Indestructible (mr.) T

I loves me a good T-shirt. Hell I'm even found of the shoddy ones. The love-affair began back in high school when I acquired a bright green T with a yellow lawnmower on it; above it the words: John Deere. It was a fucking awesome T.

Through the years I have gone through many a cotton/poly blend. Some of my favorites are: the white number with the face of Spanky from the Little Rascals on it; a canary-yellow shirt with blue writing I got in New Orleans (when the time came to discard this buddy I couldn't do it and it now lives inside my mandolin case as a shammy); the Dead shirt from that little Headshop in Pontaic that served as my uniform when I washed dishes until it literally disintegrated due to countless washings. I could could go on and on, but shan't. Instead please allow me to wax your upper-lip poetically (of course).

My most prized specimen ( at this point in time) is a blue T that I got when I signed on to bus tables at a local family eatery. Must have been 1995 or 96. This sucka is over 10 years old and it looks not a day over 3. No really. The logo of said eatery is plastered on the back and it looks pristine and new even after all these years. I'm not sure what PANTONE might call this shade of blue. Me I'd say its Navy and it makes me feel like a Sea Captain. That or a slightly balding middle-aged male wearing a vestige of his youth. Really depends on how much I've had to drink.