T-Shirt Rack Diving

One of my favorite racks in the thrift shop holds t-shirts. You never know if you're going to find six hot pink shirts commemorating the 2004 Johnson Family Reunion or a handful of brewery tees retired after a single night on a bar wench's torso.

Here are a few memorable finds.

Found this one in Size XL:

Might start by sharing that fourth hot dog.

And this creamsicle beauty:

Looks like somebody skimped on the translation job here.

And then this head-scratcher, merging two seemingly dissimilar elements:

"Business in the front, party in the back" sounds like a typical mob business.

There's really no telling what you'll find on the rack...

Hot Diggity Dog!

Yeah, so this joke has been run into the ground...

How to beg and how to play dead.

And yet i'm posting it.

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Because I found this:

Comes with a bowl for ketchup or the clotted blood of your enemies.

Oops, I did it again.

But which is luckiest?

Terrorism 101

If you're a fan of cavity searches and staring contests with federal agents, grab this shirt befofe heading to the airport.

(Short post because I'm posting guiltily while hanging with friends.)

The Power of Three

Are you trying to boss me around or just propositioning me? (Or, dare I say...both???)

I wish I'd bought this, if just to see the reaction on a friend's face when (s)he opened the gift box.

I...love...springtime!

(Before he was a clueless gamer, CoCo poked fun at games Late at Night.)

I find that tangents are often best placed before the meat of a blog post, before the soup bowls are empty and the dinner guests have switched forks. Other times, I like a nice peppering of non sequiturs throughout a meal. How will I season this piece today? I suppose you'll have to sit down and suffer through the whole thing -- unless you'd rather skip dinner and spend your evening in your room, naughty readers.

[insert segue here]

So spring seems to have done that thing that tightly coiled wires are known for. It's time for husbands to mow the lawn and for wives to lounge around in the sun. As much as I sometimes wish the traditional gender roles still held, they do not. I am as likely to be pushing the Honda around the backyard as the Mister.

Much to our neighbors' dismay, we are putting off our yard's first haircut as long as humanly possible. It's not that we're attached to the weeds littering the lawn (a la a mother reluctant to cut her baby boy's curls), but more a mixture of unaligned schedules and a seeming inability to complete the lawncare quest in single-player mode. It would definitely be easier to get the job done if we had one of these:

I can see it now...just a few chords and your yard is perfectly groomed. Try a powerful guitar riff if you're not concerned with slaughtering the rosebushes; pluck out a classical tune for a more polished look. Grab Edward Scissorhands for backup and the two of you could do wonders to The Cure.

With all the hard work done outside, you're now free to play with your tools.

After you're through, wash your hands. Then check this out.

I found this very lightly-used toy table at Goodwill, suggesting that kids are just as freaked out by it as I am. I mean, the Cookie Monster Wrench is one thing...

Yes!

But what the hell happened to Ernie?

Not what I planned, but I owe you something

The post title gives you as much as you need for an introduction. Now it's time to dig into some of the photos I've been hoarding all this time. Don't blame me if it's not funny; I didn't post them before for good reason (maybe). Today...you get six photos, for the six paragraphs in the previous words-only post. Let's see what I can come up with after exerting my writing talents so much, so recently.

Not quite sure why I'm taking up space with the above photo. I found this shirt on the rack at DEAL$ (a store I just made up because I can't remember where I found this shirt and for some reason I've decided to make a big deal out of it rather than just moving on with the sentence that I began two lines ago) and my mind flashed back to my high school band nerd days. Ah, the good ol' days...when I had my first taste of unpopularity. Nah, despite the plumes and itchy uniforms I had a strange affinity for marching around on a field and tooting into a horn (at least one of these activities I still participate in). For some reason, I enjoyed spending 12 straight hours full of repeat signs with a bunch of sweaty band nerds. I even convinced my parents to buy me a "Clarinets Rock" shirt or something...which I donned for the same event at which it was purchased, never to wear it again. I suppose it ended up on a rack at a DEAL$ (same parenthetical note applies) in Indiana and became someone's work shirt for sweaty days behind a lawnmower or paintbrush or something. These days, my clarinet sits in its case begging to be played (which, looking back several sentences, suggests that I habitually march around a football field to entertain myself) and the BAND in my life is actually one (or two or three) in which my husband plays the drumset. I have taken my act offstage, playing roadie when I join the gang at their gigs. Maybe one day I'll do something else with music (aside from singing to karaoke) but for now, I'm content to just move on to the next photo.

