There are so many miraculous stories coming out of New Orleans in the wake of the recent hurricane. People escaped the rising flood waters by climbing on to their rooftops. Rescue workers arrived in helicopters. After the women showed them their tits, they were given beads and allowed on board. We salute you New Orleans, for sticking to your principles in the face of adversity.
[Live New Shirts - All New, All the Time]
We have five new shirts this week. Just like our fans, they're all winners. If the thought of a pair of giant shoes, slick with blood and greasepaint, is enough to make you giggle; we have the shirt for you. We also have a shirt for those of you who enjoy the sweet smell of success (and by success I mean vagina). Plus, shirts for cripples and other things we find amusing.
All of our new shirts are here:
If you're an AOL user, or unable to click the link above, copy and paste it into your browser.
[I Pimped Your Ride, and Your Sister]
Ever since Aaron was poisoned, Mtv has been begging to put his house on "Cribs". But since Aaron lives in a heavily fortified bunker in Caracas, they decided to pass. So, they came crawling to me, the sweet Sister who happens to be second in command.
I love Mtv Cribs because it lets regular people see how sad and desperate their lives are. They get to see mansions and wealth they will never achieve. I've always felt Mtv should do a show where they go to the slums of Cite Soleil, Mumbai, and Bangalore. That way people could feel good about their crappy rundown homes.
But I digress.
When the Mtv crew came to my house I was hoping they would send superstar VJ John Sencio. But apparently he's moved on to infomercials selling food rehydrators, and transvestite workout tapes. I'm just kidding. He actually works in my stable, and no I don't own any horses.
Instead, Mtv sent one of those new darling, interchangeable hosts of indeterminate age, sex, and national origin. They were very sweet but overly hip. After the third unwarranted use of the term "crunked", I ended up beating him/her to death with a tire iron. I don't know if they'll show it in the episode because just as I landed the killing blow, my boob slipped out of my halter top. We all had a good laugh.
My house is kind of like the Playboy mansion, but with hotter chicks. And unlike Hef, I don't need to be lead by the hand around the grounds in a stupor. I also don't spend my days drooling, dressed in a tattered bathrobe loosely slung over a pair of soiled Depends. I don't allow girls with breast implants on my property. If they wander on, their implants are forcibly removed and nailed to the wall as a warning to the next bimbo. When they show this wall on '"Cribs" it's so covered with implants, it looks like a sheet of bubble wrap.
The tour of the kitchen is unremarkable since my fridge is almost empty. That's because I prefer to have all of my food prepared fresh. Specifically, I want to watch it die before I eat it. Nothing makes a meal more memorable than thinking about that moment, the look on the animal's face as the cold blade touches their neck for the first time. Never has a piece of veal tasted so sweet. I love my eggs really fresh, so my staff has to try and coax the hens to lay while dangling them over a pot of boiling water. Sometimes I end up with hardboiled eggs, and sometimes it turns out to be chicken soup. Either way it's hard to beat.
The Mtv crew was surprised I didn't have bottles of Cristal in my fridge, but suitably impressed that I do use it in my bidet. We filmed a lot of footage in my bedroom which apparently can only be legally broadcast in Thailand. I guess they were disappointed by my garage and my 1989 Ford Escort, in spite of the horn which plays, "When The Levee Breaks" and the fact that it sports a killer set of rims.
In the end, they offered me my own reality show but I think I'm going to pass. They thought it would be funny to show the kids getting off the buses at my slave labor factories and realizing their trip wasn't really sponsored by the Fresh Air fund.
I do want to do an episode of Punk'd that will feature Ashton Kutcher sucking off Diddy for a gram of coke, while Demi is lead around in just heels and a dog collar to service his posse. I know it doesn't sound like much of a prank, but I already have the footage so it seems like a shame not to use it?
[Your Hate Mail is my Bake Sale]
----- Original Message -----
From: MAHDI B.
