More T-Shirts. I Can’t Stop.
Posted on July 17, 2012
I’ve realized that some funny superstars make e-cards. Some draw comic books. It turns out, I make t-shirts that no one will ever wear. I feel that this series of posts has become much like THE WEIRDEST THING I’VE EVER MADE #1 AND #2, but I can’t help myself. There is something about it that soothes me. And so it goes…And here you are:
I made this t-shirt as a companion piece to my post “Yoga Rage.” It’s simple and somehow satisfying. I also like the fact that the name of the pink colored font is, “VAG ROUNDED.” No, I am not kidding.
Touch My Stomach
This is a maternity t-shirt. I can only assume that when you’re a pregnant woman it must be annoying when people randomly touch your stomach. Especially, if they don’t ask first. This t-shirt is for those times. “Touch My Stomach, Lose Your Hand.” It’s both a warning and a prophecy.
The idea here is a male slogan on a woman’s tee. “Wanna join my circle jerk?” asks the woman via her t-shirt. “Sure,” says the passerby and then everyone just stands there, puzzled. This is as it should be.
The Record Thingy You Put on a 45
A simple t-shirt made for the human who wishes not to speak to anyone under the age of 35. When those under the age of 35 ask you what it is, you can just walk away, and drown yourself in the ocean.
There are some sculptors that say, “I let the material tell me what to make and then I just chisel away the parts that don’t agree with that vision.” Here I found an image of a cop with rainbow pepper spray shooting out of his mace can. I added 5 letters above it to complete this masterpiece.
Tree or Brocc?
Is it a tree or broccoli or an album from U2? No one knows. Now it’s on your tank top.
Indie – Tee
Heart burn. A shirt to be worn by me after eating anything, really. But, mostly Mexican’t.
Be the first. Wear a Gayby, Maternity tee. You’ve spent a lot of money to make this baby or maybe you just used the sperm of a friend. Either way, it’s your gayby. You made it. Be proud.
Wannabe Tiger Mother
There is a latent tiger mother inside of me. The Asians have it right with a lot of things – Zen, Ramen, Buddhism, and sometimes a little wonker needs a tiger mother. If you have a sleeping tiger mother inside you, wear it proudly.
Where’s my butt?
It was half of a stick figure. His face looked in pain. I could only assume it was because…he was left in limbo. “Isn’t that the face you’d make if the artist hadn’t drawn your a**hole yet?” I would.
Art is about interpretation. I suppose some people would’ve looked at this graphic and they would’ve seen a gunshot. That’s not what I saw. I saw something else entirely.
These are the tees of today. Who knows what the tees of tomorrow will bring. I don’t expect anyone to buy them since this is known as the, “self deprecating blog shop” and they are not even purchasable in the UK. (Yankee a-holes.) But, at the off chance that someone does…perhaps your rich uncle or a lottery winner with a mental disorder…if that happens, send me a photo and I will do an entire profile on that extra-special, lone gunman.
Mother loves you.
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