a potential design for new potential business cards. Alas, I know nothing of business, and my card attempts reflect that. I subconsciously channeled this ancient, totally unusable design:
Both are way too busy but they are at least honest. If I delivered a simple, efficient, graphic designy card it would be a lie because that is not the sort of product I produce. I was hoping the old card design would be conspicuously less legible by comparison to the new one when reduced, but alas they are about the same! I never used it as a card, but I did expand it vertically to use as a sign at some event about which there is little positive to say. firstname.lastname@example.org is the same email address I had then; anything @bimshwel.com gets forwarded to me but I have difficulty deciding on what placebo email@example.com to give myself.
This one is from 2011, long enough ago that I thought inkbunny would ultimately be something I could admit to having an account on, and was willing to put money behind promoting my use of. If you are unfamiliar with Inkbunny, good. All you need to know is that it does not allow Toothcup.
It does not allow Toothcup, capital T, that is actually one of the things it has going for it, and that many of the people you will deal with wish that were not the case. If you do not know what toothcup is, good. All you need to know is less than I already told you.
These days I will not put any of them on my card, which is in fact the very reason I chose horrible “names” like “queg” and “skrimpf” to begin with: so that nobody could connect them to my legal horrible name. I chose queg so nobody would know I had a deviantart account, and then I chose skrimpf so nobody would know queg was using furfaninity. I chose frubaklop because I had lost control of my life and figured there was no sense in hiding anymore.
For a brief, notorious period, and it must have been brief because it looks as if even at the time I was uncertain whether I should keep the website names vague so as to avoid outing myself all needless-like, I thought I was comfortable, and I cursed myself for choosing names nobody would ever look for me at, and now I am grateful again. This is my place and these are my people so I should not deny it, I seem to have thought. I mention them here specifically because I thought it would be sufficient to stop using those names and websites to make people stop identifying me with them, which was not the case so I will say it here: please do not ever call me skrimpf, unless you are deliberately trying to irritate me, which is a valid pursuit, but better you do it on purpose than by mistake. I do have http://bimshwel.deviantart.com/ , which queg forwards to, but “DA” is still fundamentally a fanart porn site, like the other two, that I will always be marginalized on [for not drawing or appreciating fanart porn], and I prefer to be marginalized on my own terms. However, such websites are a bit more social than my heap, here, so I keep on with the one I am least embarrassed about overall.
At this point in the original manuscript I digressed into several paragraphs on identity and denial that were beside the point and tone, and were keeping me from finishing this, even though I only came to post the one picture! They have been removed for now. Indeed I am as messed up inside up as my card is outside. Why pretend? Why try and trick somebody into hiring me based on something that is uncharacteristic of what I can deliver?
Because otherwise I will not be hired! The first cards I actually had printed were very sparse, since that was, is the only way I could have control of the situation.
Control, such as with my broken, spring-based mechanical heating control panel, which these cards were useful for regulating the strength of during our six months of winter. I discussed a key design aspect in more detail here, but the blank space after “and” was so I could write something different on each card, such as “intrepid tortellini,” “raisin toads,” or “no dopes,” because I am not satisfied unless I make a hassle out of everything. The foremost one here says “you know what, you deserve it.” I can say that because you are here now, and therefore on some level you do.
I make drawings of subject matter specified by other people in exchange for money sometimes. I do not publicize it here, or most places, for a reason which miraculously lasted for eight sentences, so here in stead is that picture which I drew for free for nobody again. I realized this is my website and I can post the same picture on as many occasions as I wish, and if anybody has a problem they can challenge me to personal combat for control of the website, as goes the ancient custom of our people, and I can either accept or choose a surrogate, with the knowledge that if the surrogate wins my rule will still be considered illegitimate by much of the populace, and the surrogate would also have the right to challenge me, requiring that I choose another surrogate, and on and on. My reign is miserable and fraught with peril.
“You don’t just eat ‘em” is the trademarked slogan for pringles brand potato crisps. What does that mean? I thought eating them was the extent of my obligation if I came into possession of them, but apparently that is inadequate. And like many rules of society, the further expectation is not explained. What else should I be doing with these not-quite chips? Is the moronic “duck mouth,” which dominated the brands’ 1990s advertising, and which nobody should ever, ever do, now compulsory? Am I supposed to build something out of pringles? Is Kellogg, who purchased the brand from the Proctor and Gamble company in 2012, with its greater investment in remotely nutritional products, looking to instruct me on the full function of my digestive system? You don’t just eat em, you digest and excrete em.
