For every good picture that you see on the internet, there are at least ten pictures of the same thing which just got deleted. A glittery landscape of New York City at night has a malformed brother where the buildings look a little too blurry. Every basket of puppies has a previous basket, filled with puppies that seemed to be looking at anything but the camera. And every selfie has five near duplicates, filled with too much chin fat, or an improperly angled head tilt.
Sadly, the “Delete” button mysteriously breaks whenever a camera is near me, and so I’m left with the following ten examples of the worst images ever presented to mankind. When aliens visit our world in a million years, they will discover the remnants of a population made up of regular people, and the skeleton of one goblin.
At first I thought that maybe this was a candid photo, and that I’m more awkwardly excited about playing Sonic The Hedgehog 2 than anyone in history has ever been. Look at that stance! Leaning on a dorm bed, just chilling. You know, like cool guys do. Chilling. It didn’t matter that the acne on my bottom chin made me looking like I was four seconds into Jeff Goldblum in The Fly’s make up. I was chilling.
Then I thought that I definitely had to be posing, because I went through a phase of my life when smiling meant my mouth suddenly opening as far as it could, like a happy python trying to swallow a wild boar, or its own pride. But if that’s the case, why am I looking at a completely different camera? Why is my neck trying to separate itself from my shoulders? What could be so important, more important than the camera that is obviously right in front of me, that I have to zig zag my vertebrate into looking excited about it?
I have never seen more ill-constructed torso than what’s on display here. I can’t tell where the pectorals are supposed to be, or where the abdomen might begin. I’m not expecting some kind of musculature, as I got so little exercise during this time of my life that I legally qualified as a factory farm animal, but hell, some semblance of definition would be appreciated, Me From The Past. That way, when I lifted my shirt in photos, it would appear more like a person at the beach, and less like a head trying to show off its new molded pasta cyborg body.
This photo takes the curving potential of my spine and runs with it. My upper half is about four seconds away from becoming a fish hook. Either that, or I don’t remember the point of my life where I was so oddly fat that it constantly looked like I was about to ruin a limbo game. This photo wasn’t taken very long after the last one in the timeline of neglect that I’ve put my body through, because my superhero power would be “TWENTY-YEAR-OLD MAN(?), WITH THE ARMS OF NEWBORN CHILD!”
To whoever took this photo, it’s your own damn fault that it came out this way. You should’ve known better than to shove a camera into my face and expect it to come out any different than a guy who made his way to the party after a long day of asking dwarves riddles and busting into flame whenever they answered correctly.
I guess this is a seductive face? At twenty, I would hit on anything that moved. Like a bull that becomes enraged by the color red, all you had to do was jiggle a coat rack in my line of sight and I’d ask it if it wanted to take a jello shot with me. Who was I trying to seduce? I was obviously leaking pheromones that only gollums and smaller reptiles could smell.
This is my first documented attempt at a selfie, and the results are akin to the time a French tailor tried to jump off the Eiffel Tower wearing a parachute of his own design: both left a mangled mess where a normal, deluded human once was. For a moment, I seemed to have aged about ten years, and I don’t know the barber that I didn’t leave a tip for, but I apologize profusely to him now. I shouldn’t have ordered the Rough Draft Of Some Bangs cut anyway.
Scopophobia is the fear of attracting attention to yourself, and when this picture was taken, the only part of my body that got the memo that I had that disorder was my chin, which sucked into my face and forced me to roam the earth as a poor Earthworm Jim cosplay. I was working on a short film at the time, one that I had to wear fake scars for, but it’s much more likely that I’m actually recovering from an injury caused by the impact of a bowl cut flopping down onto my skull from the sky.
Like with the first picture on this list, look at how cool I’m trying to be. I’m looking off to the side (aloof), and I’m wearing a button-down shirt, which is the international uniform of Those Not Prepared For A First Date. I’m sitting in a hand, which is hilarious, because it’s a hand, but I’m treating it like a chair, and the amount of gel that I put in my hair is a literal metaphor for how uncomfortable I am with myself and other. And no matter what I’m saying during the point that this photo was taken, the subtitles will always read, in any language “I shouldn’t be here. This shouldn’t exist.”
I have a thick, full head of hair, but I’m balding up the sides of my cranium in a way that I didn’t think was possible. This photo marks the return of the seductive face, where my eyes become slits. And from the way I’m looking at that Jack Daniels shot, I had run into the last possible option for a romantic partner for that evening.
Look at all the people in the background, all the potential friends that could’ve prevented this photo from happening.
Ooooh, Ebenezer Scrooge. It’s the Ghost of Christmas Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. I seem to be doing the much-maligned “duck lips” expression here, but I probably would’ve pulled it off better had I not been in the middle of saying something, and if I hadn’t been a vampire, as my skin pigmentation indicates that I derive most of my nutrition from the blood of the homeless and unsuspecting travelers. The bone structure on the left side of my skull seems to be morphing as well, since I’m trapezoid-levels of asymmetrical. Lastly, can I please have a nice haircut, just once? The top of my head is forever trapped in the cover band of a Beatles cover band.
This was taken four years after the first time I took a selfie, and it’s nice to see that my skills haven’t improved in the slightest.
I’m trying to tell the viewer about how I excited I am to be at the beach, but that goal would’ve been better accomplished if I had put a nicer image of the beach in a more equal focus with my gigantic idiot expression. Once again, I’m not even looking directly at the camera, that, this time, I AM HOLDING. Maybe I wanted to seem so aloof that I couldn’t even be bothered to deal with me.
Also, it probably would’ve helped to not thrust the top of my hand into it, with my thumb photobombing the entire ordeal. This was meant to say “Hey, I’m having a fun time by the ocean”, but instead, the headline became “Bewildered, Vain Coastal Man Who Cannot Control Left Limb Stands On Balcony. Appears Happy About Own Face.”