You Are What You Underwear

I’ve found the definitive t-shirt.
“Fuck you you fucking fuck” it says.
Isn’t that so true?

If you wear this t-shirt, nobody will bother you. People who see its innate, irrefutable truth will give you a knowing smile or approving nod. Those who avoid you reveal their shallow, cowardly nature. Perfect.

This is not a t-shirt for the timid. This t-shirt has Old Testament rigor without the prudishness. It is a proud First Amendment declaration of sovereignty and conviction. It is a consummately democratic t-shirt, one that can be worn by all creeds and races. By Bill O’Reilly or Osama Bin Laden alike. Paris Hilton has one, in rhinestones. It may not be for you, but trust that we know who you are, where you shop, the websites you visit and how you vote. We have your passcodes and pin numbers. Because we can.

If you understand the essence of “staying on message” you understand this t-shirt, but you also understand: t-shirt is the medium. The message and the media are specific and inviolate. Postcards, text messages, tattoos, bumper stickers or rubber stamps are all corrupted versions. A coffee mug is impertinent.

It is acceptable to wear it as an undershirt. Donald Trump’s staff does. Everybody at FEMA does. Tony Snow’s White House Press Corps wear them. There is one wiseass— from the Detroit Free Press, I think— who doesn’t. He’s got a really stupid shirt that says, “My t-shirt can kick your t-shirt’s ass.”

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