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Misfits Skull T Shirt

misfits skull t shirt
    t shirt
  • A short-sleeved casual top, generally made of cotton, having the shape of a T when spread out flat
  • jersey: a close-fitting pullover shirt
  • A T-shirt (T shirt or tee) is a shirt which is pulled on over the head to cover most of a person's torso. A T-shirt is usually buttonless and collarless, with a round neck and short sleeves.
  • T Shirt is a 1976 album by Loudon Wainwright III. Unlike his earlier records, this (and the subsequent 'Final Exam') saw Wainwright adopt a full blown rock band (Slowtrain) - though there are acoustic songs on T-Shirt, including a talking blues.
  • the bony skeleton of the head of vertebrates
  • A framework of bone or cartilage enclosing the brain of a vertebrate; the skeleton of a person's or animal's head
  • A person's head or brain
  • The skull is a bony structure in the head of many animals that supports the structures of the face and protects the brain from injury.
  • Cartoon Network (abbreviated CN, corporately known as The Cartoon Network, Inc.) is an American cable television network created by Turner Broadcasting which primarily shows animated programming. The original American channel began broadcasting on October 1, 1992 at 12:00 PM.
misfits skull t shirt - Misfits 'Fiend
Misfits 'Fiend Skull' 2-sided black t-shirt (X-Large)
Misfits 'Fiend Skull' 2-sided black t-shirt (X-Large)
Misfits black t-shirt is printed with the 'fiend skull' design on the front, in a dark grey, which fades into the black shirt. The 'tonal' image almost disappears into the background, with a shadow effect. On the back, their signature 'Misfits' logo is printed in a dark grey outline on the upper back. The Misfits are an American rock band from New Jersey, founded in 1977. They were recognized as the originators of horror punk, blending punk rock and other musical influences with horror film themes and imagery. The Misfits' skull logo first appeared on the 'Horror Business' single, based on a poster for 'The Crimson Ghost'. Celebrate the great music of Misfits, 'Fiend Skull', with this fabulous shirt.

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A MISADVENTURE IN ART SCHOOL (Mass-marketed non-conformity and synthetic posturing rebelliousness that is truly worthy of a hearty laugh)
A MISADVENTURE IN ART SCHOOL (Mass-marketed non-conformity and synthetic posturing rebelliousness that is truly worthy of a hearty laugh)
By Victor Pross “ART IS ABOUT DECONSTRUCTION!” Tammy cried out, bursting like a cork. “This is an art school, not a syndicated newspaper! This is not a work of art!” Tammy’s whole body was animated with anger. The student’s turned, as if in reaction to gunfire and beheld a frizzled red head, her checks turning the color of her cherry mane. Her name was Tammy White, a first year art student. “Look at this,” she yelped, pointing to a stack of paintings and drawings of strangely morphed caricatures of celebrities and skewered social stereotypes that greatly exaggerated classes of people from all walks of life. She then spun around unleashing her anger onto a lone figure who stood at his easel in mid brush stroke, creating the wildly diverse caricatures. “This is a serious art school and he is turning it to a second grade school!” Tammy sputtered to nobody in particular. The lone figure was me. I was secluded in a corner of the class room painting. My concentrated focus was momentarily distracted by the outburst. A little head head-turn, the rise of an eye-brow, and then a nod of indifferent acknowledgement was all I cared to offer. I returned to my painting as if nothing had happened. Tammy’s appearance was as colourful as the paints she used: her hair was died, part red and green, her eye-shadow a gloss blue. Her eyes were made luminous by the dark purple eyeliner and her bone-white skin was stretched over her skeleton like shrink wrap. Her penchant for tie-die t-shirts and olive green army jackets pleaded for attention. Tammy was not one to give up. “Look at that painting! What does he think he is doing?” I heard the first words of her rambling discourse but my mind dissolved into fog. By the time the diatribe ended, I addressed Tammy openly: “Anything you have to say to me doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference.” I said this without rancour. It was a statement of simple fact, spoken prosaically. From day one, Tammy took an instant dislike to me, referring to me as “the hick.” In a school saturated with mass-marketed nonconformity, I stood out because it was impossible to classify me. My hair style was that of James Dean, complete with his soulful look, and I was given to wearing leather jackets reminiscent of Brando in “The Wild One”. I was dated, at least in appearance. Or perhaps I was completely from a different planet. Tammy, too, stood out, but in an entirely different way than me. Her anger, her erratic behaviour raised a red flag in most people, even among those who were angry artist types. During her pubescent school years, Tammy White was trouble. At her high school proem, while other girls primed themselves before mirrors, Tammy sealed herself off in her room and listened to angst-ridden music indulging in self-mutilation. With a razor blade in hand she would carve parallel lines on her arms. A year later, she decided to attend art school to cure her malaise. In this cadre of self-appointed elitist students, I faced challenges other than mastering drawing and painting skills. While in high school, I saw art school as a light at the end of a dark adolescent tunnel. I had hoped to advance my skills, perhaps find new friendships and enjoy, finally, a sense of direction and meaning. But art school was just as alienating. The students were not versed in the language of “classical realism”—which I had read about---and to which I was attracted. They responded to my work, at first, with quiet amusement. Their gentle sarcasm turned to hostility. Nicknames were becoming contagious and I became known as “the hungry artist” ---a nickname that was pinned with scorn. It was my fault. When I first arrived at the school, I was asked what kind of an artist I was. I did not entirely understanding the question and answered “a Hungry Artist.” This was met with laughter and derision. Four months at the school, I began to wonder why I enrolled. This wasn’t a thought that came to full conscious awareness and it remained suppressed in the back of my mind. I was still hopeful that I would learn. I was attracted by the name of the school: The Advent-gurde Progressive Arts School. I didn’t know at the time of enrolment what “advent-gurde” meant, but the catchword “progressive” caught my attention. The school was a melting pot of scamps and roughs, inhabiting a gaggle of pasty geeks and faux lunatic poseurs, a variable compost of cultural caricatures: pretentious beatniks, gay fashion designers, livid lesbians, vegan hippies, neo-beats and deadbeats, art punks, art fags, art Goths and sullen-art introverts who considered learning how to draw or paint an enormous imposition. Every kid’s face was pierced with dozens of rings with smatterings of tattoos on their face or body. Among this motley crew of mongrels, as I mentioned, I stood out…by not standing out. I did not mingle with these kids, these apprentices of abstract culture. As far as I was concerned, each gum chewing, attention-challenged
Making The Tee Shirt 1
Making The Tee Shirt 1
First start of with a design.

I liked my stormtroopers with Kiss make up (i'm pretty sure I'm not the first to do that) but wanted another tee to give to a friend for his birthday. He likes metal/punk and so why not combine the to. Google provided the Misfits Skull, MS Paint provided four of them a couple of pens did the rest.

misfits skull t shirt