Sen. Ben Sasse tweeted that selling dirty jeans signals the end of the American experiment. Mike Rowe describes the dirty jeans as “a costume for wealthy people who see work as ironic.”  When-clothes-don’t-make-the-man

Wegmann is more sympathetic. He says:

The dirty jeans reflect a shift in the yuppie psyche, an attempt to regain a lost masculine ideal of hard work…

Those that know me are confused. They are thinking; he hasn’t gone off on anybody yet. Those jeans represent all sorts of fodder for his ire. Those that know me well are thinking, BOHICA! Run, save yourselves, screw the wife and kids if they can’t keep up!

I see an opportunity here that is ripe for exploitation. Returning vets have got their manly man badge. The badge is invisible but is constantly on display in the way they carry themselves.  Their sense of duty and honor this is reflected in the way they live their lives. The precious snowflakes who were too scared, physically or psychologically unfit, or are just plain cowards feel left out.

So I thought I would offer them a ground floor opportunity to level the playing field. These items are geared towards the liberal, the coward, the person who would put a COEXIST bumper sticker on his car. It is the mark of a person who will lie, cheat, and steal just to get along. It signifies that the bearer has no scruples, nothing they hold dear, they will bend whichever way the wind blows and never make a stand, pride may apply to lions but certainly not them. For all their righteousness these individuals know something is missing. They all long to be the hero in their tale. Props help in the telling.

I was a cop for almost thirty years. I spent fifteen of those years working narcotics. I have participated in thousands of high-risk raids and enforcement actions. I have looked at the ceiling of an ambulance a couple of times, been shot at and missed, shit on and hit. I have followed a stiff dick into places I’d be afraid to take a SWAT team. I am living proof the God protects drunks and fools. I don’t know whether it was bravery, noisiness, or being told don’t that carried me into situations, that in retrospect, I would have preferred to avoid. But once at the dance, you gotta dance with the one what brung ya. It was the most fun a cop can have with his clothes on!

My idea is for a new, used clothing line called “Where Angels Fear to Tread.” I rooted around in the garage and found my old go bag. It contained everything that was indispensable in my old life, now never missed. I encourage manly men to sort through their stuff; maybe we can start an eBay site. Anyways from the depths of my go bag, here’s my offering:

When somebody calls the police they want them NOW, here are jockey shorts worn while on duty. While responding to a call, I entered a corner posted for 30 mph; I was doing 70 mph. That explains the piss stained jockey shorts, not by carelessness but piss stained due to situational stress.

Whenever one deals with firearms provision should be made to mitigate the effects of an accidental discharge.

Approximately 90% of the time when we hit a residence, on a search warrant we find guns. Fortunately, less that 1% of the time the gun happened to be close at hand. In this instance, the gun was in the crook’s hand and he intended to use it. At the last possible moment, he discovered we were the police. I watched the tension leave his trigger finger, the gun was six inches from my face. I redirected the gun and took it away from the crook. No shots were fired but an accidental discharge occurred anyway.

I know you’ve read this, seen the pictures and now your berating me for being inappropriate. With me what you see is what you get. If I show up at your house with dirt stained jeans you can be assured the dirt got there via my efforts. I am not gonna claim salt of the earth hard work status, it is just as likely falling down drunk status. However, the dirt got there it was through my own efforts and not because some designer convinced me it was cool.

It is the same with the jockeys I have for sale. These stains weren’t the result of a sneeze or the poor excuse, “I thought it was a fart.” The stains are the result of an individual seeing their potential demise. Purchase them, slip them on, and feel the crustiness and appreciate the full experience of confronting death.

I am not claiming any credit for valor or bravery. I did what needed to be done. I didn’t run and hide or wait for somebody else to handle it. I ran with the big dogs sometimes I was leading the pack, sometimes the view always seemed the same. Through your sacrifice, heroism, hard work, dedication to duty you made it out the other side. Won’t you donate a piece of clothing that reflects the struggle so that individuals with no pride, limited ability, marginal social skills, currently enrolled in a pseudo-science program like psychology, sociology, gender studies or political science can feel good about themselves?

I never understood feeding coins into a slot machine or waiting on the roll of the dice. You want to gamble? Come with me to a dope deal with$1500 disguised to look like $15,000. What could possibly go wrong?