Craig Beight



Craig was born as a hybrid spawn between a rabid squirrel and a depressed computer nerd, who were both so unaware of their surroundings that they never knew they were having intercourse with each other. Shortly thereafter he was abandoned in the sewers. After several decades he crawled out of his own wastes and wandered the lands, seeking something, some mode of fulfillment that he could yet put his finger on. He came upon a large brick home on top of a large hill, and could not will himself to go any farther. The people living there spotted him up in their tree, and threw rocks at him until his naked body was knocked out cold to the ground. When he awoke in a daze, he saw himself clothed in a grey shirt with the red letters CLEVELAND emblazoned on the front. As he looked around, he could see what looked like a moldy basement with pee-stained, beat-up couches and references to low-class pizza parlors and rock band failures.  Four people could be seen bowing in a prayer-like stance in front of a life-sized black idol drabbed in red, seemingly soaring in mid-air above them. The fattest of them all turned to Craig, showing his tired-looking face and uncomfortably obvious social ineptitude, and pointed at him what looked like devil horns on his fingers. He spoke, "Bullskitter Number 5, you little idiot. ARISE!" As Craig stood, the others turned to face him. A short one, much shorter than Craig, dressed too well for the group with unnecessary prescription-less glasses, eating a piece of cardboard with ferocity because it never had a face.  A tall, pale one, with clothes that SCREAMED thrift store to the point that one wanted to say"Ok, we get it". And there was a dog, a b-dog it was called, with obnoxiously curly hair, and an ethnicity that was annoyingly hard to place. "What are you, Spanish or something?!" Craig cries out in mental agony. Ignoring him, the fat one spoke: "These are the rules:

1. You shall only wear shirts labelled with Cleveland sports teams, or shirts of a solid, boring color.
2. You shall occasionally wear a Cleveland hat backwards, to mimic the in-crowd of the early 90's.
3. With us, you shall make crappy, incessantly long skits with even worse endings.
4. For the pleasure of all three of our stalkerish, borderline psychotic fans, you shall make a website and maintain it at all times.
5. For the pleasure of the Bullskitters, you shall minimize your presence here to the weekends by going to school in Cleveland during the week.

And so it was. And so it is. And so it shall ever be. Until they run out of crappy skit ideas.

                       

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