The Moose in the Closet: The Moose’s Closet: The Tease and Other Fucked-Up Shirts

(It's funny how you can realize how good something really is even after experiencing it for years - over the past week I've listened to nothing but Sam Cooke, it seems, and he just sort of became one of my favorite artists of all time. The man is so fucking good.)

During November I’m participating in National Novel Writing Month. Instead of comic book plugging I’ll be linking comic sites, blogs, artists, publishers and writers I dig and I encourage you to go check them out, have some fun, try something new, whatever. Today’s link is:

Near Mint Heroes

If you're up to the challenge, feel free to read my NaNoWriMo novel right here.

Story time…

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You may not believe this without a picture (which I don’t have) but I actually owned the worst shirt ever made. Now, for some of you, the worst shirt ever made instantly evokes visions of “F.B.I.: Female Body Inspector” or the Tasmanian Devil with dreadlocks on a shirt that proudly says “Atlanta, GA”. I will not discredit those shirts – those are awful shirts – but they can’t even hold a candle to the worst shirt ever made.

I don’t know what possessed me to buy it. This was way back when I was eleven, some of you may recall I was hooking-up with a sixteen-year-old after lying to her about my age (being tall rocks). I think I just wanted to wear some “adult” clothes and when I was at Model’s, foraging through their sale rack, I must have somehow convinced myself that a shirt I found was worth the two-bucks they were charging for it and can be classified as “adult”.

So I bought it. Dropped my two dollars and sixteen cents on the counter and walked out with that bitch, ready to impress my lady friend with my fly-gear.

Now I’ve gotten horrible shirts before. Bootleg Batman and Bart Simpson shirts that looked like they were drawn on by a five year old graced my dresser. I had this one Batman shirt that was made out of that puffy t-shirt material that a) looked retarded and b) fell apart the first time I wore it. I had a Bart Simpson shirt where he was riding a skateboard and saying, “Don’t have cow, man.” It’s bad enough to try to pass a bootleg off but when there’s a grammatical error on it kids in the schoolyard will eat you up.

And then there were the novelty shirts. I was the proud owner of a t-shirt that said, in humongous letters, “Hey, Pee-Wee! Button your fly!” There was the airbrushed Wolverine shirt that I begged my father to get me one day in the Staten Island Mall. It looked really nice if you’re into Airbrushed T-shirts. And if you’re into airbrushed t-shirts you’re most likely an idiot. And how can I forget my Flaming Lips shirt that I got during Lollapalooza 1993 (they played the second stage). Olive green, an attractive color to begin with, and a nice big picture of pink flowers on the front. Didn’t even say “Flaming Lips” on it. No-one even knew who the Flaming Lips where and whenever I wore that shirt all I’d hear is, “Dude, why the fuck are you wearing a pink flower shirt?”

All horrible shirts in their own way but this shirt, the worst shirt ever made…

You know those netted shirts? The ones that, well, they look like a big fucking net? Let’s start there. Imagine a really baggy netted shirt, ok? Now imagine it tapering on my waste, arms and neck so it basically looks like this puffy-netted shirt.

Now imagine that shirt in BRIGHT FUCKING YELLOW.

If you can picture that monstrosity, you are picturing what the worst shirt ever made looks like.

I have no pictures of it because I only wore it once before throwing it out. You’d think I would have realized how horrible the shirt was before putting it on and wearing it out but remember, please, this was the guy that wore The Coat for an entire winter.

I put The Shirt on, grabbed my skateboard, and made my way to President Street to hang with my people and see my lady. She’s sitting on a stoop, talking to some people, when I make my way up to her – conversation instantly stops. I give a hello, feeling a little awkward, cross my arms across my chest and try to ignore the stares.

Finally my lady breaks the ice. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

I should have played it cool. I should have started laughing, as if this was some big joke, and hoped that they would have started laughing with me. That’s what I should have done. Instead I asked, “You don’t like the shirt?”

To which she responds, “You look like an idiot.”

I skated home and threw that shirt out, obviously.

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The Moose’s Closet: The Tease and Other Fucked-Up Shirts

Monday, November 07, 2005

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