Belch Dimension Comics, submitted by Glukel.
Belch Dimension Comics is a line of amateur comic books with art so terrible that you will probably feel that shrinking chill of sympathetic embarrassment before the image I picked finishes loading.
Man, look at those hotties. That’s just the start of this ALoD, however, as Belch Dimension Comics is one subdivision of an entertainment empire of shame. Dr. Belch, as he calls himself, has masterminded a number of short stories and novels, as well as the school newspaper for a fictional school in a fictional town. That sounds conceptually fine, but the reason he created a fiction school newspaper is because he was fired from the school newspaper and kicked off campus at Arizona State. Naturally, it’s all part of a conspiracy to hide a photo of him wearing an army jacket in the year book that they owe him. Or something.
I was denied a lot of things when I had to leave school. One of those things is my copy of the 1999 Indian. It contains one of the only existing pictures of me taken in my army jacket, a beloved heirloom that previously belonged to my father, Curtis M. Sweet. I was forced to leave school in December when judicial affairs froze my records, so I wasn't present when the yearbooks came out in May. If nothing else A-State owes me that book. I paid ten dollars for it along with tuition, housing, and meal plan at the start of the semester, and I am entitled to it. The Herald and ASU have no right to withhold my Indian from me. It is just another part of the faculty advisor's Stalinist power trip.
Many of my old friends from the paper made it. They got promotions, they built fat portfolios, and after graduation they landed cushy jobs. But what do I have? No portfolio. No comic-book companies looking to sign me. No air-conditioned office at a major metropolitan newspaper. I was sent back home con solamente a diploma in one fist, a termination contact in the other...and a dream. A dream to succeed...and then rub it in the noses of everyone who destroyed my future, who built their lives on my broken back. Like Jonathan Swift, I would use my writing and satirical twist on life as a forum to preach the truth and advance the cause of Red, Yellow and Blue.
It has been a long, slow, painful fight. Many losses. But I can see the sun rise over the battlefield...and it is saying victory is for me. Very soon.
You might have a sudden desire to feel sorry for him. I know I did after I read all that. Then I noticed he was also a racist, so laugh away at his terrible school newspaper and terrible comics and terrible life. Guilt free.
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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