It's true! and BITE ME! just what I needed: the motherfuckers, coming off the shittiest season in team and league history, introduce a third kit, the motherfuckers.
It's every hardcore supporters' dream: the third kit.
D.C. United will unveil its new outfit Saturday at 2 p.m. at the Washington Auto Show at the convention center. (The club is sponsored by Volkswagen, after all.) Several players will model the uniforms at the event and a 15-by-15-foot replica jersey will hang from the convention center lobby for the duration of the week-long show.
The new kit was created by adidas and will prominently feature a VW logo. It's unclear when it will debut during the season. Fans can purchase the jersey for $110 on the club's Web site.
Please note in comments how no one but one (as of 8:00 AM 1/28/11) BDR232 (who only double-posted because YFWP is skeevy) blurted ANY! moral objection.
I don't begrudge United the money, but another stupid romantic illusion shot to hell.
Serendipitously, the storm took our power, and while I want it back a second ago, it wouldn't do me harm to be made to wait until Monday (because while I love you, I'm not coming to library over the weekend just to internet). Meanwhile, this and this:
- It's astonishing how much humans enjoy the Hitler v Stalin debate.
- Bipartisanship pop quiz.
- A profoundly toolish fool.
- Imperialist remedy for Egypt.
- Outside agitators.
- Party time.
- Best false equivalency ever.
- As you'd expect, I'm fixated on this shitty blog being called visually unappealing because Fleabus, but I've evolved to oh the fuck well.
- Your friends are advertisements.
- We welcome our new plutocratic overlords.
- (((ACTIVITY))) (1)
- The evolution of style.
- Dispatch from the dangerous kitchen.
- Fuck PEPCO, fuck the Feds.
- Kensington gun shop owner speaks!
- Lit links.
- I had to read Reynolds Price for a course. Meh, but he's not what I like.
- Another round of interpretation.
- Slight returns.
- Woke up with this in my head:
Something was about to go laughably wrong, whether directly at home or here, on this random shoal pleading with its eyes till it too breaks loose, caught in a hail of references. I’ll add one more scoop to the pile of retail. Hey, you’re doing it, like I didn’t tell you to, my sinking laundry boat, point of departure, my white pomegranate, my swizzle stick. We’re leaving again of our own volition for bogus patterned plains streaked by canals, maybe. Amorous ghosts will pursue us for a time, but sometimes they get, you know, confused and forget to stop when we do, as they continue to populate this fertile land with their own bizarre self-imaginings. Here’s hoping the referral goes tidily, O brother. Chime authoritatively with the pop-ups and extras. Keep your units pliable and folded, the recourse a mere specter, like you have it coming to you, awash with the new day and its abominable antithesis, OK? Don’t be able to make that distinction.