Some guy called Saint Zartan showed me a link to these things back in October, some company called “choice shirts” selling various objects of personal adornment I myself would never choose. What follows is much of the message I sent in return, plus some other junk I was hoping to not to find when I went to verify that the link still worked. You know I’m desperate when I’m digging up my old email. I hate dirt.

I also hate the readily available font options in wordpress. I’m pretty sure I have to define everything in styles.css in advance and then I need to upload that and oh the pain. But ehhh,

Because you are a Yankee Loud Mouth by birth and I am one by virtue of my intolerable politics of tolerance and empathy, I am certain that you will not want to miss the shirt called “Write A Check…” (available in sizes up to 6XL!).

Not only could I not cash the check, I couldn’t even save the tiny sample picture without dredging through my browser cache. They have the imdib amazon.corn technology which as anyone can see has stopped me from stealing pictures on many occasions. It’s an understandable precaution by the choiceshirts people, however: a real rebel wouldn’t pay for clothing from a website. He’d load up Apple Safari, download a picture, print it out, knit his own shirt and iron-on the design himself. All his friends will be impressed, not just with his home economics skills, but also when they see his pixelated, jaypeg artifact ghost pit-bull behind unreadable words reminiscent of what you see on that thar fancy bank paper.

What does this mean? Bimshwel scientists have deduced that the saloon/circus font on the big yellow ball reads “REBEL FASTPITCH SINCE 1861” but that doesn’t explain a whole lot, nor can I even figure out how the speed at which a low weight round object is propelled through the air may be inherently rebellious. I assume, and that’s all I can do, that the big woids mean any woman who attempts to toss a spheroid in a different fashion, id ehhhst, like a man, is stepping outside her place and by disrespecting men she therefore disrespects Jesus and is probably a lesbian too and Jesus doesn’t like that either. I’m just assuming. You know what Jesus loves, though: slaves country music.

That’s an order. You must love that country music. While I admit I’m personally curious as to what the hat and boots sound like, I’m comforted to know that whatever it is I must love it. Just like Evita. Those are some good songs, yo. Andrew Lloyd Webber, what a master. The kind without slaves, I mean. This is about heritage.

See, what’d I tell you.

Heritage, not hate. Being an ornery aynod whose clothing challenges other people to fights isn’t hate. It’s manning up. I think I just wrote a new shirt.

And then, of course, you follow it up with this. Doot, your heritage is hate. Even if you convince me it wasn’t, it is by now. Uck, at least those evil smirks in Detroit admit what they’re on about and pretend to have evidence which justifies them.

No no no, ignorant fop, you misunderstand completely. Their noble plantating ancestors loved their rightless servants. Trust me, they were very grateful for the luxurious master manors they were able to buy from the hard work they weren’t doing. They only took up the whip because they had to. Now then, would you like to join my cult?

Marco is right. The slave owners were so deluded they thought they were protecting their slaves. They weren’t smart enough to hate their slaves. Their descendents, to their credit, have learned to hate.

You’re saying I should be more offended?
I don’t know who’s a rebel these days, but if there’s a huge company printing asinine slogans and empty threats on clothing and making a disgusting profit selling it to anyone with their own credit card or someone else’s over the internet, and you gladly participate, it isn’t you.

What does this angry texas Skeleton pointing at my left shoulder have to do with God gracing anything? I thought there was nothing less godly than the undead making war on the citizens of earth. If anything, we have been forsaken.

Whip skeletons, not slaves! There is no bigger threat to our glorious union than flying skeletons.

Just this once, I’ll allow you to dissect the irony yourself. And no, I don’t even mean people still upset at the failure of a one-hundred-forty year old movement of armed defiance they haven’t the slightest grasp of the meaning behind complaining about crybabies.

I’m not certain what this says –but don’t worry, I’m pretty sure it’s something to do with rationalizing committing adultery with a poorly drawn horse you put makeup on– I just think the amount of reading required exceeds the maximum amount that is considered rebellious.

All right, very right, men have asserted themselves. What do the ladies think? Hopefully they can stand up for their own rights, maybe add a touch of class to the proceedings and remind us all of the famous Southern Hospitality that

Uhhhhhhhhhhh…

hhhhhhhhhhhhhh……

I’ve seen some ugly shirts, and these fortunately don’t get printed until somebody orders one. I actually think the Confederate flag is kind of pretty and more aesthetically balanced than its competitor, but I don’t believe that’s high, or even present among anyone else’s concerns here.


I’m fascinated by the idea that Southern Mom and Southern Bitch receive the exact same treatment.

I’m hardly surprised, though. Here’s something really special:

If you mess with my wife
I can forgive you.
If you mess with my truck or dogs,
I’ll shoot you!
             -COONHUNTER

Seckshual objectification and misogyny/willingness to be objectified and misogyny’ed, mortal violence as adjudicator of minorest grievances, pride in one’s own laziness outside that category, inexplicable love for the scariest dogs and scarierest recording artists…
I can’t help noticing that the least pleasant people, regardless of their race type, have very much in common. Why can’t they get along?

There is, as far as I know, no way to weave a sterilization agent directly into a 90-10 cotton/poly blend. But we can dream.