Sent: Monday, August 29, 2005 10:47 PM
Subject: ban this please
i would like to share my concern about one of the shirts you might be selling, i have no problem with most of the shirts you have they don't hurt the people when come to common things in life. But when i got to the shirt with the religious book koran being said to be a toilet paper you have gone over board, please make all efforts to ban it please, if you need many people to wright you letters i will make a big effort to get you mail.
please stop selling
thank you in advance
(Editor's Note: I would like to see a ban on letters from people who don't speak English. If you posses the basic literacy, please feel free to right me a letter in whatever your native tongue might be. I'm sure it will make more sense to me than this one does. Maybe the root of your problem is that while I'm sure your native tongue has 50 words for the particular type of sand caked on your ball sack, it probably doesn't have any that translate to freedom or liberty. I am going to keep selling this shirt because shirts that make fun of the Koran are what made this country great. Along with democracy, liberty and some other stuff that I don't remember. And the best part is that your haste to be polite, you have thanked me in advance. You can't take that back, sucker. So, you're welcome, and in your face!)
----- Original Message -----
Sent: Friday, August 26, 2005 11:56 PM
your shirts are mostly DISGUSTING!!!!!! Why would people buy them, wear them, even THINK about wearing them in public? GROSS!
(Editor's Note: Our shirts are not mostly disgusting. Those of our shirts which are disgusting, are completely, and unredeemable so. You seem like a really stupid person to me. The rare thoughts in your head must get so lonely. Most of them probably die of loneliness. The ones that don't die are really too small and feeble to be out by themselves. You should wait until you're a little smarter before commenting on things you clearly don't understand. Until then, I suggest you go in the kitchen and drink everything under the sink.)
----- Original Message -----
From: "Jack F."
Sent: Sunday, August 21, 2005 6:36 PM
Subject: Violence over your homophobic Queere tshirt
Shame on you.
This morning at an omelette restaurant in Santa Rosa, California, there was trouble because of some hick (with a gold crucifix around his neck) who was wearing your hateful "Nothing Runs Like a Queere" t-shirt. Not only did this upset the many LGBT customers, it also disturbed a young female African-American server who feared that your "N-Word" t-shirt could not be far behind.
Straight customers, staff, and owner were shocked and embarrassed that your t-shirt depicts a graphic of violence as well as a stereotype of gay men as effeminate--which is not at all true of 90% of gay men who could kick the ass of the yahoo wearing the t-shirt, but who have enough civilized respect not to.
Please do not sell this "Nothing Runs Like a Queere" t-shirt. It broke my parents' hearts to see such obvious homophobia as a threat to their gay children's safety.
How funny would it be if the staff of www.tshirthell.com had to "run away"?
(Editor's Note: I don't understand what the subject line of this email refers to. The only violence even suggested in the story is what you claim an angry, mob of butch gay men might do to someone wearing a funny t-shirt. And where was the threat to this poor sweet African American waitress? She was afraid of another t-shirt that she thought this man might have at home in his laundry? Was he going to come back and strangle her with it, or does she suffer from some rare phobia about static cling? As for the LGBT customers, which I assume means they were enjoying lettuce, guacamole, bacon, and tomato omelets, I'm not sure why they are being singled out but their breakfast sounds delicious. I think your parents' hearts were broken when they first realized you were such a douchebag. The shirt you mention is not meant for gay people, or straight people, or skittish African American females. It is for anyone with a sense of humor. You're clearly a bottom, but I don't mean as a homosexual. I mean on the rungs of the ladder of humanity.
P.S. If you'd like to buy our N-Word shirt, it's super funny and available
----- Original Message -----
From: "Rachel T"
Sent: Friday, August 19, 2005 4:57 AM
Am a very poor Mother who has saved up for the new Harry Potter book to read during the long hours I am up with my baby in the night, I have just started the book when I clicked on you website and saw the Dumbledore t-shirt, am gutted, it's ruined!
Still, I'm sure this is the effect you wanted...so enjoy at my expense.
(Editor's Note: I assure you that was not the intended effect. The intended effect was that you would buy the shirt, wear the shirt, and ruin the book for many people. I don't make a dime ruining it this way. But how can knowing one tiny part of the story really ruin the whole book? Isn't it about wizards in high school? Don't they party and get wasted on shots of Everclear mixed with eye of newt? Don't they fuck each other with wands and broomsticks? If you were reading 600 pages just to find out that one thing, than I really did save you a lot of time and you clearly owe me a debt of gratitude. Now when you're up at night you can spend your time trying to figure out how to keep your kid from ending up a half-witted semen depository like you.)
[My Only Friend, the End]
I want to publicly apologize for shooting Suge Knight in the leg the other night. In truth, I was aiming for that skinny bitch Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas. But when Kanye West lifted my skirt and stuck his tongue up my ass, I lurched forward and the gun went off prematurely. Not unlike Kanye himself.
See You Later Masturbators