A new year is upon us (and I promise you bitches some pictures)…

Yes, I know. I’ve been fucking slacking this December. I only put up 8 or 9 pictures – what the fuck is wrong with me? Life is what’s wrong with me kids. I’ve been doing a lot this month. I graduated from college finally. I am working at becoming a certified teacher in the state of Florida so I can shape young minds. A lot of boring shit you people probably care nothing about.

So my resolution for 2008 is to bring back the doom to City Pictures. I attempt to promise that I will have at least 20 new pictures each month, except for in February because that month is stupid.

On Christmas Day, I was in Atlanta. I thought it would be a good idea to see Alien Vs. Predator: Requiem (I’m a geek like that) with a friend. While we were waiting for the masterpiece of filmmaking to begin, we hit up the local Starbucks. In walked in a dude who never really got a lesson in what not to fucking wear when you leave your house and head to a public place.

He wore some sort of moccasin-looking slippers at the bottom of these baby blue pajama pants with little snowmen all over them. Then he had on this disgusting looking sweater which looked like it was stolen from a homeless person. It was the kind of sweater your mom made you when you were kid, if your mom was mentally challenged. He hadn’t combed his hair either… and it was about 4:00 in the afternoon. I don’t give a shit if Christmas or not… take care of yourself when you go out in public, or don’t be surprised when someone hits you with a shit-sock.

Snowmen and Sweaters on Christmas Day (12/2007)

You kids have a save and pleasant New Year’s. Puke on people you don’t like and use prophylactics when fornicating.

Good News, Bad News…

Good News: Pictures of Doom, AKA City Pictures, has finally crossed the 10,000 hit mark. Over 10,000 hits in a matter of 3 months. I can’t thank you kids enough for checking out my drawings, commenting, and telling your friends. I never thought my bad good artistry would ever get me anywhere. Now if only I could collect a check.

Bad News: Calm down, I am not going anywhere. But I got an e-mail from a good friend of mine about a friend of hers who had been in a pretty bad motorcycle accident. Brian Maguire, AKA Cannonball, was put into a coma. The doctors weren’t very optimistic about his chances of survival those first few days he was down, but since then, they moved him from the ICU and he now breathes on his own. But he is still in a coma, and that’s no good.

Cannonball is the drummer of a band in Orlando called The Delusionaires, and also works with members of The Evidents. And they need to continue rocking so Brian needs to wake up. And in order to wake up, he needs all the help in the world for his hospital bills because as everyone knows, “hospitals ain’t free.” The holidays are here so, if you can, see if you can donate some bills to help fight the good fight. Any little bit helps, whether you want to donate a George Washington or even a Benjamin, it all helps (Click here to find out how to donate). I never actually met Cannonball in real life but I hope to do so soon. Until then, here is a picture…

Wake Up Cannonball (12/2007)

Don’t you want to lick my treat?

I was driving someplace today to pick up lunch when a dirty white van, covered in rust, pulled up next to me. The driver was a familiar sight – oddly large glasses, big round head, messy hair, dirty fingernails, and badly maintained facial hair. Further inspection of the van proved what I already thought to be true. He was an Ice Cream Man. There were stickers upon stickers of various icy treats covering the van. It had a large generator on the back, making some awful ruckus.

I thought to myself, “Shit, who the fuck allows their kids to get ice cream from this guy?” But then I thought back to my childhood and realized that I bought ice cream from this guy. Hundreds, if not thousands, of times. They are all the same. All ice cream men look as if they just got done serving jail time for fucking little boys, like Jesus in The Big Lebowski. Yet we continue to allow our children to get close to them and suck on their ice pops and lick their cones. The world is an interesting place.

Want to lick it, little boy? (12/2007)

Michael Vick is better than me…

I just read this story on CNN about the Michael Vick case and how the man is writing letter to his judge asking for leniency. He even has the support of other sports legends too; they all think Vick should set free with the unicorns and horseys. Why, because he is a big football star? That’s stupid. The dude hung and shot dogs after fighting them. There should be a punishment, yes?

Imagine this. Picture me, Mike Bronson, artist and otherwise unnoticeable average citizen. I bet you my next paycheck (it’s small so don’t get excited), that if I did the same thing, I’d probably get more than that. And famous people wouldn’t write my judge a letter asking that I be set free so internet surfers everywhere can get their Picture of Doom for the day. So I’ve decided to write this judge a letter too, just to help out Mr. Vick in his time need.

