Shirt Stains: Undie Stains
Gird your loins with these band-themed underpants.
There comes a time in every megahuge band’s career that they must tread the trail blazed by KISS, the golden gods of unnecessary merchandise. Lo, to keep the money piling in, you must emblazon your name on every piece of useless garbage that will soon choke our streams and top off our landfills. If everyone already owns your albums, t-shirts, posters, action figures, key fobs, and coffins, how else can you make a buck? Enter: the undies. Though another person will never actually see you in your underwear (I am of course, talking directly to you and no one else), it is essential to gird your loins with fresh fabrics every morn’. It is with this logic that bands opt to print their band name on a seventy-five cent pair of Hanes and sell ’em to superfans for twenty bucks. Hopefully, in the astronomically small chance that another human chooses to see you in your Y-fronts, they’re too distracted by your weird birthmark to notice the death core logo on your shorts.
In the course of writing this blog post, I conducted many, many fruitless and/or shockingly NSFW Google queries to find the undergarments presented below. Notably absent, were fur-lined Manowar skivvies, and shockingly, Pantera thongs. C’mon Vinnie, that’s a lay-up if I’ve ever seen one. Just sell them at The Clubhouse, my dude.
Godsmackin’ dat Ass
I can picture the scene: you’re out for a quiet night of chili-cheez nachos and Bud Ice at your local demolition derby when you see her from the corner of your eye; a comely lass with dark blue eyeshadow, Looney Tunes sweatshirt, and a Pall Mall menthol dangling from her pouty lips. “EY”, she wheezes in your ear, “Yinz wanna git outta here, go somewheres where there ain’t no cars blowin’ up?” From the back of your Toyota Tercel, you embrace amorously, peeling of her pink sweatpants to reveal these hard rawkin’ underpants and a tribal butt tattoo. You black out from passion and also drugs. You awake in an empty parking lot, covered in empty Coors cans, your bitchin’ Tercel long gone. Was it all but a dream? Or were you enchanted by… Voodoo?
Great news Tech Death Thursday fans! If you enjoy the widdly diddly wankery of tech death, you can now put it directly on your genitals! I can hear you drooling through the computer screen, so here’s your link to buy these Fallujah underpants for yourself
or for your significant other.
I’m glad that an etsy store owner has decided to make these Burzum panties. This little piece of cloth serves as an excellent warning that you have somehow missed many, many red flags that the wearer of these underpants is either a nazi-sympathizer or, even worse, a fan of boring eurosynth music.
On one hand, I appreciate that Agoraphobic Nosebleed has inverted the often sexist nature of bands only printing women’s underwear. On the other hand, the model in these underpants makes it abundantly clear that unless you’re cut up like a Roman god, men should maybe avoid wearing briefs lest they look like children. Someone get this kid some clothes and a Capri Sun.
Whitesnak– OOOH wait, I get it now. Gross.
Hey check it out, I found your mom’s panties.