I was thinking another day well wax my eyebrows is that character creepy (yes (although I was kidding about the eyebrows. If I knew I had the power to command you I would advocate a less abrasive form of eyebrow removal)). But we must do our best to preserve it.
Otherwise diapered, presumably for good reason, fiends may escape. Speaking of weird fruit, since the digression I started writing after looking at the url on this box quickly became too unsettling to be salvageable, here comes an apple.
I could not help being amused by coming across it but I wonder what I’d think if there were a “delusional genderless fag that can’t stop picking at sunburnt skin brand” of pancake mix. Probably a painful sensitivity to physical sensations and all forms of movement.
A better question about apples: why doesn’t this one eat itself out of existence? How can we protect our kids from trouser-eschewing apple beasts that are the same size as them?
There is nothing fancy about forgetting to wear pants!
I hope this picture was supposed to convince me that I erred in speaking that because it didn’t and this lizard’s failures brings me satisfaction.
I prefer not to ponder what if anything adorns this creature’s legs. Hopefully it lacks legs altogether. Unless that allows it to fly. I may not sleep again.
Good news! I did not transform into a turnip.
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Margarita salt, made from salt. Nothing else. You might be curious how that makes it inherently margarita-y and not just a box of salt but I remind you that it is shaped like a hat.
I spent more time confined to an automobile today than I expected and productivity was mysteriously minimal, and thus I have only a hastily assembled bad website entry rather than a laborious bad website entry.
I was fortunate to dispatch this crucial transmission at all.
Fortunately the car party was eventually directed to safety by the magical yellow shrek ghost that appeared from amongst the Food Lion generic Lucky Charms. It’s an interesting reversal; the lucky charms come out of the leprechaun, but the shrek ghost is born directly of the cereal. Pardon me, did I say interesting, I meant… well in fact I am interested by that idea.
I had become distressed in recent years that the store brand totally necessary cereal mascots were better than the national brands they were supposed to be worse than. It was kind and benevolent of the vicious, dynastic lion to set things back as they ought to be. There was a cereal called “fruit rings” whose character was so dopey looking that I didn’t want a picture of it and didn’t think I’d have anything to say about it. Yesp.
This will do, however. Look, it’s even blurry. That’s just unprofessional.
I had never been to a Food Lion store before. Not just because my house is 500 or more miles from any but also because lions are just dangerous. This is exhibited in the lion’s unwillingness to carry natural foods or low sodium variants of products. I was fortunate to escape with my life. This product is notable because in most other stores this would be the worst merchandising character I found.
I do not consider movie cinemas stores.
This, I was referring to. This can probably be found in other joints than Food Lion. However, I generally cannot also be found in them. Because in those situations I hide or wear a disguise.
I did say most other stores. As I’ve only been inside an Aldi one time my “most” holds up. I believe it was the great sage Eminem who spoke “be smart, don’t be a retart.” However, he never warned me about becoming a toast-tart, and thus I did. This is not a picture of me, though. I just told you I wear a disguise! You’d never recognize me in my fancy hat. I hire a salt company to smuggle them inside of stores for me in case I forget.
Millville can put shiny photoshop eyes and a mouth on anything. Don’t think they won’t. Please don’t challenge them.
An inifinite possible number of seperate, ever thinner, fully sentient, utterly immobile bread slice face-oids can be yours for less than the price of a box of cereal from most reputable dealers and precisely equal that price from millville.
The psychotic turtle is probably the sanest of the many millville mascots, and therefore the least interesting. In fact I’m so bored I’m turning this website entry off. I suggest you do the same!
I will have something nice next week. Comparatively.
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Bimshwel: five years of ehhh, three years of ah? and two years of oh.
Just think, in ten years bimshwel has gone from an irregularly updated personal weblog angry about stuff that doesn’t matter, maybe a little obsessed with old video games, written by an unemployed student with delusions of being a successful cartoonist and read by a few people. It all goes to show that if you work hard on something you love and never give up, you too can alienate the people around you.
I had absolutely nothing planned for this occasion apart from that sentence. I have been overwhelmed with deadlines for arbitrary tasks and only just realized “today,” Friday, gah, here is another one, and my own fleeping fault, this time. I knew this was coming. I had ten years to prepare. But there is nothing.
