When a doo-rag just won't doo.....
As promised, my new line of t-shirts is nearly complete. The first out of the sweatshop will be my "Gang Affiliation" line. If you're proud of whom you're down with, show the world! If your gang isn't "represented" here, drop me a line. Custom orders are possible on a case-by-case basis.
These will be followed by "Memories of Democracy." Here's a sneak preview of the first in that series:
Enjoy!!
posted by Woof at 6:31 PM
7 Comments:
...and I thought my "kiss my boo-boo" shirt drew a lot of attention...I'll pass on the blood/crip shirts, before someone pops a cap in my ass (did I say that right?)
I'll take one of Ronald McBush, though.
Glad you saw the humor in this...I'm about to post a disclaimer.
DISCLAIMER: The street gang t-shirts are, in fact, a joke. I'm not sure where the idea came from, it was obviously from someplace a bit warped; maybe it was wishful thinking that at some point in history street gangs could become so relatively non-violent that two rival gang members could pass each other on the street with no greater amount of unfriendliness than a stereotypical Harley rider displays to a stereotypical sportbike rider (or vice versa). I dunno. The "better a sister in a whorehouse..." bit was stolen from a Harley-type shirt I saw years ago that said, "Better a sister in a whorehouse than a brother on a Japanese bike."
Two street gangs that come to mind easily for most midwesterners (a few of whom are most likely the only ones who might view this blog) are the Crips and Bloods, hence their use. I try to avoid them all.
Incidentally, I've only had one experience dealing with street gangs, despite living for years in Soutern California. Once upon a time, there were (at least) two major gangs in Oahu. They were Samoan, and the police called them the "blue rags" and the "red rags" because of their "doo-rags" (I'd never even heard of the Crips or the Bloods at this point in my delicate upbringing). I was on shore patrol one night, working with the Honolulu P.D. I was told that if there was a fight between the gangs, that I could feel free to "join in." To make a long story short, a fight did break out, and I joined in. I tackled the first guy I could reach and wrestled him to the ground. The last thought I had before he spun around and punched me in the face was, "this big guy's going down pretty easy..." Two or three milliseconds after getting punched, the "gang banger" said (loudly), "Get the f*** off me! I'm a cop!" He was the one undercover officer that my pal in the H.P.D. didn't tell me about.
What up, dog?
Like, maybe you should sell somma that $hit, ya herrr me?
Uh, but, seriously. Prolllllly not the the gang shirts...but your "Memories of Democracy" series sounds perfect for Cafe Press!
Ah man, I was going to put in an order for the East Side Floating Dandies, too. My gang will never be bad ass.
Chuckie, I think my 30-day free Photoshop trial is over--otherwise, I'd offer you a stylish tee that would have the West Siders crying with jealousy.
You were a Dandy, too? Awesome!
Oh yeah. I was going to be a Jet, but I didn't want to take five years worth of jazz tap classes and two years of interpretive dance.
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