Worst published picture of yourself ...

I came across mine when organizing some old crap for a "den" I'm working on (actually just an old darkroom in my basement with an old PC, my CDs, and all kinds of sports and other paraphenalia Mrs. Bubbler would never allow in the house proper).

And it had the harmonic convergence of appearing with my first -- and most definitely my worst -- column.

As a college student, I never really worked for the student paper, opting instead to get "real" experience and string for a small daily. Worked great.

My editor developed enough trust in me to ask me to submit a prediction column for a sectional basketball tab. It's amazing the little shit you get excited about at that level when you're that young, I thought I had just scored a MLB beat with free hooker privileges on the side.

I proceed to write an opus Tolstoy would have admonished for being too long. Seriously, I conservatively wrote 1,000 inches on a five-game sectional scenario, and worse, my editor ran it in its entirety. He definitely received more manna than he could have possibly dreamed of from the stringer Gods that day when no ads were sold. And I have to admit, I love the man for giving me a break, but I'm questioning big-time why he didn't take a machete to this bad boy.

I cannot stress enough how bad this column is. You know how long-ass movies like Bridge On The River Kwai have a musical intermission? My column's intermission deserved to be the length of Led Zeppelin's Song Remains The Same version of Dazed And Confusion.

And its filled with gems like this ...

"First off, this [sectional] draw in a word: bites." It only got more craptastic from there!

Anyway, my editor said I needed to mail him a photo (youngsters, laugh your asses off all you want, this was way before e-mail). Since being in my early 20s meant almost never getting my picture taken, I was really screwed. All I had was a photo taken from a friend's recent wedding in which I was part of the wedding party.

One problem: it was a group shot with me in my wedding party tux. I was like, "Ah, fuck it. They'll crop it so it doesn't look bad."

Wrong. When I saw myself in glorious black & white when the tab came out, I recoiled in shock as I realized my first column clearly revealed that I was wearing one of those red wedding tux ties. And my head was cocked slightly to the right, as I was trying to move closer to the center of the picture when it was taken.

It is absolutely horrible. I'd scan and upload, but fuck you guys, it is so bad it would become as ubiquitous as that Snakes On A Plane poster or the pancake bunny.

At the time, I wasn't quite as aware of this undeniable truth. And when every single one of my sectional predictions turned out to be right, I thought I was King Shit of the sports department, blissfully unaware at the time that winning a sectional prediction contest makes you about as bad ass as Richard Simmons, with the corresponding ability to get into a female's pants.

So when I'd talk shit, they'd be like, "OK, Bubbler ... hey, you know a good place to rent a tux?"

Took me a few weeks to get it.

I'm going to go burn this motherfucker right now!

 

I absolutely love the ad Google dropped in this one.

 

I'm gonna try to use "bites" in my next story...

 

Was it this photo?


BUBBLER
These Sectional Picks
Are For the Dogs

 

Worst published pic of me . . . When I was at my first job I had a column, and I had the great luck of having my picture taken on a day when I came to work despite having spent the morning throwing up (I wasn't hung over, something else and I wasn't contagious). I had absolutely NO color in my face, my eyes were bugging out all over the place and my hair was pretty much just hopeless b/c I don't think I did it that morning. The composing guy who kept having to tone it, etc. insisted on refering to me as "that evil chick" everytime it ran.

I'd post it, but I think I destroyed all copies of it when they took a new shot after a year. And if I ever get ahold of the part-timer who failed to show for work the day before (only reason I showed up that day was because I was worried he wouldn't show again), I'll beat him, dammit.

 

I wrote a story on luge camp for the magazine that included a photo of me on the sled, teeth bared, eyes wild, preparing to take off down the mountain. Only trouble is, because of fear, the cold, the way I was sitting, and an unfortunate combination of tighty-whiteys, long underwear, and compression-fit lycra, I look to have the genital profile of a nine-year-old girl. At best, we're talking a modest pelvic hump. At worse, a full castration.

Either way, not good.

 

I've never been much of a Topps fan...

 

Define published.

If you mean appeared in a newspaper or magazine, I've got a ton.

If you mean photos that were distributed to more than one person, I've got every single picture I've ever taken.

 

Somewhere out there is a high school picture of my penis. I hope to god it hasn't been published.

 

Fuckin' classic.

 

Joe: Hate to break it to you, hombre, but I think it's on every box sold of Jim's Slim Pickin' Toothpicks.

 

I apparently missed some of those scary-ass pictures of me. Somebody told me he's seen a copy, dammit!