A Contest of Artistry

So, over on the forums for CRACKED (the comedy site I write for) a little artistic competition has been put together, and being that I have more or less no artistic talent, I thought it would be a good idea to throw my hat into the ring. Anyways, the gist of it is this -- a one word prompt is given for the round, pictures are drawn based on that prompt, and then go head-to-head in a bracket to advance to the next round and next prompt. Continue until 32 is whittled down to 1.

Well, the first round is underway with "Action," and I figured I'd share my masterpiece for it with all four of you likely to see this.

So... uh... Ta Dah!

(Click it for a bigger version)

Anywho, the page for the whole deal is here. If you'd like to check out the other entries, you just click one of the small versions of the pairings, then bigger versions of their icon will pop up below, and you click on that to see their pictures. Oh, and those bigger versions are also where you vote, you know, if you'd like to vote for me (or the other guy.)

Go Read My Article on Cracked.com

Somehow, despite my continually thinking that it would fail at every step of the process, "8 Manliest Musicals" is now online at CRACKED.com, and you should be awesome and go read it right now. It didn't receive a brutal amount of editing, and what changes it did see were (predominantly) for the better.

I don't rightly know how well it will do, as their big-traffic articles tend to be about movies, video games or technology, since apparently nerds love the internet. Go figure. Either way, if you have a digg account (or, if you're really cool and willing to sign up for one just for me) you should digg the shit out of it, 'cause I'm pretty sure digg.com is now entirely responsible for any article being successful online today. More traffic from my article means they're more likely to buy another of my articles. More articles sold equals more money. More money equals more beer. More beer equals more drunk Bobby rollerblading and, inevitably, hurting himself for everyone else's amusement. So, see, it's in your own best interest.

I'm a Published Humorist!

Well, not quite yet, but soonish. For those of you I haven't bombarded with giddy talk about it, the webmaster at a comedy site I like to read recently got hired as Assistant Editor for Cracked.com, a comedy site of fair stature. Suffice it to say, it does marginally more traffic than the 50-150 angry Harry Potter fans I get on a daily basis. Well, he put out an open call for people who would be looking to write for them and be paid on a per-article basis, and I decided to throw out a few pitches. More specifically, two.

I actually just jumped on board as motivation to start writing again, since I hadn't in ages, and didn't expect anything I offered to be liked. As it were, both pitches I threw out apparently had potential, though since one has to do with 'Lost' it won't actually see daylight until sometime closer to its February return. But, that brings my rambling to a point, that being that the other piece had both potential and the ability to work whenever they wanted it to, so I was officially given the green light to write it for them, and the final product has been sent their way which means sometime in the future (when specifically I don't know, as they only run an article per day) my article, tentatively titled "10 (Almost) Manly Musicals (And Why You're Not Gay for Liking Them)," will be online, and will likely get read more times in its first day than anything else I've put online has in-total in the three year run of my "web site."

I Should Not Be Allowed to Fend For Myself in the Real World

Seriously, I mean that. If you don't believe me, just have a quick perusal of the self-inflicted woes I've been stuck with in the mere week-and-a-half since camp started, solely as a result of my own stupidity. Oh, and it bears noting that this list is simply the self-harm I can currently remember from the last few days. You can rest assured that there is plenty more that I am forgetting.

The Pole
Resulting Injuries: Badly scraped/gashed hand, minor scrapes on legs
Also to Blame: Bees
Why I Suck: So, all of 15 minutes into the first day of camp I managed my first moment of brilliance at the basketball courts. With a counselor-to-camper ratio in the cage of a ludicrous number somewhere in the 4:7 neighborhood, it should have been a pretty easy, relaxing morning. A roughly 1-to-2 ration means you have more or less no responsibility, plus the majority of the kids were youngins, so none of the annoying mouthing off you get when mixing sports with eighth-grade boys who are at that age where they are old enough to think they're tough, but small enough to blow away in a stiff wind. And for awhile, it was pretty calm. Then the bee showed up, and I began flailing and backpedaling with all the grace and control of a raver having a seizure. For those of you who have never been to Camp Sac, the cage can also be used for tennis, so there's a center pole for the nets, which I completely forgot about in my insect-related panic, leading to one painful introduction of ass-to-asphalt.

Bobby Ball
Resulting Injuries: Emotional trauma, bruising
Also to Blame: Ally, Cooney, Rev. Ed, Kira
Why I Suck: Apparently tired with the cage's vast game assortment of Knockout and more Knockout, the children were looking for something new to play. Ally suggested "hit Bobby with the basketballs." My loving fellow-counselors obliged. I spent the next 5 minutes curled in a ball with the campers circled around me, throwing basketballs at my face. I'm not kidding.