And yet the ambiguous grammar of conversational english makes it difficult to determine if this is instruction or merely information. Sometimes an orator says “don’t” when one means “shouldn’t.” This may mean you SHOULD not merely eat Pringles. Be a responsible citizen; recycle the can afterward. Make a a kaleidoscope or store your travel toilet brush in it. Keep one as a blank round for a t-shirt gun and another as a marital aid for any medium-sized ungulate you are keeping (whose marriage is in need of aid, obviously; I would be practical, not lewd). Or perhaps this means that you should not eat Pringles without adequate preparation. Don’t just eat ‘em, consider the risks. Ask your doctor if Pringles are right for you. The Pringles virus may already be inside you.
I have been out of the pringle game a long time, so this catchphrase, arriving in my presence without the context of a greater advertising campaign, has me somewhat bewildered. I stopped buying them when the company stopped putting fake little green things on the sour cream and onion chips like every other company does. Not that, in my experience, pieces of real native onions are ever green, you, the producer, have cultivated me as an american consumer to expect certain things without considering if they link up with reality, especially with regard to the color of things I put in my mouth. Grape is purple. Dew is green. Cheese is orange. Sour Cream and Onion chips have little green things on them. If you suddenly change a color or remove a component that contains a color, I need to know why. Otherwise I start wondering what those green things are or why I would eat “sour cream and onion” ANYTHING. I will not consume actual sour cream. I always make sure it is not in my burritos. It is essentially the Mexicish equivalent of mayonnaise for joints that never kept up on their trendy fees enough to have been issued chipotle mayonnaise. Disgusting white goop needs to be in all prepared food. They invent new names to make it harder for me to ask to not have it.
Now “aioli” is the unexplained mystery ingredient but I am not fooled! I would not even eat Aioli pringles.
They look familiar.
I just realized that only one of them has ears. However, I have seen this loop about 413 times. Most people will not need to.
And NOW I have noticed how awkward the green one’s head goes when it lands. And worse, I did not keep count of how many more loops I watched while wondering how noticeable that is.
I subsequently meddled with the head extension but earage is yet inadequate.
After what I said yesterday, I considered that maybe I really have been on the wrong track. Maybe I need to, for the first time, really step back and evaluate what I am doing. Stop redrawing, start rethinking. Make a real plan, and start over. Do something that I can really engage people with, and stop being so silly and hard to understand. With that in mind I unveil a bimshwel.com exclusive, a sneak peak at the poster for the deluxe crowd-sourced reboot. Backers who donate $15 or more will get their own limited edition print signed by the entire cast except pog. Backers who donate $30 or more will get pog (they will have to share)
Hopefully this is the last page that needs new drawings, but I have said that before! And extensive panel re-arrangement will still be needed in the ybrik section, where I knew even at the time I drew it that I would have to come back and split it into more pages later. I sure know how to plan ahead.
The cartoon which pog watches on this one I had not thought the slightest bit about in apparently nearly ten years, going by the October 2005 date on the .fla-fla flash file “thingswithproblems.fla”. This would be a great opportunity to put something clever or legitimately satirical there, but I could not think of anything I could put here that would work that I was also comfortable having in my “serious” comic strip. Initially, ten years ago (and it appears as if I only got around to changing it LAST year), I had the right one handing over a vibrator, or the only thing I could turn up in an image search for the word that was not specifically sculpted to resemble a phallus, and it bothered me. It bothered me that I would not put a “real” one there, but if I had that would have bothered me even more! Now see here, I cannot make a sex joke because I have never done any sex deeds and I have no idea how many normal people actually know what a vibrator looks like, and if they would be able to pick one out that was atypical of the pictures I could find of them. Literally my only sight of one prior to then had been a Mad-TV sketch called Sex Toy Story that aired in 1997 or thereabouts, (the period when I thought I was pretty bad for daring to say “go the hell”) in which “Buzz Lighttouch” had a fairly generic rod-shape, so I assumed I could get away with one, but ultimately I had adequate doubt to remove it. My compromise replacement, an electric hair-cutting machine, is still unpleasant to use on one’s teeth, but no longer gross (even assuming the thing is cleaned once in a while), and thus not in line with the sort of gross cartoon I probably thought I was making fun of ten years ago.