You bet it's a camper's paradise. Dam!

So there's a nuance here...a "Memorial" is not a "Commemorative" thing, per se... but I just don't know what else you would do for fun at Donner State Park.

A very clever tennis t-shirt idea, but also a bit depressing. I definitely should have bought this one. (Maybe next time I visit Deal$...)

Yes, I'm pretty cool. And yes, I work Home Depot. But no, I did not have any intention of telling the world about it on my off-days.

I'm a pretty big fan of The Sing-Off, NBC's acapella competition that I thought had been cancelled until I did a quick Google search a minute ago to verify that I hyphenated correctly. I will have to leave you now to get a full understanding of the situation because, otherwise, I might just have to continue writing with exclamatory punctuation rather than letters. Have fun with yourselves (or others if they're handy). Toodles.

I'll take one of each (for kindling)!

It was half-off day (a.k.a Tuesday) at the local thrift store, so I took a stroll. Rather than hoard these photos and hope for enough inspiration to compose a post on each, I've opted to dump them here.

Football fields in the Appalachians are twice as long as those in flatter parts of the country. This makes it considerably tougher for the athletes but much easier to tell who's dominating the game -- not to mention who's got the best calf muscles!

There are many reasons why I'd avoid wrestling one pirate (el razón número uno: anal rape), but TWO pirates?? I'd rather stay away from dual Blackbeards, thank you.

 What do you MEAN they meant "duels"? Only someone with a handful of concussions in their medical history would mix up those two...oh wait.

In other news, did Blizzard approve the use of those orc silhouettes?

Do kids love Publix as much as this t-shirt claims or is this just an impulse item targeting pedophiles in the aisles?

It's really a bitch when the ball goes out of bounds.

Noah really knows how to please a woman.

Noah really knows how to please a sow.

1. Cael is not a misspelling.

2. If you want to survive Penn State athletics, you'd BETTER be good at wrestling.

Do a 5K to gauge your fitness and prove your persistence. Run to support a charity. But I can think of better ways to celebrate than sweating on a dirt path with my family. I do believe I'm one of those people by the grill, thank you.

 

I was thinking something along these lines.

Or maybe an allusion to this guy.

Get in shape or you're dead.

1. I only see ONE peanut there. What proof do I have there are more? Is the crowned peanut featured on this red shirt the leader of the [insert legume-appropriate collective noun]? 

2. Your peanuts aren't famous just because you say so. I'm going to need more proof than a flashy red shirt. Maybe an endorsement from a movie star (genre TBA) would help.

I can understand wanting to dress up like a superhero, but I'm pretty sure Superman never had a backpack with his emblem on it (so as not to reveal his secret identity) and I'm 83% sure that Clark Kent prefers fanny-packs.

Looking for an outfit that will guarantee you'll remain single for another Valentine's Day? Try this cardigan, which features four familiar insects with a lot of heart! *sparkly smile*

Alright friends, that's it for today's photo dump. Let me know what you think of the different format & perhaps I'll make a regular thing out of it. Until next time, innocent bystanders.

Inane Insanity

I need some help interpreting this shirt. What demographic was Ray-Ban shooting for here? It seems appropriate to organize a poll, given the upcoming Ukranian elections.

Take a look at your two candidates and their platforms.

I PRESENT CAMOUFLAGE SUNGLASSES!

You hear "camouflage" and expect a game of hide-and-go-seek in the rugged wilderness. Not so with me! I defy my purpose, choosing instead to embrace temples of Walmart patrons. 

Never hide when you were clearly designed to accompany a Nascar jacket!

NOW, CONSIDER COREY HART!

You're sure to stand out in the nightclub when your fashion accessory of choice serves no purpose. One-hit-wonders like myself have to take any attention they can get. And in case you're still not confused, check out a list of reasons that I wear sunglasses after the sun sets:
 
 So I can (so I can) watch you weave then breathe your story lines,

So I can (so I can) keep track of the visions in my eyes,
So I can (so I can) forget my name while you collect your claim,

and
So I can (so I can) see the light that's right before my eyes.

You got it made with the guy in shades, oh-no!

Since comments boost my ego much more than email notifications, I am going to refrain from embedding a poll here. Act accordingly if you wish to -- as the youngsters say -- rock the vote. 

Cute shirt?

