tshirt unicorn

The Office Recyclops T-Shirt

Dwight Schrute is as green as they come, at least insofar as his beet farm is concerned.  (You know.  Schrute Farms Beets: Locally grown, healthy growing practices, etc.)  And his initial idea for Recyclops was, as originally realized, brilliant.  Engaging.  Exciting.  Proactive.  Provocative.  PRO.

However, Dwight's enthusiasm dwindled, evidently, as the years progressed, and he was driven to alter Recyclops, which matched his feeling for the way in which those around him treated the notion of recycling and incorporating environmentally-conscious practices into their daily lives.  (That is, no one was into it.)

As a tribute to Dwight's latest incarnation of Recyclops, Tshirt Outlet has created a design worthy of any t-shirt in the land.  (Believe us.  We checked.)

Kind of totally rad, huh.

Zombie T-Shirts Make Beautiful Music IN THE NOT-SO-SECRET WAR ON ZOMBIES.

If you aren't Zombie-proof, this is the best way to become so.  Unless you're not among the potentially Zombie-proof-faithful, in which case, so sorry to point out that you aren't a believer in the not-myriad ways to protect yourself against having your delicious brain devoured in Zom-nom-nom fashion, because YOU ARE SORT OF TOTALLY SCREWED. 

Now that it's out there, and you're aware of your destiny as a Zombie horse-d'oeuvre -- would you like a tissue? -- it's time for the big Zombie-proof reveal:

 

But that's not all.  Oh, my, no.  We've got more zombie-protection devices in the form of soft, cozy cotton t-shirts made by the USA-based American Apparel.  Like this one, Zombies Want Me for My Brain:

 

Lastly, there's the Zombie Cadaver t-shirt, which is good for fooling Zombies into thinking you're already one of them.  A highly necessary procedure in the war against Zombies, AND IT'S COMING, if you didn't already know, which I'm pretty sure you didn't.  *shakes head*

 

The New Beer Prayer T-Shirt: Because GOD Told Us To.

The Beer Prayer:

Our Lager, Which art in barrels,
Hallowed be thy drink,
Thy will be drunk (I will be drunk),
At home as it is in the tavern
Give us this day our foamy head
And forgive us our spillage
As we forgive those who spill against us
And lead us not into incarceration
But deliver us from hangovers.
For thine is the beer, the bitter,
and the lager.

Barmen. 

 

A worthy prayer, we think.  A prayer befitting the beer-lovers amongst us. 

The beer prayer is the thing to say when it hits you that you could very well live in a world without beer.  (Though we tremble in horror at the thought.)  When you realize there may never have been a beer-Renaissance.  THAT HOPS MIGHT NEVER HAVE EXISTED.  That's when it's time to get down on your knees and praise beer.  Which is where this shirt comes to your aid; because, seriously, who has time to memorize anything, anymore?  (Never mind the outrageous amount of brain cells required.)

Breaking: Tshirt Outlet Has Relaunched Its Site! 20% Off Selected Items! Blatant Promotioning! Woot!

It's official.  After months of toil, Tshirt Outlet has produced a shiny, brand-spankin'-new look for 2010.  Our site is fresh, much easier to navigate, and did we mention, IT LOOKS FANTASTIC?  (It does.)  We're super-proud of how user-friendly we've made it, which can only mean you're going to like shopping there so much more than you did before.  We've created an abundance of new sub-categories, breaking out the designs into the exact-right location so you can find the funny t-shirt you need for the specific thing you have in mind.  (Which might be a gift, and which we totally support, because we think t-shirts make incredibly good gifts, and if you don't believe us, ask our moms, dads, wives, girlfriends, nieces, nephews, brothers, sisters, and other assorted friends, neighbors, and co-workers.) (And also our pets.  Which is weird.  We already know.)

Look for our continued roll-out of great new elements in the near future, things like our charity t-shirts category, where we'll be working with different designers and bloggers and contributing a portion of the proceeds to charity.  And our forthcoming launch of lines of shirts for some of your favorite bloggers/bloglebrities, which we realize is practically JUST LIKE like working with Robert Downey, Jr. + Scarlett Johanssen x Justin Bieber.  Practically.  (Which, unrelatedly, makes us feel icky, because is it just us, or is the word "bloglebrity" somehow eerily reminiscent of leprosy?  Because: ICK.  It's frustrating enough dwelling on celebrities' awesome lives without having to have related-yet-totally-unrelated leper images parading themselves around in your head, right?  RIIIIIGHT?  Thank.  You.)

So get on over to our FAINCY new page, and shop until your closet overfloweth and your wallet begs for mercy.  And to get you started, here's a code for 20% off all of our non-sale items that will run through Monday, April 26th:  RELAUNCH20.

