Checked this place out in person (IRL for you Internet snobs) when I was in Portland last week and it rocks.
A faithful reproduction of a 1940’s-era British military officer model
Japanese right hand military-grade twill developed exclusively for RRL. Authentic 12-stitch-per-inch topstitching. Genuine melamine buttons. Waistband lined with Zimbabwean cotton. Unique hand-applied raised belt loop…
(Source: thegreatestmedicine)
My friend draws robots. Here he is drawing robots on the Internet.
On a bike
Strap the awkward helmet on, kick the starter and go!
Baremelon Blog: Buzzing with Matt Q. Spangler -
My robot drawing friend talking about the robots he draws.
Matt! Thanks so much for taking time out to talk to Baremelon! To start with, can you tell us a little about yourself?
Sure! Thank you for asking me, it is quite cool to be interviewed all the way from Dubai!
I was born in San Diego, California, in a hippie beach town called Leucadia, where…
The Chronicles of Jim and George
Jim and George are winners. They are survivors. They’re the type you want to have around when the nukes have gone off and the zombies start invading. I know this because I’ve been with them from the beginning. Jim and George want to live.
George is an aspiring Super Beefsteak Tomato plant. Jim is an eager bell pepper. Both strive to soak up as much water, sunlight and nutrients as possible. They’re also both damn determined. My ambitions got the best of me a couple months ago and I tried to grow a bunch of plants from seeds. Of 20 or so planted, 5 sprouted and only 2 have managed to sprout leaves and not look like un-dead zombie vegetable plants.
Jim and George are strong. They understand survival of the fittest. Learn the lesson Jim and George can teach you. Don’t die.
[video]
New shoes Friday.
Bonus: there is a lot of brown in this picture.
GPOYW - Tuesday haircut edition
Requiem for a denim head.
This is not a cry for help.
I’m in control.
I know my limits.
Sitting in health class.
16 years old.
Beasting with 3,000 posts to my name.
bigwilliesteelo92
Teachers tried to warn me.
Fuck you.
I don’t have a problem.
You MADD, son?
Mothers Against Denim Debate.
Bought my first 14oz off some shady sufu kid.
Gave it to me dirt cheap.
APC.
The gateway denim.
It was fun at first.
Just fucking around with my friends.
Seeing how crazy we could get our wallet fades without our rents finding out.
One night my mom found my stash when she was cleaning.
Some dope proxy ish.
She flipped the fuck out and washed them before I could stop her.
Six months and $200 gone just like that.
My friends lost interest.
To them it was just about cool stacks and fades to go with their tees and box snapbacks.
But I was hooked.
It took more and more to get that same feeling.
Started getting into some heavier shit.
16oz.
21oz.
32oz.
Getting so fucked up.
Getting so faded.
Jeans so stiff.
They were the only things keeping me on my feet.
Eyes bloodshot with selvage lines.
Shit got bad.
The night terrors.
Waking up in a cold sweat.
Sheets dyed with indigo.
One night my bros found me.
Curled up in the gutter.
Rubbing sandpaper all over myself.
Screaming.
Into the darkness.
MOMOTARO!
They saw the honeycombs on my legs.
Tried to talk to me about addiction.
But I don’t have a problem.
Fuck an intervention.
Stop calling my brothers and sisters.
I call my dick my pussy.
My crotch got so many whiskers.