Hello friends! The White Guy Interpretation of the Mayan Apocalypse has passed. Christmas is over. Your wallet is bleeding all over your crotch, and no matter how many styptic pencils you apply nothing avails. Give into your vaporized bank account and snag one of our new t-shirts. You know you want to. You don’t know? Well shit, do it for me. I have gauze on my groin, and I could use the financial help. Hit the jump to check them out, then if you’re inclined buy them in the OL Store.
Dick Grayson, man. Dude spends years toiling away underneath the it-ain’t-ever-good-enough scowl of Bruce Wayne’s cowl. Then he finally gets to don the mantle for like, a solid six months before Bruce is all back from the time stream and shit. No sooner does Wayne get back from hanging out with the the Creation of Man and the Heat Death of the Universe does he just up and take back the Bat Suit. Oh, yeah, it’s cool, Bruce. Thanks for asking. No respect. None.
Tifa’s huge rack and Cloud’s huge sword. It isn’t science (or maybe it is?) why I got behind Final Fantasy VII back in the day. There was flowing breasts and enormous bladed phallic weapons to swing at objects of my desire destruction. My adolescent brain was careening on raw hormone. You see, I regularly destroyed compact discs for no apparent reason. More often than not, I’d crank open my Mortal Kombat II strategy guide and awkwardly rub my groin all over my carpet with odd feelings and gooey groin. This game brought together these two absurd occurrences, and wrapped it up with the emergent teenage sense of wonderment. As Cloud and his rag tag of condemnable terrorists rolled the fuck out of Midgar, the world opened up to them. I couldn’t help but feel the same fucking feeling, with friends getting their licenses and our own world map unfolding before our eyes. Granted, Cloud was saving the world (when not being some sort of eco-Jihadist piece of shit). I was getting fat off of Wendy’s chicken nuggets and cajoling friends into trying to buy porn for me. Cloud and me? Mutually assured bildungsroman.
Crack open a can of Perri-Air, pop in the newest instant-cassette, and enjoy the feeling of passing right by then. That’s right, everything that happens now is happening now. And as it happens you’re going to want to make sure to wear the sickest of all Spaceballs-themed tee shirts. Hell, I know that Lone Starr even keeps one packed in his suitcase labeled What I Need to Survive.
How do I know this? Simple – I figured out his luggage combination.
Head to the OL STORE and snag one of these fine shirts!
A new combatant has entered the battle royale that is the OL STORE!
He has PhDs in psychology and parapsychology. He’s the host of World of the Psychic. He thwarted Vigo the Carpathian’s plan to bring about the apocalypse. He defended New York City from a 50-foot marshmallow man, and five years later he piloted the Statue of Liberty. And when need be, he can show a prehistoric bitch how things’re done downtown.
He’s Dr. Peter Venkman and he crushes ass.
Head over to the OL STORE and snag the t-shirt that celebrates the paranormal promiscuity of Billy Murray’s greatest character!
Come one, come all! This day’s been in the making for longer than we’d like to admit, but it’s finally here! Today, we officially open the OL STORE!
We’ve taken the same overcaffeinated, slightly-delusional, fun-lovin’ panache we put into our posts and smeared it all over some t-shirts. The result? Nerd-culture t-shirts that’re bound to inspire conversation wherever you go – the supermarket checkout line, the watering hole of your choice, or your weekly D&D session.
Round One of the great OL STORE battle royale sees eight different designs climbin’ into the ring. Hit the jump to hyperspace, grab an ice-cold Pepsi, and check out our wares!