Consider that tomorrow/today is April foist, April’s Fool Day, a 47 hour period known for its varied pranks, which run the range all the way from annoying to obnoxious. However, in order for a prank to be effective, there must be a shared level of understanding between the prank-applier and the prank-receiver. When I am kidding, people think I am serious, and when I am serious nobody knows what I am talking about, and just nod and say “yeahhhhh” because I am perceived as too unstable to be told the truth about how foolish I appear (and as such not worth looking for merit in the words of should I not actually be foolish on that occasion). My conception of what is strange about something is often not what somebody else would find strange, and if it relates to something that a normal person does, I probably do not understand how it works to begin with. I don’t even understand how pepper works. Little black dots that you put on your food that make it taste exactly the same, glorious. Therefore pranks, satire and I generally do not get along. I can invent a surrogate object, idea, behavior or structure that has no relation to a real thing, but satire requires reality.
Also I only just realized what day it was.
“Thankfully” actual tv cartoons have not gotten any less cheaply produced in a decade, so that part still goes. I think we can safely agree that pog is watching a terribly-written, awkwardly-paced program regardless of its degree of similarity to one that exists. Unless you think I am kidding.
My next dork in progress. It is also a previous dork in progress since I tend to dork on them out of order.
Initially the lowest creature had only the slightest resemblance to a stegosaurus. It is mildly more accurate now but I wonder if I would be better off going in the deliberately inaccurate direction like I ordinarily would with anything else I could not draw properly (such as homo-sapiens-sapioids), and I cannot say with certainty that I initially set out to draw a specific lumpus beast anyhow. But there may yet be value in learning to draw specific beasts. For example, if I need one quartered.
Gosh look at how corny that guy is. I saw this picture years ago while briefly considering bowling for dollars and all I could think about was his corniness. I declared him King Corny at that point in time and since then have used him as a standard to judge the corniness of others.
For example, Philip Casnoff, who portrayed Frederic Trumper in the sick-fated Broadway version of Chess is Duke Corny. I decided that based on his voice in an audio recording, which does not suit this visual medium, and it is impossible to sing One Night in Bangkok without being corny anyhow, but it establishes that there is a hierarchy.
Captain Corny appeared in the 194eh film Showboat. Observe how he lets other people do the talking while he lingers behind to provide crucial corniness. He is less corny than King Corny, but he is still exceptionally corny.
This film is a remake of an earlier film also called Showboat in which Captain Corny was portrayed by a different actor who was nonetheless still corny. The captain is the one wearing the music-proof hat that says CAPTAIN on it, since he was concerned it was not obvious enough in the picture I just posted, and his astounding corniness has so clouded his mind that he has forgotten that in his timeline, the film I took the other picture from has not yet been made and in fact depends on his own being noteworthy for that to even be considered.
it is rumored that seeing The Hulk turns you corny.
Staff Sergeant Corny appeared in 1970s magazines. I drew a picture loosely based on his life once.
It has been stored in an apparently very smudgy place the last 3ish years but I think his message is still as relevant as it was in the 1970s: you are HIM and affluent and you lounge on your absurdly huge British lawn in gloomy weather just to flout your affluence and 1970sness. Women are someone else, and attracted to your presence, but they act bored once they get there.
He/you may or may not be a secret identity of
Bruno Brazil, akabaka Marquis di Corny. In the 1970s all the action heroes were grey-haired corny men with roughly rectangular-shaped heads.
Of course there are multiple sovereigns in this world. In France there is le Roi Corny.
Pay attention! I just told you.
I found this record in my attic recently, and after of several minutes cracking myself up saying “nat king cole was a merry nat soul” I considered that he might also be Nat King Corny. At that point I started writing this post and it was too significant an issue to be addressed the same day.