Left Field
Resulting Injuries: Loss of a fair portion of the flesh which used to comprise my leg, other painful cuts
Also to Blame: Nick
Why I Suck: With the excellent day one, and its fantastic games time, behind me, day two games found us at the kickball field. As is to be expected, my team was getting trounced, as I without fail manage to wind up as the counselor on the team full of kids that can barely walk, let alone partake in athletic endeavors. And Dan who, despite his closeness in nomenclature to athletic achievement, is even worse than the kids. So, my team is getting trounced when Nick comes up to bat (foot?), and blasts one deep. Thinking that it will be my hustle that will save the day for Team SpEd, I backpedal (you may be noticing a theme here) while intently following the ball. I kept my eye on the ball all the way to within two feet of my hands (thank you Tee-Ball coaches) at which point my priorities changed, as I suddenly realised I had hit the treeline and fallen into a bush. Now, I can only assume the ball hit a branch and bounced back onto the field as I soon saw Dan fielding it. I'm not sure though, as all my mind was focusing on at the time was the fact that said bush seemed to be of the pricker variety, and that one of the branches was somehow wrapped around my ankle a good four times.

The Greg Louganis
Resulting Injuries: Ouchie wrists, foggy brains
Also to Blame: Ed, Tim, Wesley Snipes and Woody Harrelson
Why I Suck: Games day four, and fresh off an injury-free day three, I'm feeling pretty good. The group before us had played ultimate Frisbee, but our group thought that was totally gay (which it isn't, but again, eigth grade guys) and decided to instead play soccer. Being that we're lazy fucks, the counselors sat around and watched. Then Ed decided he could hurdle the Frisbee goals which, as anyone who knows Ed and has some reasonable estimation of Frisbee goal heights (ie: over 2 feet tall) can tell you, he could not. Being that we're retarded though, Tim and I joined him in attempting to hurdle them, despite the fact that they are somewhere between four and five feet tall. Eventually, I had the brilliant idea to dive face first to clear the hurdle. Stupid. But, as it turns out, I did it successfully and injury free. Twice. Then I joined the soccer game, and decided to celebrate a goal with a third dive. Not a great decision. I landed wrong on my wrists, then had my head slam into the ground, leading to much wooziness.

Fuck You, Tyler
Resulting Injuries: More cuts on my legs, friction burned shin
Also to Blame: Tyler
Why I Suck: Week two has actually been a banner week for me, since as of right now this is the only injury that I can think of. Tim had us at the maze for capture-the-flag, and since the kids are all a bunch of little cheaters, Tyler and I hid out teams' respective flags, theoretically somewhere not surrounded by Ow. Tyler put his team's in the middle of a patch of what I can only reason was razorblades and rebar (is that even how it's spelled? I don't know, the metal pole-ish things you find in concrete) which led to my attempted capture, and his attempted tagging of me, being decisions we would both come to regret. As an added bonus, an homage to my last pricker-related injury if you would, while playing kickball today with no sandals (Faith had stolen mine, naturally) I decided to give my throbbing right foot a break by going lefty. The ball took a bounce and I kicked the ball as hard as I could directly off of the big friction burn on my shin that one of the sticks in the maze had given me in my mad-dash to freedom. That fucking hurt.

Witty Title
Resulting Injuries: Broken (possibly) computer monitor... fuck you, that counts
Also to Blame: God
Why I Suck: If you've never seen my room, it's small. Literally, I have a bed, a built in shelf thing, and this weird little bathroom with only half a wall, a broken toilet and a sink with water I would put somewhere below "syringe full of AIDs" on the list of things I'd like to drink from. Because of the putridness of the sink's pipes, I bring cups of water up to brush with. One of these cups, inexplicably, I left on my monitor last night. Today, and in looking at it now I don't know what exactly I was trying to do that caused this, I punched said cup, spilling water all over said monitor. Sure enough it fizzled and went all faded on me. I went to the attic to get another old one, which also decided it hated me, before settling on stealing the one hooked up to my brother's computer. My actual, not-a-piece-of-shit monitor is now sitting upside down on my eight square-feet of floor space in the hopes that will somehow make it not broked anymore. I don't know, it worked for my phone.

Like I said before, this is simply the stupidness coming to mind right now, and I'm sure there is plenty I missed, but I've been writing for awhile now and I still have to do a fake bio for Jim's birthday present, since he asked me a week ago, and his birthday is now in the multiple-days stage of passed. In my defense, I've been diligently working to create a new MillerBrothersMMA.com (which now looks much slicker and more professional if I do say so myself) because it needed to look better to match the big news regarding them that will be going up in the coming days/weeks.

