Registration has been disabled and the moderation extension has been turned off.
Contact an admin on Discord or EDF if you want an account. Also fuck bots.
If you however are super impatient, email Tabs directly at [email protected] with your preferred username and associated email address AND ONLY TO REGISTER.
Really, it's all a matter of attention. If I am seeking it, I will gladly accept it. However, if I don't want it, even if it is positive, I will try to escape it, or deliberately ruin it.
Ben Schumin is the dorky little brother of the Internet -- he was one of the first idiots to spam his every dumb thought all over the Internet. He has now grown up to be a fat, bald loser who got fired from Wal-Mart before finding a job at a non-profit, packin' boxes and suckin' dick. This qualifies him for an admin position at TOW, which, sure enough, he was until he ragequit.
All that aside, though, Ben started out life no worse than most of us. Sure, he was a dorky kid, but we all start out as dorks. The problem is that this was absolutely the high point of his life. After he got his brains buggered out by Santa (see photo at right), it all went to hell, and he was doomed to a life of total idiocy.
Behold his descent.
Feast your eyes on this photo, folks, 'cause after this he gets a hell of a lot uglier.
Most of those teens updated a few times, put up MIDIs of "Iron Man" and backgrounds of half-nakedchicks, and got bored, having exhausted the potential of the Internet at that time. But Ben was not most teens. Instead of getting laid or high, he proceeded to invent Twitterten years before it was even created.
How did he do this? By posting his every fucking thought and dream. But that wasn't the worst part. Ben managed to be boring even by the standards of Twitter accounts.
Think of the dumbest celebrity ever to have a Twitter account. Now imagine them being forced to drink a quart of vodka and then hit in the head with a bag of rice. That is the level of stupidity Ben brought to bear, day in and day out.
A floozy through and through. We know you are
A heartless wench with no regard for those
Who really care.
We ought to lock you in
A room and throw away the key. I will
Not speak to you again. Now please don't let
The door hit you when you exit my life.
„
—Ben took that pretty well, huh?
Chili-bowl haircut and grin like a car grill. Also fatter. But wait, it gets worse!"The Dead Man's Headset", a paean to his headset at his meaningless telemarketing job. To be sung to the tune of "Gilligan's Island". Check it out now:
“
The dead man used to know how to,
But now he is no more.
He blew his lover's boyfriend 'way,
Then took eternal tour.
How to go from homely child to porker in a few short yearsA motherfucking photo essay on his goddamn trip to Wal-Mart. I shit you not. The reader is spared nothing -- every aspect of the trip, from his uglysister to each purchase (actual or merely contemplated) to testing out the blood pressure machine...everything.
The rest of his website was full of this kind of crap. He didn't even go emo, cut himself, listen to shitty music, or any of those Dawson's Creek staples.
But there is no giant so great that there is not an army of midgets kicking at his heels. Schumin, too, had to suffer fools, and in time they laid him low. (No, he still didn't get laid.)
But even the most avant garde measures could not prevent the inevitable indifference that came when people found that Schumin's real interests were above their heads, and eventually they moved on to other, greener pastures.
Go to a real college, kids, or this is the shit you'll wind up doing.
Ben works at something called Food and Water Watch, which means that he hangs around the food court at local malls and steals leftovers. He is damn near at the bottom of the totem pole there (scroll WAY down), and his job description means he is basically the office bitch, unworthy of even an email address. In his off time, he cries about not being a TOW admin while riding random buses in DC.
The lesson is simple: Never get fired from Wal-Mart, never make TOW your life, and never reveal the shallows of your soul on the goddamn Internet. You will never live it down.
If you get something like this in your email, run like a motherfucker.
Or this.
Or this.
Really, anything called "fan art" is probably a good reason to call the police.
Only the freshest memes for Ben!
