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Completely unedited, this is a real shirt they sell.
When I was a kid, I was, like many of you, forced to wear whatever my parents bought for me. My budget was far more limited back then, and I didn't have a lot of choices when it came to fashion. (That's how I rationalize it to myself, at least.) Every morning, my mother would lay out my clothes, and I was forced to wear them, despite the ridicule of my classmates, who, honestly, were all too traumatized wearing their own awful clothes to even notice. I don't remember all the awful things they made me wear, but I have put together a collection of the five worst garments from my youth, the elements of my ten-year-old-life that could guarantee a shitty day before the school bus even came over the hill and into view. Let's begin.
Big Dogs
When I was a kid, we had a cat named Chloe. We didn't have any big dogs. Not even one. However, my mother thought it would be acceptable to send me to school in a "BIG DOGS" shirt that would signify I was either a member of some wild pack or at least the owner of a kennel. The worst thing about Big Dogs shirts were the embarrassing, pseudo-macho bullshit statements they had sprawled across them in vulgar fonts and colors. Stuff like "I AM THE BIG DOG!" and "If you can't play with the Big Dogs, STAY OFF THE FIELD!" Yea, that will really instill confidence in a runny nosed crybaby from a broken home who gets anxiety stomach aches every day worrying about the apocalypse and tornados in December.
HOBIE
I think the thing that bothers me the most about HOBIE is that it's a hybrid between HOBO and HOMO with an even fruiter ending. It didn't help that it was a yellow shirt with a surfer on it. Because I definitely looked like a surfer, being a 10 year old from Illinois. Obviously, right? .
Hypercolor
Who knew the bugle boy was black?
Hypercolor wasn't necessarily, like, unfashionable. It's just that it gave strangers a reason to touch you. Seriously, whose idea was this? My version of the shirt was the worst, though. It wasn't the traditional hypercolor shirt that, no matter where you touched the shirt, it changed color. This shirt had a guy on it in a suit, and when you rubbed the guy, his clothing came off so he was wearing short sleeves and a tshirt. Because, you know, why wouldn't they make that into a shirt? I can't really imagine what my mother was thinking while purchasing this for me. "Christmas is coming up, and I know Elliot would love something that will make every asshole kid want to fondle his sensitive nipples during P.E. class." Thanks Mom!
Bugle Boy
I don't really know if Bugle Boy is the worst brand, per se, from my childhood. But I do recall one absolutely dreadful Bugle Boy shirt I had. It was white, I think it had a picture of James Dean (way to be current) on it, and it said, and I am not making this up,
"BUGLE BOY is collectively cool clothing."
What does that even MEAN? I'll tell you what it means. It means Mom had better do a thorough job of cleaning Elliot's room if she wants to see that shirt ever again. (Under the toy chest, behind the stuffed animals). Seriously, all the other kids got to wear San Francisco 49ers t-shirts and Darkwing Duck tanks and there I am, standing behind the backstop, trying to keep my packet of Fun Fruits over that terrible line of copy that someone presented as a joke. "Let's see if we can get anyone to actually buy this one!" I don't know who the Bugle Boy was, but I certainly hope he burned to death in a helicopter crash.
Tag actually ripped from my shirt, 1989.
BUM Equipment
I saved the best for last. I'm certain you all remember this one. BUM equipment was, for some reason, wildly popular in the late 80's and early 90's. It's like one of those fashions that came over from France but was completely unacceptable here, yet our mom's thought it made us look "sharp." Did it, mom? Did it really? I think the worst thing about BUM was that everyone had that one asshole uncle that always had to remark about it, whenever you walked in the room. "WHAT ARE YA? A BUM!?" Then he would laugh with your cretin cousins as they coughed on their Misty Brand cigarettes, sending you huffing to the bathroom to cry into a towel. Seriously, BUM Equipment was created by sadists simply for the amusement of sex offenders.
What did I learn from my childhood? A lot. Life isn't fair. Life is pain. Run away from bullies as fast as you can. Alcohol solves problems. But more than that, I learned that it's easy to embarrass your kids, even if you mean well. So mom, I know you were only doing your best, and I forgive you. As for me, I've made a pact to myself that my children will be able to wear whatever they want. And who knows, maybe when I have kids of my own, Bugle Boy will be cool again. I know of one shirt in particular that would look good on Elliot Jr. I'm sure it's exactly where I left it.
Anyone else remember the Bugle Boy commercial where the hot bitch drives up and asks him if those are Bugle Boy jeans he's wearing? Great ad.
Remember the brands "Big Johnson" and "No Fear"? We get it man, you are really hung and unafraid. Now go down there on the fucking punt team and try to make a play or something.
Posts: 4276 Rank: 5 Joined:
2/27/2007
Location:
Ventura, CA
Posted: 9/15/2008 2:00:50 PM
I.O.U cardigan? Check Random turtleneck under the cardigan? Check. Leather Z Cavaricci pants? Check. Merry Go Round Zubaz? Check. Cross Colors jacket (even though I am not a jig)? Check.
Posts: 4276 Rank: 5 Joined:
2/27/2007
Location:
Ventura, CA
Posted: 9/15/2008 2:11:51 PM
You wanna know who annoy the hell out of me? People who make a big deal out of making sure that you know that a tomato is not a vegetable and is, IN FACT, a fruit.
That dish was something else. She was the dish from friday's story that ordered champagne though. Still looks like a size 0 at 30, pass the courvoisier.
What can I say? A gorgeous blonde on the OU dance team that is fun and bright with legs more flexible than Heather Mills' ethics had me thinking Mrs. Vertigo.
Tonight, as you pick up the remains from Hurricane Ike with your evil fiancee', I will pour out a little Dom Perignon in my box as I watch the Cowboys kick the shit out of Philly with Jerry Jones, Jessica Simpson, and my 19 year old girlfriend. Next case.
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