I've Done It!!!

I’ve reached my Zenith. There’s nowhere else for me to go, or anything else for me to accomplish in this world. Today I, Bobby Ingram, have achieved more than I could ever have hoped to achieve in this world.

You see, as I’ve mentioned on blogger a few times before, about two years ago I was bored and stumbled across some whack job claiming Harry Potter was the anti-Christ and turning children into heathen-loving baby kickers, which is more or less retarded. Since I have nothing better to do with my time, I wrote an article satirizing it, complete with 13 points, none of which are even remotely valid or containing the smallest hint of truth.

Well, people tend to miss the point and post links to it on Potter sites and groups, and as a result it is closing in on some 20,000 views, which while small in internet terms, is stupidly high for something I wrote for my own entertainment.

Now, this article getting linked and misunderstood is nothing new to me. It’s been on forums, frontpages of Potter fansites (though that links to the forum thread on it since it’s off the front now,) facebook thread, after facebook thread, after facebook picture, and even the occasional standard (see: regular blogging by a sane human) LiveJournal, and those are all just a portion of the past month’s crop. Trust me, there are many, many threads just like those, filled with people who simply missed the point.

Today every link I’ve ever received before has been made obsolete. My good Rev’s thesis has now been linked by none other than an author of Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy erotic fiction.

I’m going to repeat that, because I don’t think I can make this clear enough:

A link to my webpage currently sits sandwiched between stories in which Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, two teenage boys, engage in various romps of a sexual and explicit nature. What the fuck?!?!

If you think I’m kidding, here is the full journal, where my link is the only post not regarding fictional teenage boys laying pipe together. While I can’t say I’ve clicked any of the links to confirm this, I feel it’s fairly safe to say you don’t want to click any of the links to the actual stories, because I can’t see how that would prove to me anything but a terrifyingly life-changing experience.

In other news on the HP-Article front, due to the fact that every time one of the above facebook links seems like it’s finally buried enough in those groups boards to die, somebody posts on it and brings it back to the top, I’ve received several thousand views the past month from people actively on facebook. Because of this, and the handy Reverend James Adams facebook button next to the article, the Rev is becoming rather e-popular. In fact his friends have tripled in the past month, and he’s up to some 40-odd friends. Again, not bad for a guy that doesn’t exist.

The problem in all this is that these threads won’t die, and he just keeps steadily acquiring more and more friends as a result of it. While I haven’t done the numbers, even with the recent friend lull he’s hit, I can estimate he’s making about a friend-a-day for the past month. I only have somewhere around 240-50 e-friends.

At the rate he’s going, by September I am going to be less popular than my imaginary friend.

I don’t know what the true definition of “loser” is, but I can’t imagine there’s a much more accurate one than “finding out a fictional person who exists solely as some 1,000 words on an irrelevant website is more beloved than you are.”

I am a Giant Pile of Retarded or How I Broke my Phone

I dunked my phone in a glass of water today, much as I would imagine one would dunk a cookie in milk, though I have no actual experience with the latter. Now, you would think I would grow used to these kind of idiotic occurrences by now, having experienced many, but lo' and behold they still catch me off guard.

This one started Thursday night when I ran out of Coke and went to the store to buy some. There I saw a sale consisting of two monster-sized energy drinks for $3, and figured "what the hell." I drank the Sobe that night, and sat up playing Mario Sunshine since my 10 a.m. on Friday was cancelled. That left me with an amped(R) just sitting in my fridge, until Friday night when I decided to drink it for no real purpose. Jimmy, mooch that he is, asked for some, and on my way to get him a glass I spotted his Jager shot glasses and decided to pour us each one amped(R) of those instead. My shot glass ended up in my room, and while ADDing that weekend I found that it fit my phone perfectly, serving as an excellent, though admittedly unnecessary, stand.

Yesterday, as already chronicled, I burned my finger via electric shock. Being the giant Nancy that I am, I ended up dunking my finger in a glass of ice-water to cool my burned flesh. Well, the ice eventually melted, yielding one glass of plain water on my desk, next to my Jager shot glass. If you don't see where this one is going yet, you might want to seek help.

So, James went to the library to study tonight, and since my printer blows, I asked him to print stuff for me while there. I picked up my phone to text him about how I was sending it, then thought better of it as texts aren't in my plan. Since I was currently occupied at the time with something or other I can't recall all of an hour later, I just reached to my left to return the phone to its mount. It was about 2/3 underwater before it dawned on me that bad things were afoot.