He may be related to King Kandy, who is also corny, but not king OF corny. He may hold the ceremonial title of King Korny but that is not officially recognized by the Corny Council. But why, of all possible alliterative candy themed hero names, did he have to be KING Kandy? Why not Captain Candy or Candy Commander or Candytastrophe? And why kandy with a K? Notice how the nerd instantly knows that he has transformed into King Kandy. He stutters while THINKING due to how stupid it is but even though he IS King Kandy and did not exist prior to that moment he has no power to call himself anything else. Not even King Kandy Korn, as an anonymom commentator suggested.
That may konstrue kopyright infringement against Kin Korn Karn anyhow.
These dorky thugs custom made to be beatable by King Kandy know that King Kandy IS King Kandy, with a K, even though all he does is think narration of his present situation and never at any point royally decrees “I am King Kandy.” That rogue band of Bono impersonators better watch out; they’re tangling with someone who can be foiled by carrying a paper towel around.
Recently it came to my attention, though less recently than Nat did, that the film Wreck-em’ Ralph featured a character named King Candy, but without a K, so he does not factor into my life, and shall not be pictured here.
However, Candy Land predates both, and ALSO has a King Kandy, and ONCE MORE with a K. This is a game for children and going out of its way to spell stuff wrong. Also there is no actual player input and you could rig the game by determining the number of participants and sorting the cards before playing, which would be cheating, but if you figure that out at the age of 4 you deserve to win. This King Kandy seems to have substantially altered his appearance at least three times through the years, but each has been more dopey than corny, and in none of those situations has he been a 6 foot tall regular proportioned man who yells/thought-projects out SOCKAMAGEE. However, never once has he spelled his name with a C, either (nor considered amending his diet), so clearly he is not bothered by the potential for mistaken identity.
Consider that candy is notorious for using artificial ingredients, and needing to mispell things like “chocolate” to be legally released from having to include any. King Kandy is so unnatural that he cannot even legally be called candy, and he MAKES the laws!
All Kings [c,/k]andy outrank San Fran Cisco’s notorious Candy Baron, even if he is adequately corny and seems to dress more respectably than any of them. You cannot see his whole body. He may also be covered in pink.
I cannot trust anyone! And worse still, I fear there are more corny stories to come.
A question lately occurs to me:
A lot of people sure seem to think they have!
And what is more, they think it noteworthy that think they have seen it. They honor the deed by listing products and brands and calling it a day, except when they copy each others’ lists of contextless product acknowledgments and go home early. Remembering further back than five years is HARD.
I had high expectations for this one; it was going to go back in time and CHANGE my Childhood, making all the other lists inaccurate, and thus not my duty to disprove, but then it was just a bunch of fan drawings stolen off of deviantart without any credit to the admittedly uninspired but none-the-less credit-worthy artists, but with ample space to give the thug dork who copied them credit for doing so. Granted, no name is supplied and none of the social media scripts on the page WORK, but it has a heaping hamburger helping of advertisements, many of which do work, so it ultimately serves its purpose: getting real money to scumbags who have no discernible skills. This is the kind of person who insists critics “need to stop the hate” and then blocks all from replying.
I realize brainbread lists are nothing new, and people have gotten paid for the task of acknowledging that things exist and selling advertising on it for about a decade now. Half a millennium ago you gained fame by traveling around the world, gathering wonders that had never been seen in your homeland before. Now you don’t go anywhere and show people stuff they already had and got rid of, and there is actually more demand for this. My gripe is the fixation on the word “childhood,” specifically MINE. Certainly weak-willed dorks have been lamenting the ruination of [their] childhood(s) ever since Marco Polo brought back erotic fan fiction from the Far East; MY childhood this, MY childhood that, but only recently when this was turned around into YOUR childhood, (akaaaa mine), did I take personal offense. If you want to sum up your entire history of conscious functioning as a system of stagnant, staring inaction you may, and furthermore declare this unremarkable period of subservience to sponsored sludge and the sponsors themselves as something pure and infallible, but I refuse to have mine defined with anyone else’s! If My Childhood is anything special, it could surely not be summed up with a photograph of a bag of Keebler Ripplins. And if it can be, then it was wasted and is not worth discussing!
Pizzarias were better, anyway.
But not as good as “pizza,” that I can still buy, so I do not lament the facsimile-chips’ loss.
These things seem to be in agony, however.