We'll see you there!  Be there or be a leprous celebrity!  A lebrity!  (Lebebrity?)

St. Patrick's Day T-Shirts: They're Kind of Our Thing.

Tshirt Outlet has had a few whiz-bangers of t-shirt ideas in its time.  Not the least of which is the Irish Tuxedo tee - we did it first and THEN all of the copy-cat emulator-types came along and now it's one of those ubiquitous things you see on a t-shirt around St. Patty's Day.  Green?  Check.  Irish?  Check.  T-Shirt?  Check.  St.-Patty's-Fabulous?  Check, check, checkity-Irish-Day-check.

But lately we've been burning the midnight oil, and to be fair, while we've only been burning it at, like, noon, because, hi, do we LOOK like we're the kinda people who would work at midnight?, we've cooked up some straight HAWesome newnew fresh-fresh St. Patrick's Day t-shirt geeneyous.  (That's deliberately misspelled.  We're a lot of things, but we're not dubm.)

Geez.

So without further ado, the Irish funny T-Shirt newness, beginning with the shirt that treats the Irish ( in the mockery sense, so not so well, but because we're Irish, we can).  So This Irishman Walks Out of a Bar -- No, really, it can happen.

 

It's a pretty good one, we think.  And by pretty good, of course you can assume that means "totally CRAZY awesome."  We're humble, but not when it matters.  AND THIS MATTERS.

But, hey.  Maybe you're not into Irish sarcasm.  Fine.  How about your forthcoming Irish St. Paddy's pub crawl?  The one you'll be doing next week for who even knows how long?  Aren't you a little nervous at the thought of going it alone?  Going without the proper St. Patrick's Day pub crawl attire?  FOR THERE IS NO NEED, SAYETH THE TSHIRT OUTLET BLOG.  We have a t-shirt, dare we say THE t-shirt, for this important, possibly even pinnacle, moment in your life.  And this be that t-shirt:

 

And we're not through.  Because we couldn't walk away from this whole business without blowing the place up offering a girlified version.  Because womyn deserve t-shirts, too.  YO.

(It's cute and kinda fresh, but is in no way funky, for that is reserved for the bedrooms of teenage boys.  Given their propensity to ditch their funked-up socks all over the place.)

The girly St. Patrick's Day T-Shirt du jour, then, is this adorable, form-fitted tee, in green, because if you wanted to get pinched you could just ASK somebody to pinch you.  Right?  And it's kinda cheeky, but again, not an offer to be pinched.  Pinchers, YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.

Guidettes who heart Guidos? This t-shirt's for you.

It's hard to believe that with the span of the cultural shift MTV's Jersey Shore has created that there isn't an equally sizable explosion of t-shirts very specifically stating the Guidette love for their Guidos.  But that's where Tshirt Outlet comes riding in on wings of glory to SAVE THE INTERWEBS in its dearth of such a product.  We've got not one but TWO Guido-loving t-shirts, the first one being this design:

 

And the second Guido-love t-shirt design repruhsenting right ovah heah:

We're kind of awesome, which is why we've created these designs.  We know there are Guidettes and Guidas and girls who loves them some Guidos and we want to lend them a hand.  In the form of an "I heart Guidos" t-shirt. 

(After all, if they didn't have us, where would they buy their Jersey Shore club gear?  EXACTLY.)

Things I Found Before The Bloggess Mentioned Them.

Well, okay, it's just the one thing.  And she's probably already seen it.  But the fact of her having not POINTED to it on her blog or on twitter or on her sex-blog or on her advice column or ANYWHERE AT ALL is what I was referring to.  If she hasn't mentioned it yet, it's fair game.

(So help me, Jenny, if you have mentioned this already, I'm going to find you, and I'm going to BUY YOU ONE OF THESE TOOLS OF MAYHEM AND GARDENING USEFULNESS.

Just you wait and see if I don't.

I know.  You're right.  I won't.  I'm much too busy analyzing the disproportion of my gray hair to the size/number of my stomach folds and inciting them to a duel to bother seeking out the purchase of what is probably a HIGHly overpriced item that doesn't even function after you've installed the batteries wrong that first, crucial time, you know, the one where you've gotta leave the paper inside the body of the apparatus because otherwise all the settings won't work properly and instead what you're left with is one measly, weak setting that barely seems to --

I should stop now, shouldn't I.)

I need to just show you what I mean.

(Ripped ruthlessly and with nary a nanogram of compassion from the terrifically obscure site Wired, who ripped it in equally ruthless fashion from slightly-less-obscure kittyhell.com.)