Aww, what a cute shirt. (Aren't stick figures the cutest???)

But the words on the shirt don't seem to jive with the clip-art below them. It's not immediately apparent that the children belong on this shirt. I mean, what could they possibly have to do with Purdue Lab School?

A few options:

• Any child can aspire to a career in science!
• Discoveries made in Purdue's Lab School benefit all children!
• Children (or more appropriately, their guardians) can make a quick buck by becoming test subjects in Purdue's Lab School! Afraid of needles and nauseating chemicals? Don't worry -- that'll pass quickly and you'll be smiling in no time! (Side effects may vary.)

As it turns out, the creator of this T-shirt shortened the formal name of Purdue's facility....which "is a place where young children and families learn and grow. Actively engaging the world around them, each day children, teachers, parents, researchers, and university students play and work together, creating a safe, loving community of discovery" (check it).

The unabridged name, while more difficult for screen printers to handle (not to mention more expensive to produce), is definitely less disconcerting when paired with a graphic of two stick children:

I was torn between Were-Beast and Potland typefaces for obvious reasons. I find either would be appropriate. (As would the acquisition of PhotoShop -- if only to justify the 1790 fonts on my computer.)

Onward!

A Criminal Offense in Most States

I was digging through a bin of 25¢ tees and came across quite a few shirts for school-related organizations. Most were extra-curricular -- sports teams, cheer squads, nerd teams (I can say this because I was a member of Odyssey of the Mind in elementary school, Battle of the Books in middle school, and Academic Superbowl throughout high school). But there were a few shirts that simply celebrated a group of students enrolled in the same class. Enter the Lollipops.

It seems to me that lollipops exist for one purpose:

Licking. 

Sure, crafters will try to disguise these treats as ghosts during October, but a tissue and set of googly-eyes cannot change what lies beneath:

Hard candy on a stick 

(best accessed by tongue).

I won't go into a discussion of things mounted on a stick, as Jeff Dunham has made lots of money off of this joke. (Though I invite you to continue his theme in the comments section.) 

I will simply count the number of lollipops on this shirt -- 22 -- and consider how many licks it takes to get the center of...

A few things to note (discuss at your leisure): 

• The image depicts the teacher as a Blow-pop (or is it a Tootsie Roll Pop?) and the students as mere Dum-Dums. While I can agree that the Tootsie and Charms variants are a definite step up from Spangler's (yes, I did some Google-work), I am not completely clear on what the gum/Tootsie Roll in the center of Mrs. Litke-Smith represents. Are we to expect Dum-Dums to one day become bigger, better lollipops?
• Urban Dictionary has something to add. The third definition offers a sentence to demonstrate proper usage of the term:

Li'l Wayne: I'll let you lick a lollipop.
Small Child: Really?!?

This shirt needs to be burned.

Meow?

It probably doesn't help anything that it's 10:30PM ... or that Blood Sugar Sex Magic is playing right now, but the above shirt makes abso-fucking-lutely no fucking sense.

Let's start with the easiest to explain: kitten in a box. Maybe your cat whored around the neighborhood and you ended up with a litter of kittens you don't need. So you're trying to give the kittens away. "Free kittens!" You might shout to passing cars from your driveway. (Because that wouldn't be weird or anything. I mean, what did people do before Craiglist?)

But you figure, while you're trying to discard unwanted pets in a way that ASPCA wouldn't send Sarah McLachlan to your door to protest, why not get rid of that German Shepherd head you had prepared by a taxidermist after Fluffy died -- because who wouldn't give their massive dog a frou-frou name; screw with conventions and upset others' expectations (my chihuahua's middle name is "Balls Deep").Why your taxidermist opted to give it a pre-recorded cat voice I couldn't tell you (a big Billy Bass fan?) but that shit just ups the value of that stuffed head. Shout to those honking cars louder, I say!

But you've got a challenge in the third box: a voice from the depths but no confirmation that your assumptions are correct. Your mind says "cat" but your heart thinks there could be something else in this box that will change the world. Do you offer this box to the world or pull it inside yourself and coo with joy?

Pander your goods to your heart's content, but when the shoppers come, how are you going to explain the words which form the theme of this fledgling market? I mean, there's no punctuation to guide you. What could it mean?!

FLY PAINTED FEATHERS! As in, hey those are some supafly feathers you have!

FLY, PAINTED FEATHERS! A poet who's trying too hard.