You might notice, browsing those lists, that a Ninja Turtle product from 1989 will appear alongside some weird fad toothbrush from 1998, and wonder how those could simultaneously define the same childhood 9 years apart. In fact “your childhood” just means “potential childhood period of anyone currently in the 18-35 year old target demographic favored by advertisers.” That means in three years (as of yesterday) my childhood will officially no longer exist. And I almost believe it, because that is less important to me than my currenthood anyhow. It also means that the original websites from 18 years ago which literally just posted pictures of He-Man action figures and said “hey remember these?” are possibly part of someone’s childhood. I am lucky perhaps to not have gotten so hooked into having my nostalgia packaged and sold back to me by an outside party that to have it no longer available will be a painful blow. 25 OCCUPANTS FROM LISTS ABOUT YOUR CHILDHOOD THEY DON’T ACKNOWLEDGE ANYMORE
25. Saturday Supercade. Hey, remember when Saturday Supercade used to be on these lists? Well the people we want to see these lists don’t!
24. Handi-Snax. Gosh these were terrible! You should be GLAD nobody wants to convince you these were great anymore!
23. Juiceboxes. Nope! People who presently were kids in the past only had nutrient-free fake juice skittle-water in BAGS!
22. The pinball machine on Sesame Street. Better download the 5000 clips of this from youtube now that they aren’t relevant enough to be uploaded 5000 times! And hopefully these lists will be out of style before we get to the point where youtube is on them.
You know what I wanted to do as a child? Stop going to school. Now I am not in school, and I am glad. I cannot even drive a car and I like this better. I miss my grandmother, emergency broadcast system tests, being able to hear rain through my bedroom window and still having the capacity to be excited by the thought of the future, but overall I prefer this now, and look at how angry I am!
Entertainment made for people who were then the age I am now emphasized how much I would wish to be a kid in school once I no longer were. But now I can buy any weird cookies I want that my mother would never buy and can play every stupid Nintendo game on my own computer without having to hoard impractical lumps of plastic and stick a Lincoln log in the disk drive to hold one in place. I have the freedom to kill myself eating bacon pizzas, and maybe I will, if I enjoy that.
Alternatives to pizza do not look like that! A big heap of vegetables is not going to make me magically not want a very specific pizza! Maybe that is My Childhood’s fault, for getting me chemically dependent on horrible food! My Childhood is an irresponsible creep! How dare you remind me of it!
Here is a brief list of things I do not miss about the 1990s:
the Dave Matthews band
the dos prompt
Red Baron being the only frozen pizza
AOL busy signals
Video games that broke and/or needed to be paid for
When I ate pop tarts and hot pockets
Going to school (I told you!)
Not having a means to listen to whatever music I wanted and having to rely on radio stations or whatever CDs I could find, and thinking that was all there was.
Having to watch tv shows when they came on
Wanting to watch tv shows
Having to seek out and hoard vague pictures from tv shows to prove that they existed.
Needing to use film to take photographs
Pop-up advertising (specifically, not being able to block it easily)
I found that after I conquered nostalgia on my own terms, it was harder and harder for me to have a similar experience of rediscovery, and I just had to stop. But once something is monetized, it must be pushed and pushed until it explodes. As consumers become desensitized to incessant nostalgia-bainting, content regurgitators will have to dig deeper and skew yet vaguer and more generic.
13 non-food items you put in your mouth
7 jiggly rainbow keys that match no known locks
9 ingredients in your bottle formula that are more dangerous than anything your parents are worrying about in their own diets
18 Gametes You Wish Had Hooked Up!!
46 chromosomes that literally created your childhood! Unless you have Klinefelter syndrome or something
Nostalgia-baiting is this generation’s version of “when I was your age” except it is more like “When YOU were YOUR age” because they just pass it between themselves since nothing happened and they have no one to pass it to. It cannot be used to tell kids how easy they have it because part of the process is emphasizing how AWESOME it is, and much of what would be cited has not changed in 30 years anyhow because now a lucrative commercial property is never allowed to die. These people have NO STORY to tell because the whole point is that I was there too! So they just mention items that might be in the story. Perhaps the next generation’s childhood will just be their parents’ childhood and they can save themselves some trouble.