Dear Michael Vick’s Judge,

How is it going? It must be pretty exciting to get the attention of CNN and Fox News lately like you have. You’re the judge of America’s biggest court fascination right now. Everyone has their eyes on you!

So I write you this letter because I hear that some of my fellow countrymen and sport stars are also writing you, asking that Vick gets better treatment than if I were in the same position. I am here to counter those people though. To their request I say, “Fuck that.” And I hope you say that too.

Hope all is well.

Regards,

Mike Bronson

P.S. Please check out my drawings at www.citypictures.wordpress.com. I think you’ll like them.

Unicorn of Doom (12/2007)

I’m not walking…

I finally finished up my Bachelor’s degree. I am 26 years old and I am now, finally, a college graduate. It’s not like I’ve been in college since high school (I took a few years off), but still. I am probably the oldest person in my graduating class. And, I am definitely one of the few who actually have a day job. Most of the kids in my class got support from mommy and daddy. So they wear pajamas to class, thinking it’s perfectly acceptable.

But I’ve ranted on those fucks many times before. There is a ceremony for my graduating class this coming Saturday. It’s like high school – you put on these caps and gowns and walk with your fellow alumnus. I don’t care about them though. People keep asking me, “Man, you graduated! What are you doing to celebrate?” Hmm. Waking up in the morning? I don’t know… what am I supposed to do?

I don’t understand what the big deal is with college graduation. You paid them to go there, you did your time, and you knew what the result would be. So, what’s the big fucking deal bitch? Send me a check in the mail, and I’ll walk. Pay for my entire schooling, and I’ll walk. Bring me a copy of Marked for Death on DVD and maybe I’ll walk. Maybe that’ll give some purpose for it all.

Can we skip this? (12/2007)

The Final Word on Poop…

2 Girls, 1 Cup… That sounds familiar to you, doesn’t it. That title… where do you know it from? Well, one of your dumbass friends probably sent you an e-mail with a link in it, that takes you a video. And in this video, drowned by a soft piano sound, are two girls. They start out by making out with each other until, well, one of them shits in a cup. Needless to say, mayhem ensues. And since my blog attracts a lot of shit-searching web-surfers, I’ve decided to dedicate one final picture to them. I promise, this will be my last shit-themed entry for a long time. There is only so much shit a human being can take.

And if you are hoping for me to provide you with a link to the aforementioned video, you just got disappointed.

This could be your daughter (12/2007)

Don’t worry Evel…

When I was in high school, as you probably already know, I had but a few interests. Juggling, skateboarding, drinking, fucking, videotaping things, and something else I forgot to mention. Evel Knieval. My friends and I would marvel at this video we found at the local rental store that had a bunch of his crazy stunts. The video (VHS tape) was of the worst quality but I still loved him jumping over 76 helicopters on his motorcycle, while punching Jean-Claude Van Damme in the face.

But he died a few weekends ago and I haven’t been able to muster up the strength to comment on it, until now. So here is to you, Evel. You made my high school days go by smoother. You defied gravity in situations you shouldn’t of and did things everyone else dreams about. I will drink to your honor more often than not from here on out… I look forward to jumping a line of fiery school buses with you in the afterlife. Sleep well kid…

Farewell Evel (12/2007)

Everyone is fine, we are okay.

I’ve been a little slacking this week. First, the GRE raped me, then, I had to take a bunch of finals. As of last night though, I have no more finals. And I was going to write an entry about me being done with college, when I logged in and saw this in the “search engine term” field:

See how many of them involve “shit-in-mouth”? Then I saw this:

And this:

Come out of what? I want to know! And a little bit of this:

And finally, some of this:

It’s amazing to me how often “what does poop taste like” is google’d. But as someone once said, “Never underestimate the power of the internet.” What’s even more baffling is how they end up here, at Pictures of Doom. I am not brave enough to enter that into a search engine so that’ll just have to remain a mystery to me.