Over the past hour I've watched the screen flicker then black out, the beeper go off at random, and ultimately, watched it perish. My only hope is that I can get the screen working enough to transfer my newer numbers to my old phone which, ironically enough, I just found a few weeks ago after thinking it lost, and had just used to update my new phone with numbers I hadn't gotten again since losing it.

I'm afraid my phone will no longer serenade me with the theme from Zelda, or that song from the Mos Eisley bar in the first (well, fourth) Star Wars movie. You served me well for your few short months phone, fair thee well.

Hello, My Name is Bobby Ingram, and I am a Jackass

Generally speaking, I don't ask for much in life. I would actually be pretty content with my life if I could just go about it without looking like an asshole on a regular basis, because I'm one of those people that cares way too much about what everyone thinks of him. You know the guy I'm talking about. The pathetic little guy who, with the right of way in his favor, will wave three cars in a row on, just so people who will likely not even throw a courtesy hand will think he's a swell dude. That guy's me. So yeah, just not looking like an idiot daily would make me extremely happy. Unfortunately for me, I'm Bobby, so that's just not the case.

Today's adventure in Bobbydom came as a result of my broken laptop. While the screen on it had been mysteriously red-tinted for a month or two, it still caught me totally off guard when the screen went dead on me. For a smart guy, I'm not that bright. After finding some help on the ol' interweb, I set about to fixing it today, only to promptly find my progress halted by those little screws with the ungodly small indentations for the screwdriver. Without the aid of a mini-screwdriver I was fucked, and so I took a trek down the road to Shop Rite to pick me up an eye-glasses repair kit. Cost: $1.92 post tax. Now, it bears mentioning that I spent last weekend in Atlantic City for Jim and Dan's fights, and when they pay you in AC, they don't exactly do it in whatever's convenient for you. They pay you in as few bills as possible. That's how I found myself standing in the checkout line with two bills in my wallet, a $1 and a $50.

As I watched the woman in front of me in the express line start pestering the cashier about something or other, I weighed my options. What made me less of an asshole. On the one hand, I can be that douche who charges a minuscule little item. Personally, I hate that guy for holding up the whole line with his purchase of one bag of Cheetos, and I'd imagine a lot of other people do too. Option B was to pay for my $1.92 repair kit with a $50 bill. Now I'm that dickhead with money who likes to throw it around and show how rich he is. Given that, paired with the $100 sitting in my drawers to give to Joe for our next utilities bill, that $51 was all the money to my name, it wouldn't exactly be an accurate perception, though one I could see people coming to none-the-less. In the end, I went the charge card route, if only to improve my personal low-charge record from its prior mark in the mid $2s.

So, I returned home, trusty repair kit in hand, and went to work on my computer. The whole process went pretty smoothly for awhile. I got the cover of the laptop off, got the broken part out, even fiddled with it for a bit to see if it hadn't just come loose. As it turns out, fiddling with parts of a computer while it is A) turned on, and B) plugged in, is not a good call. I actually managed to catch the laptop before it hit the ground, granted this is after I let out a girly shriek and spaz tossed it, but I call that a push. Now though, I do have a nice, self-cauterized, painful-as-all-fuck electric burn on my left index finger where the laptop used it as a circuit wire as a reminder to not be so much of a fucking idiot.

On an unrelated note, as I sit here watching Let's Go to Prison, it is beginning to dawn on me that the whole Unrated edition decision, while usually technically sound when it comes to comedic DVDs, may not have been the best call given that it is a movie about guys in an all-guy prison. I frankly don't see where they can be going with this beyond the horror that is Dudity.

If you're still reading this, you're probably wondering what the hell it has to do with you, and why you should care. Honestly? Nothing, and you shouldn't. I'm just trying to stay on the whole "writing every day" thing, and after writing a full chapter yesterday didn't feel like working on my totally kick-ass novel, thus, blog time. Oh well, you've already read it and there's nothing you can do about it. Unless you're actually Nicholas Cage in that movie he's coming out with, in which case there are probably better places to apply your power than my crummy blogger page.

A Bobby Biography - Deluca, Matthew R.

Matt needed a biography to put on his website. I'm an awesome friend, so I obliged.

Born the son of a Norwegian lugist and a Bulgarian midwife, Matt Deluca moved to America at the age of five, where he was forced to provide for his family through apple thievery. One day, while frolicking nimbly through an orchid, Matt was apprehended by the estate’s owner Reginald P. Thurgood. Threatened with persecution, the ever-crafty Deluca set forth with a soft shoe routine that would have made Gene Kelly envious. Thurgood was enthralled and took on young Matthew as his apprentice.