 

It's breathtaking, non?  An explosive combination of cute-meets-tool-of-horror (which is probably more or less on par with the hello kitty vibrator, but that's kinda old-school because it went around in viral email form around nine or ten years ago, when everyone still used yahoo, so big WHOOP, hello kitty vibrator and NO, I wasn't referring to that when I was speaking in an aside to Jenny, The Bloggess, regarding batteries and insertion and oh, good lord, I think I just experienced a verbal orgasm. 

A thing I highly recommend.)

You know what else is cute-meets-horrific?  No.  You don't.  But you should.  And so I shall show you.

*starts digging under piles of folders*

*tumbleweed drifts aimlessly by*

*gang of tumbleweeds thunders past and proceeds to assault first, harmless tumbleweed who kind of resembles the meatball, only it's not called a meatball, it's a meatbox?  no.  meatload?  heh, no.  heh.  um.  hmmmm.  *taps finger to lips, recognizes interruption to interlude involving tumbleweed gang-bang, stops tapping*  MEATWAD.  yes.  um, so, tumbleweed badasses roll up on meatwad-ish tumbleweed, who's all cute and innocent, and bum-rush him.  poor meatwad-y tumbleweed.  let's name him.  let's name him T.Meaty.  makes him sound tougher.  maybe he'll have more confidence as a tumbleweed who doesn't look like all the other tumbleweeds, but who still goes on to have a successful tumbleweed career.  as a tumbleweed.  let's hug him and give him some snacks for the road.  g'bye, T.Meaty!  we lo-- we like you!  as a friend!  watches as T.Meaty rolls off, cheeky grin on his little, weedy face, while, without knowing, he carries a long span of toilet paper attached to his lower tumbleweed appendage(s?), which doesn't bode well for our hero*

*more tumbleweeds, but totally insipid ones who don't remind us of any adorably off-beat cartoon characters headed for ultimate disaster rolled in a fine coating of shenanigans*

HERE.  I WAS NOT STALLING.  LOOK.

Clockwork Mice T-Shirts.  Because I would never steer you wrong when it comes to being pressed into a state of freaked-out preshus.  Cute Overload?  Watch your backs.

(Not actually threatening the purveyors of Cute Overload.  Who would threaten people who give us that much cute?  Only a major asshole.  I am not that asshole.)

(I'm still kind of an asshole.  But I am not that asshole.)

(In the same way that that's not yogurt.)

Superbowl 44: Praise Breesus, The Saints, and Betty White.

We were just as impressed by the Google ad as the next guy mom Doritos hater, but, after taking a consensus, we decided that the runner-up in the best-ads category for Superbowl #44 should be awarded to the Letterman, Oprah and Leno mash-up.  It was uncomfortable and not a little strange.  Also, none of us were quite certain what was being advertised -- was it Letterman's show?  Oprah's?  Surely not Leno's.  C'mon.  It was on CBS, fer cripes' sake.  They weren't gonna sell time for the competing network's late-night offering.  (Unless CBS just feels *that* sorry for doddering, addled NBC, but why the hell would they?  Sense.  It doth not make any.  Our creative director guessed it was Leno's way of sticking his chin out - like what I did just there? - for NBC to notice and be unnerved by, you know, contractually and money-ily speaking.  Sounds likely.  Another possibility?  Oprah is going to bed them both.  An even potentialer potential scenario:  all three of them are aliens and are in the final stages of planning their takeover of the planet.  Will it be hostile?  Won't it?  WHO KNOWS.  One thing we do all know:  we won't be watching Leno to see whether he gives up any salient details regarding said takeover.  Uh-oh.  He could be doing any amount of potential chin-wagging, oh, yes, I just did TOO do that, and we'll be blithely unaware, eating ice cream and off-brand potato chips and all the time, the Leno alien-army will be on the verge of destroying us all.

Mm.  Ice cream.)

Alien takeover notwithstanding, we have to move onto more pressing matters, like HOW INSANELY SICK Brees is.  Sick = awesome, dunked in a bucket of liquid awesome, in this case.  Breesus, save ALL of us, please, won't you?  That fella was a dynamo on Sunday.  Well done, man.  (Alright.  I admit not watching much of the game and more busily savoring my very delicious beer, and ftr it was a local-brew from HUB, out of a hefty growler, the oh-so-tasty DOA.  HUB-five.)

But the most urgent point of this entry isn't about what Breesus would do, or the Letterman/Oprah/Leno threesome, nah.  It's a shrine to the BAD ASS of Sunday, and possibly THE BADDEST ASS OF ALL TIME: BETTY WHITE.  Step aside, The Situation, because BETTY WHITE may kill you with a random twitch in your direction.  She is simply. that. redenkulous.

