It's 0330 Sunday morning, and you are in formation. The freezing rain stings your neck, your body shivers and you burp shopette whiskey. You look left, right, rage in your eyes... Where is he? Where's the Blue Falcon? The buddy fucker that punched a cab driver? Lucky for him you are wearing your favorite shirt, a vintage style Blue Falcon tee from Inkfidel. The super-soft 50/50 poly-cotton blend snuggles against your skin like a thousand Afghan puppies, and the reinforced collar hugs your neck as if to say 'I am here for you, everything will be alright.' Feeling relaxed you decide to let the other guys clip his wings, you've still got some whiskey waiting at home.View full product details
We all know this guy: he steps out on patrol without a magazine. He can't find his NVGs. He has a pizza box full of cigarette butts under his bed. He married a stripper.
Now you can show your love for these shining examples of military bearing with the 8 Up Military t-shirt from Inkfidel!View full product details
The Jolly Private Diner's 'World Famous' Soup Sandwich. Guaranteed to be Ate Up!
Nothing says sloppy like a Soup Sandwich. Untied boot laces, crooked head gear, no magazine in their rifle....the list goes on and on. Usually these are Army or Marine Corps Privates, Air Force airmen or Navy sailors fresh out of training. They are the bane of their Drill instructors lives and they always end up in your platoon.
The soup sandwich vintage charcoal t-shirt captures that sloppiness in a way never quite seen before! Screen printed without a base layer for that faded and distressed look on high-quality American Apparel 50/50 poly/cotton blend tees. Inkfidel military and veteran t shirts are made in the U.S.A and made to last!
You open the door and a fly immediately lands on your left cheek. You don't even bother swatting, it's been 9 months now and you could care less. You inhale one last gulp of clean air and step into the 105 degree box. You set your baby wipes and magazine on the tiny shelf and look down at the muddy sandal prints framing either side of the seat. Squatters. You do your best to sanitize the area, clear the cliffhangers, and settle in for your morning glory. Beads of sweat roll down your face as you thumb through the tattered and abused pages of the platoon Maxim. 'No, no, maybe, no, hellllooooo beautiful' you mumble as you start to make your move. You are barely 20 seconds into 'reading' when somewhere off in the distance you hear a muffled boom. Perking up, you conduct a short halt, listening carefully, and then it happens. The round impacts just outside the motor pool, not 80 meters from your pleasure palace. Your first instinct is make a dash for the bunker, but you don't. This is your chance. The coveted Combat Jack, it's what separates the men from the boys, and by God, you are getting yours today. As the shells rain down it's hard to tell what's beating faster, your heart or your fist. Even the flies take cover as you race towards the finish, you've never felt so alive. As quickly as it began, the barrage comes to an end as both you and the insurgents are mission complete. Proudly, you step out of into the bright sun, puffing your chest as you strut back to the B-Hut, Maxim tucked neatly under your arm. Yes, you are now a card carrying member of Combat Jack's Gentleman's Club. We meet on Tuesdays for punch and pie.
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Screen printed on thick, durable American Apparel© pullover gray hoodies using a high-mesh screen for a worn, vintage, look. Made in the USA.
Guaranteed to be the most comfortable hoodie in your drawer. 100% money-back guarantee- if you are not completely satisfied with your purchase, simply email email@example.com or call 312-572-9346View full product details
You wipe the sweat from your brow with your unauthorized Oakley glove as the sun beats down on you through the soupy Iraqi haze. Sandstorm's coming, your mission will likely be canceled but your guys prep the truck anyway. Your load plan is immaculate, if you roll the only thing hitting someone in the head is a dusty can of Wild Tiger. Your PSG calls all of the TC's over to let you know that the 60 mortar guys are rolling with you, last minute frago from the Commander. 'CO wants extra rounds with those guys, so we need cross-load the extra crates'. You tell him your vic is full-up, same thing for all the other trucks. The PSG walks over to your new 'came here mid-deployment from West Point by way of Ranger School' cherry lieutenant to brief him on the situation, and before you can even comment to your wing-man about LT's sweet new mag-pulls you hear the hummingbird-like flutter of tiny wings at 1,000 bpm as they carry the friggin' Good Idea Fairy straight to the lieutenants ear. 'BOHICA' you tell your boy, 'grab the lube'. The Fairy whispers something, waves her wand and cracks LT across the back of the Kevlar with it. Without hesitation the LT lights up, yelling his instructions: 'Listen up! each truck needs to take a crate of mortars. Use ratchet straps to secure them to the front bumper between your fuel cans, and tie them down tight, we don't need these things falling off.' 'Do whaa?' you mumble to your buddy, but it's too late. The Fairy strikes again. Pucker-up buttercup, it's time to set sail.
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Screen printed on thick, durable American Apparel© 50/50 poly-cotton fleece zip hoodies using a high-mesh screen for a worn, vintage, look. Made in the USA.
Guaranteed to be the softest hoodie in your closet. 100% money-back guarantee- if you are not completely satisfied with your purchase, simply email firstname.lastname@example.org.
**We recommend ordering one size up on this hoodie*View full product details
Your fingers tremble as you range-walk past the ammo point towards the commo truck at the edge of the parking lot. The stillness of the crisp morning air broken only by the occasional crack of a rifle behind you and the crunching of the frozen ground beneath your boots. In the distance you see SFC Goings leaned against the front of his humvee, a cloud of steam rising from his tan paper cup of gritty coffee. You close the distance quickly, SGT Hernandez told you to be back ASAP. 'What's up Private?' SFC Goings asks as he chews on another sip. You snap to parade rest and do your best to relay the message you were given: 'Uh, Sergeant, I need a Pricky Seven and a can of Squelch Juice for our radios'. You exhale, relieved that you were able to remember the details of what you were sent to get. 'What did you call me?' SFC Goings asks. 'Sergeant?' you reply, your pucker factor rising from a very comfortable 1.4 to a concerning 4.6. 'Start pushing Mother F*****!' You immediately drop to the frosty earth and begin to knock 'em out, confused at how your perfect execution of the given order has gone awry. 'So I'm a Prick E-7? Eh, Private!?' SFC Goings hollers with a fresh square dangling from the corner of his mouth. At this moment you realize you've been had. Berghdal'd by SGT H. Led like a lamb to slaughter for the entertainment of the rest of the platoon who were no doubt mocking your struggle from back at lane 6. SFC Goings lectures you on the finer points of customs and courtesies as you knock them out on the frosty grass, and eventually telling you to 'recover' as he finishes his cup. 'Get out of here' he grumbles as you rise to your feet, but instead of range-walking back, you hesitate. 'What Private??' he leans in. 'Sergeant? what about the Squelch Juice?' you don't want to piss off Sergeant H. His eyes open a little wider as he stares at you for a second or two. 'Oh yeah, Squelch Juice...go ask First Sergeant for that, he keeps it in the back of his truck'.....
Printed using high-mesh screens on premium American Apparel athletic gray tri-blend tees for ultimate softness and an old-school look.
Made in the USA.View full product details