What we have here is a computer generated image of a shirt design that I am currently sitting on a couple hundred of. What this means to you is that if you send me some cash, and I’ll send you a shirt.
You see, the drugs don’t buy themselves, and try as I might, I can only pimp my wife out at the truck stop so many times before she drops in value.
In other news, Captain Dave is in Texas, plotting his launch into politics, and by that I mean sitting under a bridge huffing paint. Cheever is quietly sobbing and wishing for a swift death, Bear is digging bindles of heroin out of his poo, Sov is still tall, Zeke is still blind, and all the rest of the Evil clan are patiently waiting in line for their turn on top of Mia. Same as it ever was, same as it ever was.
Please send us pictures of tits. That’s about it for headlines.
Oh, yeah, and the other thing is, we’ve just learned that our factory will belch out our jerseys into the sky and they’ll land at HQ on APRIL FIRST. No, this is not an April Fool’s joke. The joke will be when you have sack spuzz rubbed on your collar before we package it and send it to you.
There’s your headline, here’s your picture.
Due to years of unhealthy living, Captain Dave went down hard this weekend and detailed the results in an email.
“Crashed bad on Friday night. Broke some teeth, broke a bike, damn near broke a shoulder and some ribs.. Missed a curb. My own stupid fucking fault.
So, as far as the kits go, the orders got pushed to mid April. It’s “busy season” so even though we have our artwork and shit submitted we have to wait two weeks just to get the proofs up. I’m pissed.”
If you would like to vent your frustration, send all threats to firstname.lastname@example.org. He’s obviously down for the count, so even if you piss him off to the point that he would fight you, he currently is physically incapable, so fire at will.
Sorry for the lag. We’re dicks.