Braindead Shithead
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
In honor of finally getting rid of that damn shirt...
What is "that damn shirt", you might ask?
I'll explain.
Back in the day, when I was like 18, I bought me some shirts at Jade Mountain Music, this kick-ass little independent music store in Valdez, the only one I might add, which sadly is no longer there.
Anyway, that's where the majority of my paychecks went before I discovered cigarettes, and where I learnt of the magic that is the special order. And where I learned how Gary Numan spelled his last name.
So, one day I sees this shirt. It is the coolest of the cool shirts.
It is Dead Kennedys.
It is Too Drunk To Fuck.
It is a size large.
Now, while I usually went for extra-larges, I liked my shirts a bit loose, a large might work, all things considered.
Sadly, though, this was not one of those size larges. I don't remember what was wrong with the fit at the time, but probably something to do with bad suctioning around my hip region, and perhaps a too-faithful outlining of what belly I had back then (Oh, dear god, to have that belly back again...sigh.).
Anyway, this shirt was too cool to just get rid of. Though there were kick-ass folks working at the thrift store in town, and I know it would have gone to a good home, I decided differently for this shirt.
I decided it needed to go to a home of my own choosing. A home that was worthy. Someone who would love the shirt like I loved it, would wear the shirt, and, most importantly, actually fucking knew who the Dead Kennedys were.
There were some close calls. I probably could have given it a kick-ass home this last winter, had I properly thought about it before hand. I.E., remembered it.
But I finally, not only have a home for the shirt, I have an address to send the shirt to.
Sure, it'll be a little bit big on him, but his credentials are impeccable. Loves DK. Loves the song. And, most importantly, will wear the shirt.
I should mention? This shirt has travelled everywhere I've gone since I purchased it. Mostly in this magnificant shirt protection case. AKA Ziploc, gallon size.
That's right, this fucking thing even went to Maine and back with me last summer, simply because of the chances of getting rid of it.
Now? Now it will be leaving me August 1st. And thus ends my 9 year (yes, nine freaking YEARS!) quest to find the perfect owner for that damn shirt.
Hmm...
Though he refuses to wear a dress, he puts on my shoes of his own volition.
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