There’s a reason they named a malt liquor after the thing.
It’s true. First impressions are mucho importanto. And when you’re a stranger walking into a roadhouse packed with ne’er-do-wells and skullduggerists, you’re gonna need to make it known real quick that you are not the type be trifled with. So when the biggest, nastiest motorcycle enthusiast you have ever seen steps up to you with piece of chain in his hand and asks you just what you think you’re doing in there, you’re going to have to look him dead in the eye, point to the cabinet in the corner, and proclaim, “I wanna challenge you to a game of Ms. Pac-Man.”
This is going to catch him off guard. “I… I don’t have any quarters.”
Smirk a little, then say, “Don’t worry, Nancy. I’ve got you covered.” This is your chance. Unzip that hoodie of yours and reveal this shirt. Listen for the audible gasp. The entire bar will be hypnotized in fear as they stare in wide-eyed horror at the cobra on the front. Act like you don’t notice. Reach into your pocket then and let a few coins spill to the ground. Don’t pick them up. Grab his hand and shove the quarters into his hand. “Now, let’s gobble some pills. You first.”
The entire roadhouse will gather around the game as the biker slips a coin into the slot. “You know, I haven’t played this in a while,” he’ll explain sheepishly.
“Excuses don’t chomp ghosts, Mildred. Now, PLAY.”
All eyes will be on Big & Beefy as he attempts to clear the first board. With as much indifference as you can muster, declare that you are going to get a drink. Slip out of the crowd and stride right the heck out of that bar, mister, and step on the freakin’ gas before they know you’re gone. You may be out some quarters, but at least you still have your face.
Wear this shirt: to the COBRA Recruitment Center.
Don’t wear this shirt: to Dr. Jones’ archaeology class. He is known to have a phobia.
This shirt tells the world: “Three Wolves? Wooter, please.”
We call this color: Slithering Black
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