Comics, Gigglesnorts, etc…

The Ballad of RossBob

maymay1588, TeofaTsavo 

This is RossBob. Born in the Imperial City of Cyrodiil the 171st year of the Fourth Era, his mother and father described his birth as a “happy little accident”. He lived under the name of Arlowe Olcinius, until he deemed it unworthy of himself and adapted RossBob as a pseudo name at the age of 26. His sister too followed suit and used RoseBob as her own pseudo name, but RossBob doesn’t like to bring her up. Ever. From there on, he completely abandoned his old life to pursue his dreams of becoming the greatest artist in all of Tamriel. More accurately, he wished to. After one year of trying to make a living selling his artwork, his allowance septims ran out, so he had to temporarily return to his old life for more financial assistance. Knowing his son’s unacknowledged greatness needed to be supported, his parents managed to bribe a prestigious art college to accept his enrollment. In reality, they just wanted him out of the house’s basement. He was too old for that.


The art college was both an exciting and strenuous time in RossBob’s life. After a full 2 semesters of hard partying and passing his group work off to his other classmates, RossBob successfully flunked out of art school. It did not matter. Within the first five minutes of his initial lessons, RossBob knew he had learned all there is to know about art, and how to direct his gaggle of dewy-eyed groupies into attacking anyone criticizing his Art.


His posse consisted of other enlightened, like-minded individuals. To the left is Auden, a Nord that identifies himself as a Khajiit, and goes by the name of Ja’bah. He likes to spend his free time playing 3 cords on his lute while following Khajiit caravans. When there are no caravans, he runs around throwing paint on the locals wearing animal hide. He goes through a lot of paint. In the middle is Grobbi, a progressive, independent Nord woman that wants to break away from the bonds of her brethren’s traditions. She spends most of her time out of class yelling at male Nords for their treatment of women in Skyrim. However, since she is a woman, no one listens. To the right is Valeone, who will only wear dark clothing after the ‘incident’. Valeone used to be a bright, happy child, until her sixteenth birthday when her parents gave her a pre-owned horse. She hasn’t recovered or been the same ever since, and uses skooma heavily to fill the void left in her life.


With his newfound grasp of art, RossBob wasted no time creating his new and improved masterpieces, making liberal use of his ‘Happy Boobies” and “Happy Cheekies” brushes. They mainly consisted of his idealized version of scantily clad waifu as a muse for his artistic juices… Worded appropriately.


Much to his dismay, many did not approve of his portrayal of young, generously endowed girls, and he faced harsh criticism about himself and more importantly, his Art.


They explained nothing about him was original. His Art was a copy of other’s work, his style was a cheap imitation of someone else, and even his name and backstory were unoriginal. Instead of discussing the issues they had with his work like an adult or accepting any form of criticism with the praise to help him improve, he instead screamed out at the top of his lungs proclaiming they are all deplorable haters, and he retreated back into his safe space. According to RossBob, the louder you are, the more right you are.


Alone in his seclusion, RossBob poured his thoughts and tears into his diary, cursing how unfair the world is. Many of those hours involved consulting with his thesaurus and dictionary to include bigger, more intelligent words in his writing. Most of the time, he still used the words incorrectly. This would make sense, considering the only book he understood well was the Lusty Argonian Maid. To him, it was simply visionary.


Despite the hate, RossBob eventually returned to his Art. If the haters were gonna hate, he would just simply report them to the guards, and have them banned from the art gallery for their insolence. In his time of isolation, he also realized if he gave positive reviews to the other popular artists, he would win their favor and their supporters would become his, like some sort of ‘one hand washes the other’. Swallowing his pride for the sake of his Art, he spent many nights writing letters of empty words to the major players of the art world, gaining him both their support and fans.


He simply wrapped his swollen, carpal-tunnel afflicted hand – swollen from the repeated checking off of “like” boxes on his peers works- in ice, nightly. ( Post-processed ‘tears’) He even joined in with their art events and weekly showcase themes. His Art series dubbed, “What u Lookin at”, became incredibly popular as a result. With his new alliances formed, along with the guards supporting him, the haters faded into obscurity. He had done it; RossBob became a real artist. Raw talent, skill, and originality wasn’t the key; it was his brown-shaded nose and “interpretations” of others work all along.


Now, you are probably wondering, “How is this a ballad? There is nothing poetic about this – moron with a new mustache!”. Well, RossBob would argue otherwise, and RossBob is never wrong.



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