It has been my experience that when somebody tells me to give them something two weeks from now, at the end of two weeks they may remark “you had two weeks to do this!” More likely I had a few isolated hours across two weeks, during which I was incapable of coherent thought. And so, with all my deadlines recently, not one’s task was completed to my satisfaction. I am both difficult to satisfy and lacking in the skill to produce satisfaction. However, those also were externally assigned tasks that were not of personal importance to me. The things I make that matter to me, the ones I have tended to tell myself “no one else cares about,” that I do without deadlines turn out the best. They also get shoved aside when I do the bidding of others. So ducks to your birth-date, bimshwel. I shall speak of it when I deem prudent and some day when you’re older you’ll know I was right. Now get back in your room and play the piano! I want to hear those scales! Now! Stop crying! I didn’t raise no sissy website!
Lizard? I HAVE NO LIZARD.
I’ll see to it that nobody else has one either, if you keep that up.
Five years ago I appear to have questioned that I could still possibly be doing this five years from then. I wonder if I sincerely believed that I would not. Around that time I had only recently entered into online art-sites and displaying my pictures on them. I did not mention it here because I was ashamed that I had, at last, publicly become involved, even though I had been browsing the things for a few years. So when I did post my own nonsense I did it under names that I thought didn’t sounded like I came up with them because I didn’t want anybody from here to find me there. Now I have links to the things on the side of this page. It seems that no matter how ashamed I become of what I do, I follow it up with something else that makes it seem forgivable by comparison. I suppose I’ll start linking to that without even thinking to comment in another year or so.
I mentioned new websites that quickly got more popular than my old website. I reckon few of them are still updated, if they even exist. So I win. Nothing. Now I have the same gripe about the relative fame of users on the dumb art sites. Someday I will win nothing on them as well, merely by being so socially immobile that I linger long after most people stop caring.
Look there, 900! That’s a lot! Especially for me! I should be overcome with emotion at the approval. This proves that people like what I do. However, there are also 30 different oafs in the same vicinity who have drawn the exact same dog-thing over and over again for years with minimal creative ambition who easily have twice the approval. Three times as much if it’s a dog-thing from a bad video game or hideous cartoon and multiply either by 1.8 if the dog thing is a dragon thing. I have checked and verified these figures. It means nothing.
Not everybody really wants to be creative, anyhow; they just do it for fun. Fine for them, rageful for somebody who sincerely tries.
Half of this 900 lot probably don’t even go to the website anymore… which helps me in my quest for victorious nothingness but also implies that they are better than you (you being me), for their having left first, the scamps. A third of the remnant are ready to drop you at any moment, and eagerly anticipate a reason. Or perhaps they want you to watch their page. Not you specifically, but anybody at all who will increase their always-visible point total. Perhaps it even happened out of pity. Or maybe they like your drawings but find you despicable. Or perhaps just like the last thing you put up, or someone who means more to them than you mentioned you. It seems fashionable, for the moment, to acknowledge you, but by and large you are of negligible importance. It is necessary to build absurdly large support networks because the actual units of support have so very little meaning. Anybody can suddenly hate you at any moment And by beanbags I’ve done it myself. The personal weblogs can no longer be imagined by me to threaten me, but fleeting, fickle nothingness yet thrives. Those who are truly dedicated to the site or their cliquey support networks don’t have any more use for me than I for them. But I like it better than twitter. I have no hope in that nothingness. 300 or so who potentially might care is pretty good, even in a really dumb place. After all, they defeated the Persians and more importantly inspired a really lazy meme that prospered among the same sort of people.
Porridge, I spent three weeks writing some mopey introspective thing like that for a class that is now done. I don’t need to recreate it here. I may pull out some relevant bits and impose them on you later. I had to turn that in precisely when it was due. Bimshwel is never due. Bimshwel is not concerned that I acknowledged such a major anniversary a day late or that I talked about other websites than it the whole time. I broke its spirit years ago. It may have shamed itself into forgetting what the day was. You probably didn’t know either. I could say it is today, and nobody but me would know. I miss every birthday in my real family; quite finkly it would be rude of me to make an exception for this distasteful abomination.
