love my girl has for me.

It's kind of bittersweet. I loved the way my girl took care of me, but I would rather be invincible.

So yeah, I'm not dead. :)