And do you want to know the why and the how of the current Betty White phenom?  (Not merely a result of the hiccup-inspiring hilarity of the SB44 ad, which, btw, is here:)

Of course you do.  Lessee: she's suddenly being nominated by a group on facebook to guest-host SNL (which seems like a gimme, 'cause she's for sure got the chops, and is far more interesting to watch than, say, January Jones.  Nothing specifically against January, other than her utter inability to be funny on any level whatsoever.  And I say this after having experienced her on SNL as host.  Yes, I regret not drinking myself into a stupor instead, or at least sniffing glue and passing out).  Betty's also slated to feature in a new TV show on TVLand, "Hot in Cleveland." 

I. KNOW.

PREPARE for THE AWESOMENESS.

Jersey Shore: It's the New Style.

People are all over the map about their love of or loathing for the members of the crazy-wildly-popular TV show we've all heard of repeatedly (Jersey Shore, *ahem*).  There are even kids who are so obsessed as to imitate the looks that The Situation, Snooks, JWoww and Pauly D rock, and I do mean KIDS (yikes). 

But kids aren't the only ones reacting to the Jersey Shore phenomena; Cooper Anderson gets in on the two-cents-sharing act regarding the GTL ("Gym. Tanning. Laundry.") livin', as does the ENTIRE CABLE NETWORK CNN.  (That sound you just heard was my jaw shattering after it landed on my desktop.)  Serious.  It's been reported in more than place.  (I enjoy proof of such things.  It means I'm not delusional.  Mostly.) 

Hey.  You know what?  No judgement.  I'm sure the kids on Jersey Shore are just as deserving of seeking the answers to life's riddles in the cracks of the pavement in front of the Grammys and on Jay Leno's couch as the next hugely-yet-super-briefly-famous person.  I SAID, I'M SURE OF IT.  Just because you don't agree with me doesn't mean that'll stop me from eating this entire wheel of cheese I was recently given.  I LIKE CHEESE.  So what?  I also like champagne, and staring at people through the slits in their blinds when I'm pretending to walk my dog.  Does that mean I'm a bad person?  Does it?

Um, also, please don't tell anyone about that whole staring-through-blinds-at-people thingy.  It's not that I care if you do.  It's just, I don't feel like starting a trend.  And, see, I have respect for my fellow civilians.  I do.  For one thing, I only do it at night.  In the dark.  When no one will notice.  Because I'm compassionate (obviously).

So, uh, hey!  Look!  Another Jersey Shore news item!  Did you know that the good people who run the New York fashion week are vomiting thrilled at the thought of the Jersey Shore crew bum-rushing the front row of their show?  Furthermore, OMG, the house the kids lived in during the show's first season now rents for $25,000 a night and you have to bang the owner's wife.  Dude.  Kidding.  It only rents for $3,500 a night.  You still have to bang the owner's wife.  But only if you're serious about renting.  Still kidding.  You don't have to bang anyone.  All you have to do is stay in the joint for a few hours and you'll have acquired more sexually transmitted diseases than you could in a lifetime of banging skeevy Jersey Shore landlords' wives.  Which I believe automatically qualifies you to be on the show's third season.  As Snook's love interest.  (No, it doesn't matter whether you're male or female.)

Also!, it would appear that season 2 will be held on the pristine shores of Miami.  AND Snook's hiding a big, sexy stash of homemade Snook-starring porn and nude photos.  Well, no, but then again, COME ON.  Her favorite thing in the whole world is sucking on pickles while wearing a "porn-star in training" trucker cap.  (In pink.)

(Expect the porn vid/nekkid snaps to be the real deal.)  (But probably don't actually look at them.  Well, do, but plan for burned-retina-syndrome.)  (I don't think typical health insurance plans cover it.)

Mmmm. Delicious Groundhog. Uh, Day.

I haven't had groundhog since LAST Groundhog Day.  I like it grilled best, but I'll totally settle for the traditional roasted version.  You know.  With potatoes and carrots.  With a side of crazy.

So did he?  Did the great, ever-magical groundhog see his shadow or not today?  Because if he didn't, we're screwed.  That is, those of us who dwell in the overwarm, balmy Northwest part of the country are.  If you enjoy snow.  And recreational activities that are best performed on snow.  And -- snowballs. 

(Heh.  Snow. BALLS.)

(Heh.)

Anyway, that little furry PUNKsutawney PILL creature better have seen his shadow so we can have some actual winter up here in Oregon and Washington, or he will be my dinner.  Tonight.  I don't care if I have to blaze a trail to Pennsylvania on my bike.  I'll do it.  I will.

I will.