Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Damn Right To Bare Arms

bobby old snake shirt

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.


  1. You’re welcome. You said you had questions so here’s the whole story. Went to a show. Noticed the shirt. Vaguely remembered it from the 80/90s. Was somewhat disappointed that it wasn’t the tamalpais chiefs/Madonna/pink alligator.

    That’s pretty much it except that my wife thought it was strange that I noticed. Like that somehow reflects on me.

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