A champion of the commentariat, Cube, (who ironically exists in only two dimensions) brings us word that not only has Snake T-shirt not been relegated to the storage unit with the Izods and the short shorts, but is still in the shirt rotation!
First off: congratulations, Snake T-shirt. Simply surviving this long is a miracle in the garment world. Other people might ask if there were not multiple snake t-shirts, but not me. I know there’s only one Snake T-shirt.
It couldn’t have been easy: Bobby demands a lot from himself, and even more from his shirts. Blood, sweat, tears? That’s a monday morning for Bobby’s closet. They’re not absorbing your mortal sweat in your dribs and drabs: Bobby’s shirts have to handle a Niagara Falls of chemical-and-quinoa infused perspiration that would choke a moose. (And not just a normal moose: a moose that was particularly good at swallowing things. A porn star moose. Mercedes Moossse.)
Are you finished?
The extra “s” is for “sucking moose cock like a dirty moose whore.”
What about the other extra “s?”
Could you get back to whatever it is you were doing?
I was being proud of a shirt.
You need to start dating.
Also, Bobby’s arms look awesome-sauce.
Men or women: at this point it does not matter. You need to take some of this out on someone other than these nice people.