What I feel even worse about is the fact that these people are desperately seeking the answer to one of life’s most vile questions, and they end up here, where no such answer exists. If you are one of those people, trying to discover what shit or poop or feces tastes like, all I can say to you is, give it a try. What do you have to lose? You can’t get any lower than you are now I’m sure. I can tell you this though… shit is not going to taste good. That is just a little hunch I have. Use that information as you will.

To my regular, non-shit-seeking readers, I am sorry for the lack of picturey lately. I’ve had a lot of shit (not the kind you taste) going on. Next week, we’ll be back for good. There is a lot of things I’ve wanted to tackle…

The GRE can suck it…

**Please note, the picture at the end of this entry is probably the grossest thing I’ve ever drawn. But I am angry. So look with caution.

I wrote an entry a few weeks ago about how applying to graduate school can suck it. It’s an adventure I decided to embark on however, as making $30,000 a year for the rest of my miserable days just isn’t the kind of ride I am looking for. Plus, I really like teaching. Not little dumb ass kids, no, dumb ass college students. I really like teaching college students.

Apparently there is a test you have to take for admission into most graduate programs. It’s called the GRE (other majors have to take the GMAT, lawyers have to take the LSTAT). I’ve been preparing for this cunt for the past 5 months or so. I even went so far as to take a prep-course which cost me $500. And then the test was $140 to register for. So far, this stupid fucking test cost me $640. Thank balls for credit cards.

There is math on this bitch. The lady teaching my prep-course said, “All the math problems on the GRE are at a 9th grade level.” I am here to disprove that shit. Here is a secret about me I’m not particularly proud of sharing: I failed 9th grade twice. Not because I was dumb academically, but because I was more interesting in skateboarding, juggling, videotaping shit, smoking weed, drinking, and movies.

By my third year of high school though, I started getting laid and that woke me up to doing better. So I got put in this program for dummies like me who failed a whole bunch of times. I had to do all this work to catch up and take some vocational programs too, just so I would graduate on time. They also made me take the GED just to prove I was “academically challenged” enough to earn the High School Diploma. Let me tell you this about the GED: if you know someone who dropped out of high school and didn’t pass it, punch them in the fucking face with a pot of hot coffee. That was the easiest test I’ve ever taken, and I failed 9th grade twice.

So yeah, I graduated the year I was supposed to (1999) with the diploma I was supposed to. I didn’t start college though until 4 years later. I just didn’t think I needed it. But then I realized that was stupid, so I just enrolled. Which brings me to today. I have two finals this week and then I will finally have my Bachelors Degree. Liberal Studies with minors in English Writing and Cinema Studies – woo-hoo! Pass the bubbly.

Wait, hold on a second. Bachelors Degrees apparently don’t mean shit anymore. Especially in my field, so I have to continue onward in the educational process. Fuck, I am going to be 35 and bald by the time I finish that shit. And student loan payments jiggle my balls real good.

This past Saturday, I finally took the fucking GRE. I was up all night Friday taking fucking pre-tests (and doing okay on them). Now that it’s over, my thoughts on the retardization that is standardized testing solidified.

Check out this philosophy. So I want to get into a graduate program. I went to college, got my degree, and now I want to continue onward and get my Masters. What does that mean? That all the fucking college work I’ve done up until now doesn’t mean shit. I have to take a fucking test to prove my worth. My degree is as useful as a cum-rag underwater. I want to get my Masters in something English related, so I have to take a test with fucking MATH questions on it, when I haven’t taken a math class since Clinton was in office. How does that make any sense?

But I played the game. I took the stupid fucking test, had an extremely hard time with it, and BOMBED the shit out of it. Just so you understand how bad I did, let me paint that picture for you. From what I understand, the test is worth 1600 points. A good score is about a 1100 and above. Do you know what I, Mike Bronson, got on this crab-infested mess of pubic hair of a test?

I got a 700. A fucking 700. Your dead grandma could have gotten a better score than me. A used condom could have gotten a better score. A 700 – that’s probably the worst score in GRE history. Maybe now a school will accept me because they feel sorry for me. Probably not. I am now reminded of the Dead Kennedys’ song, Pull My Strings. Biafra sings, “Is my cock big enough? Are my brains small enough, for you to make me a star?” Perhaps I now have a career in the entertainment world.

I decided to draw a picture dedicated to standardized testing everywhere. Here is to you, GRE test of doom.

Feminine Napkin of Doom (12/2007)