Matt would soon come to learn that there was more to Thurgood than met the eye when he accidentally stumbled upon the secret passageway located behind Thurgood’s “Happy Days” mural, and came upon an Illuminati rite so horrifying I won’t repeat it here. Keeping his cool, Matt took the display in stride, and soon had earned the trust of the Illuminati front office, and the rank of Illuminati Kitten Scout. His climb through the organization to the rank of Leopard Scout was unparalleled.

Unfortunately, tragedy struck poor Matthew when he lost his left leg in the Illumo-Masonic War of 2001. Disparate and suddenly lopsided, Matt retreated into the confines of Thurgood manor where he discovered a newfangled machine that he would come to call a “magic talk-to-others-and-also-write-stuff typewriter.” Using the computer, Matt set out to complete a goal that he had been striving after for several minutes, and began creation of his own website. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, straylightrise.com.

It's Gonna be the Future Soon

I've decided I really have to start writing more, so I'm going to be looking wherever I can to try to find different writing challenges or whatnot, which I will attempt in my own retarded way, ideally one every day, and then post here on Blogger (and I suppose in doing so, facebook too.) Today's inaugural entry comes from a thread on PWoT about dystopian futures. Most of the people responded with fairly plausible, if not always entirely serious, proposals. I give you this:

2237: Global warming has wreaked havoc upon the world’s climate. The habitable landmass has shrunk severely. On the bright side, the smaller mass is also far warmer, turning the world into a one giant Caribbean vacation. Through time, humans develop a monotonal brown skin color. In joyous celebration, racism declared dead.

2239: Bored with their favorite activity stolen from them, bigots hold a conference. Hate-Con ’39 is a resounding success, with thousands in attendance. The food is sub-par. Following days of heated debate, shoe size is selected as new method of hatred to rely upon. Fighting ensues at the conference between those with larger feet and the now-persecuted “little foots” in attendance.

2246: With the election of World Leader James Doerkson, the 7’2” former korfball star, legislation begins to be passed down limiting the rights of “little foots.” Big Foot militia forces begin to form.

2248: Through intimidation by the Big Foot militia, little foot candidates are discouraged from running for office. With full control of the world’s legislation attained, little foots are put under harsh regulation. Curfews installed. Creation of “luxury shoes” such as athletics wear and loafers deemed illegal below size 12.

2249: E-mails proclaiming “OMG F00T GROWHT PILLS!!!1 GUARENTE MAKE HER SAY WOW!” run rampant.

2251: United Little Foots Rights Force has first meeting. Four people show up, including one legal dwarf and a descendant of the little foot mythical legend Muggsy Bogues.

2253: A now heartier ULFRF begins mobilization phase one by installing tall folk with unusually small feet into the big foot ranks in counterfeit athletic sneakers and loafers. Pennies optional.

2256: Scandal rocks the big foot world when top political advisor Donald Williams is revealed to be a little foot spy in an oversized pair of soccer cleats. In his final year of his second six-year term, President Doerkson declares an immediate hiatus on all elections while branches are “searched thoroughly for more of those damn rotten littles.”

2259: Mobilization phase two begins, with the interception of boot supplies headed for big foot militia bases. Boots are replaced with models with far weaker arch support. With big foot forces weakened, and suffering from many lower leg strains, ULFRF declares war officially on the “Goliath Plague infecting [their] fair earth.”

2265: In violation of the codes of war the Big Foot Defense Force begins to use chemical warfare through the infusion of poisoned soles into the ULFRF inventory. ULFRF responds by releasing public statement to its generals to “go nuts. Seriously, just rape and pillage to your hearts’ content.”

2268: With ULFRF forces having seized control of nearly the entire globe, Leader Doerkson issues desperate plea to fight the littles to the very last survivor.

2269: Final big foot survivor secured, beaten to death by size 10 Croc-brand all-purpose foot apparel.

2270: Newly elected Leader Bogues declares the war won, and a world of love and equality re-established. Calendar year re-dated to 1 in honor of change.

3: Persecution of those with “gangly toes” begins.

So anyways...

Yeah, I haven't done anything for the blog or site for awhile, but, whatever. I finished my zombie NaNoNovel, and will prolly edit it and re-write sometime in March. All-in-all, it's a pretty great book. Also, I'm working on starting a new online story, well trilogy, tentatively titled "Yes! It's Another Fantasy Trilogy!!!" Hopefully, I'll get a new article up on the site to replace the last one on the frontpage in the near future.

Oh, and in Harry Potter news, Harry Potter fans still hate me, though now they do it via e-mail, forum and the wall of this group. I love them, because they make me feel smart.