I wouldn’t want anybody spraining a retina trying to decipher the masochistically minuscule red text at the bottom of this absolute head-scratcher, so I’ll transcribe it (sic) for you.
THE RIDE IN MEMORY OF ALL THOSE
WHO FORGOTT TO LOOK BOTH LEFT AND RIGHT.
AND TO ALL THOSE THAT DID! JUST KEEP WALKING…
AS WE WILL KEEP ROCKING THE INTERSECTIONS
OF TEE CITY.
So, putting all the disparate elements of this design together – and feeling like Sherlock Holmes staring at a table laid out with several pieces of apparently incongruous but abstractly connected evidence – I have eventually arrived at the following harrowing conclusions:
This T-shirt fake-commemorates a made-up event that ran, annually, for six years, between 1978 and 1984, before it was presumably banned owing to widespread public outrage. Said event involved “Dare Drivers” barrelling down “26th Street” with a deliberate lack of due care and attention, often resulting in them ploughing into crowds of pedestrians, leaving behind ghoulish piles of twisted metal and eviscerated flesh (as depicted on the spectral illustration behind the main text).
Those killed were then ‘commemorated’ by the following year’s carnage-filled Dare Drive, which generated yet more deaths, which were then commemorated by the following year’s Dare Drive, and so on and so on, until 1984, when the city’s residents finally decided – after six years of sociopathic automotive slaughter – that enough was enough.
Can that be right? Can it? Like the Koran or the Mona Lisa’s smile, this T-shirt is surely open to an almost infinite number of interpretations. Furrow-browed, elbow-patched, coffee-breathed scholars will be poring over this bad boy for decades.
Just as San Francisco has a Department of Water, a Department of Public Health and a Department of Public Works, it also has a Department of Athletics, which is called upon to deal with the city’s frequent athlete infestations and outbreaks of triple-jumping.
1976 (or “Seventy Six”, if you’re numerically dyslexic) was, of course, the year that hurdles pox broke out in Ashbury Heights. A lot of good people hurt their shins and fell on their faces that winter. Let us never forget.
This is actually part of a set that includes stick-on arm bruises, a hammer to knock your front teeth out with and an apocalyptic crystal-meth habit.
Thanks to Helen Amazing
Well now, this is a new development: New York and Chicago, traditionally fierce rivals in the fake-souvenir-garment racket (and also, of course, the frozen-pizza racket) have obviously put aside their differences and joined forces, in order to ruthlessly dominate the global nonsensical T-shirt trade.
How long before the West Coast contingent wants ‘in’ on this all-powerful new cabal of banality, and we see the first “New York & Chicago & California 1976 Sports Team” T-shirts coming through? Then it’ll be Miami, then Hawaii will get involved…
I’d like to see T-shirt designers be a little more imaginative with their meaningless locations – howsabout one that reads “Kabul & Bognor Regis & The Moons Of Jupiter”? It’d give the impression that you’ve just been on one helluva holiday.
Thanks to smelltherage
Well if you can’t even be faffed to write out “university” in full then I can’t be bothered to
Ahhh, Pine Ridge Point. Can’t you just picture the swaying trees, the cosy cabins, the rocky, rugged beauty of it all? Well, don’t go booking any flights just yet, because unfortunately – much like the idyllic Casdia Reef – it’s a big blazing bonfire of made-up bollocks. As, for that matter, is Sacksonville.
(North Carolina is, obviously, for real: the Topman designer in question clearly managed to reign in their rampant lust for deity-like power before it escalated into fabricating entire US states).
It begs the question: across the Atlantic, are American designers concocting fake souvenir garments emblazoned with fictional British landmarks? Teatime Castle in Shropdonchester, maybe, or Lake Toodlepip near Pigeon-under-Mimsy? I honestly do hope so.
Woah there. This is real weapons-grade stuff, so if you could all just step behind the screen while I don my hermetically-sealed suit, grab my giant tweezers, and carefully – veeerrry carefully – place this under the microscope for closer analysis…
It’s a helluva lot to take in at once. Let’s try and break it down to its base elements.
“Ibiza. Ibiza. Now, that’s something to do with music, isn’t it? But is it ‘rave’ or ‘rock’? Tell you what, I’ll stick both on there. Best put ‘rock’ as the prominent one though, that seems the more likely option.” Ahhh… This close.
This translates as “first flight” – in Portuguese. Sod it: Portugal, Spain – all the same thing, innit? Donkeys and sunshine and moustachioed widows, all that lark. What are you, the Lonely Planet or summink?
The one undeniably accurate thing about the entire garment. Yes, Ibiza is a place, and yes, that is how you spell it.
Spanish for “United States”. Now, I’m no geography expert, and I don’t actually have a world atlas to hand, but nevertheless…
You’ve lost me.
So there we have it. Absolutely textbook. Hats are very much off.