FLY-PAINTED FEATHERS I imagine these feathers are supaexpensive. Have they devised some way of training flies to paint things? Are there human artists that use flies in place of paintbrushes?

FLY: PAINTED FEATHERS! A repetition of the first idea, but that colon looks so fancy. (A phrase only used once before in a rapey colonoscopist's office.)

The only conclusions I can come to with the closing of this post are:

• Emily needs caffeine (or sleep)
•  I should have bought that crazy t-shirt

Give me a W! Give me a T! Give me an F!

So I realize this shirt is pretty ordinary and there's really nothing humorous about it at all -- except for maybe the fact that it's heather gray which is in a totally different world than the "grey" I'm accustomed to. (Ambiguously pretentious?) What's humorous is the first thought to pop into my head (which is eternally*preserved in its file name on my phone):

But her team sucks; I cheer for the Southern Rapscallions.jpg

I can see her now: the cheer mom for NORTHERN HIGH screaming in the stands for the Rap's. That daughter is going to be emotionally stunted.


Okay, I get it. Here I am laughing at something that only makes sense in my own head.  I get it!

...

I guess you had to be there.

*eternity, in this case, equating to the few days it takes me to delete the photo from my phone

Who doesn't like a good how-to?

I was just saying the other day that criminals have it pretty rough.* I mean, they have to commit the crime and then evade the police. Phew! Help one out today by donning this amazing shirt. 

 
This image is located on the back of the shirt and is perfect viewing material for would-be muggers and rapists approaching from the rear. Not only do they get information on proper application of the technique; they also get a history lesson! I'm sure they'll thank your unconscious body (or corpse, depending "on the mood of the supplier") for the tips as they slink off into the night. 
  This shirt might be adapted for "Bro" wear aficionados -- just add some rhinestones and a gaudy design on the front panel. I admit that the technique may be difficult if the wearer suffers from Tree Trunk Neck syndrome, but surely it's worth the effort to thin the herd. #justsayin
*I never said this.

You have HOW MANY grandmothers?!?

If I've learned anything from Arnold Schwarzenegger and Michael Keaton*, it's that clones confuse everything. Enter THIS SHIRT, perfect for keeping up with your grandma clones.

Other possible interpretations: your grandma was born in 1910 (in which case, let's hope immortality runs in the family), your grandpa has been married 10 times, or your grandmother decided to enroll in the local university and graduated in 2010.

I still say the first option is most logical.

*If you need a review of how difficult keeping up with clones can be, watch Battlestar Galactica now. It'll be the best two weeks of your life (average time to watch the whole series, as it will quickly climb to the top of your list of priorities, overtaking your other interests/duties). The reboot is my drug of choice, but check out the original if you prefer.

Gotta catch 'em all (or maybe just the snitch)

Short post tonight, as I worked a 14-hour day (in exchange for a third day off). Found this tee in Kokomo during a recent trip to visit friends and family.

I'm not quite sure why the people hosting the Quidditch benefit couldn't spring for a double-sided shirt so the sponsorship crap could be on the back rather than juxtaposed with the cool logo. Can't have everything, I suppose (unless you're writing Harry Potter fanfiction, in which case Harry can have Ginny and Cho and Hermione and Ron). 

Fun fact: According to the ever-credible HP-Wiki, Mr. Potter was born on July 31, 1980 (32?!?). Wonder how many little wizards he and Ginny have running around these days. Surely fanfiction.net can help you hypothesize (though wade in those waters carefully, lest you encounter some inexplicable swinging between thirty-somethings whose magical implements are more-often-than-not euphemisms for their naughty bits).

After sleeping in and having a greasy breakfast, I plan to stop by a thrift store or two. Hope to come back with more than I did at the Woodstock Goodwill (the most noteworthy thing I found was a Kanye West shirt, if that tells you anything). 

My extensive research (read: two minutes on Google) led me to Purdue University, the sponsor of this event. I see no indication that the benefit became an annual activity, but there is still a *.pdf if you want to register. Be sure to do so by April 16th so you secure yourself an awesome t-shirt (I wonder what that will look like)! 

I also found the IQA ... International Quidditch Association, "a 501(c)(3) nonprofit dedicated to governing the sport of quidditch and inspiring young people to lead physically active and socially engaged lives." Really?? Turns out there are tons of teams in existence and they have games and playoffs and tournaments...

Awesome! (For somebody. Meanwhile, my apathy remains.)