I spend too much time thinking about nonsense. I am three years older than Napoleon and my realm is pitiful. But I maintain my composure because these are trifling issues. I don’t need to be the “best.” I have a narrow appeal, since I have such difficulty or unwillingness to latch on to other people’s gimmicks. I am not a winner. I am not good enough at anything that enough people do to have a contest over to even compete for the victory. I might have a chance of winning a contest whose goal was to be me, but if there were other people who could conceivably be me then there would be no point to it. I am as isolated by choice as necessity. And that is perfectly all right. The sooner I accept that the sooner I can enjoy my existence. The needless jealously and pointless aspiring to meaningless smalltime niche digital fame cease today!
ARRRGH I’LL GET YOU, YOU INTOLERABLE GINGERBREAD MANNEQUIN! YOU THINK YOU’RE BETTER THAN ME JUST BECAUSE YOU DRAW POKEMON AND HOMESTUCKS AND CLEOPATRA 2525! I’LL BEAT YOU I’LL SHOW YOU! I’LL LICK THE WHOLE KABOODLE USING JUST MY NOODLE! MY ORIGINAL DERIVATIVE CHARACTERS ARE (C) ME!!!
I SHALL AVENGE THE MARSHMALLOW PEEPS SLAIN TO MAKE YOUR CLOTHING! Come to me, winged cronies! I have been slighted! Do my bidding and I’ll give you *hugs* with lots of extra asterisks on the sides! Otherwise I’ll know who my REAL friends are! I need to clean out my watch list soon HINT HINT
My hubris shall be my downfall.
Attention nemitz:
You are a scumbag. Not at all dear, thus my not capitalizing the n in your name and using a formal greeting despite your low-class trashy presence. You do not even deserve to be greeted. There should be someone employed at Wal-Mart who has the task of making sure you aren’t. That person might even get health insurance. I despise you. Why don’t you go jump in a dumpster? Because that’s probably too upscale for you. You are the worst person on the planet. You are scarcely a person at all. I can’t think why I used that word. The mental energy it takes for me to comprehend your pathetic presence makes additional thought difficult.
You, nemitz, are less than dirt. You are dust. You are the poverty-bringing byproduct of overfarming during World War 1. You make me sick. You made the wheat farmers sick when you got into their lungs. Are you aware that Black & Decker has a product devoted to busting you?
I’d wish you were dead but that would spare me the emotional contentness of killing you. Not joy, mind you; I reckon I could not achieve it with the memory of your life fresh in my mind. Your latest appearance on my prospective graphic design logo project is particularly worrisome. I am deeply concerned with how fancy you think you look. Maybe you should open your eyes, ya bum. The fact that you’re still standing there in the lower right corner proudly as I berate you shows that you truly do not deserve to exist. Can you not read? Can no one read this to you? Surely your ridiculous ears are good for something. I suppose you’d need friends for that. I am not your friend. I have already violated my personal principles by justifying my ire to you. I don’t even justify my text. You are both sub-justice.
Just the fact that you are there means I cannot fit as much abuse in this letter as I would like to without printing a second page. You aren’t worth the thirty seconds that would take much less the 50 cents it would take to use the double-side color printer in the library.
I can’t stand it. I can’t stand your standing. You go to the trouble to dress fancily but you don’t put pants on. Did you think I wouldn’t notice because you are only comprised of two colors and transparency? Did you think at all? I think you do it on purpose. Likewise, you do not wear shoes, but you wear spats. Spats only exist to protect shoes from dirt (which is better than you). They are not inherently fancy. Reprobates like you just think spats are fancy because those are associated with something that is fancy and you don’t bother to do any research. You are not Scrooge McDuck. You are lose mcdork.
From where did you steal that hat? Why does it have a shamrock on it? You are a sham and I want to throw a rock at you. I doubt you took my needs into consideration. Typical selfish imp. If I followed a rainbow and you were at the end you’d probably try to give me a pot of beets. I do not require beets! I have it on good authority that beets taste like dirt. Thus even they are superior to you. Beets should have a pot of nemitzes. However I forbid the presence of more than one nemitz. I forbid even but one nemitz. Who let this happen? Not me.
