Shirt Stains: Fuck Stains


No fucks left to give.

Shirts can make a strong statement of your likes, dislikes, beliefs, and affiliations. You can represent your favorite band, sports team, country, state, and even your favorite food. Of course, this leaves open a wide variety of try-hard 2edgy4me cringefests that should have never seen the light of day, let alone be worn in public. It’s even worse when it’s not original. All of these shirts in this week’s shirt stains have the same general eyeroll-worthy message: they don’t give a fuck.


Attila – Fucktila



Attila are no strangers to Shirt Stains or controversy. Whether it’s the usage of homophobic slurs or shit-talking on Warped Tour the band, specifically their chucklefuck of a vocalist Chris Fronzak, manage to crank the facepalm dial all the way to 11. Then he breaks off the dial, calls it a pussy, and then rubs it on his crotch. Then he calls you a bitch on Twitter. It’s no surprise that said “chucklefuckery” should spill over into their merchandise.

Attila proudly proclaims “I don’t give a fuck about my bad reputation”. Clearly if you’re willing to be seen wearing an Attila shirt in public. They’re so proud about it, in fact, that they almost forgot to put their name on the fucking thing. It’s like it was thrown in at the bottom as an afterthought. Either that or they wanted to hide their name as much as possible. I mean, they wouldn’t want their parents to find out that they were selling a shit with a naughty word on it.

Like other shirts with n constipated ass-full of words, when everything is read together, it makes about as much a sense as Nancy Grace still being on television. “Guilty Pleasure I We Don’t Give A Fuck About My Bad Reputation Attila”. That’s the ramblings of that person on the bus that no one wants to make eye contact with. That’s what a 15 year old yells at you on Xbox Live before calling you a racial slur and threatening to rape you. That’s the only sentence Floyd Mayweather can read.

Eskimo Callboy – Eskimo Fuckboy


Eskimo Callboy is a band. Normally, this is where I explain what type of band they are, maybe throw in a little bit of history, or link to a video. Well I’m not going to do that. Why? I hate their name so much that I refuse to learn anything about them. Their name is so forehead-smackingly stupid that I will not allow some minuscule piece of knowledge to be pushed out of my brain in order to make room for a fact about this band. I’m better off mentally undressing New Jersey governor Chris Christie. His jiggling is almost hypnotic.

Much like the other bands on this list, Eskimo Callboy doesn’t give a fuck. Who would’ve guessed that a group of people who decided that their band should be called Eskimo Callboy would not give a fuck? If they gave a fuck then they wouldn’t have named their band Eskimo fucking Callboy. They’re no Torsofuck or Fecalove, I can tell you that much.

This shirt finds the band in the “Jesus-Christ-covered-in-honey-while-riding-a-unicycle-you must-be-kidding-me” category. Much like Attila, Eskimo Callboy place their name at the bottom of the shirt. It’s extra small so it doesn’t, y’know, take away from the deep, contemplative message. Or maybe it’s to distract you so that you don’t notice that the apostrophe is upside down. Or maybe so you don’t notice that their backwards E/forwards C symbol must have taken 0.5 to design. If you ever see someone wearing this shirt in real life, I want you to point and scream at them like Donald Sutherland in Invasion of the Body Snatchers.


Heart Of A Coward – Mouth Of A Sailor



Heart Of A Coward are a genericore band on Century Media Records. They list their influences on their Facebook page as Pantera, Deftones, Tool, Meshuggah, and Cult Of Luna among others. Do you hear that influence? I don’t. Well, it doesn’t matter because, surprise surprise, Heart Of A Coward doesn’t give a fuck. No fucks were given about the heart nor the coward. If they’re the heart of a coward, wouldn’t they technically give lots of fucks. You’d have to assume a coward is afraid of plenty of different things, therefore producing large quantities of fucks.

It’s actually a shame that they ruin this zip-up hoodie with this played-out rebellious-16-year-old-who-still- needs-to-borrow-money-from-mom-to-buy-it saying. Despite not liking their music or their name (it’s not as bad as Eskimo Callboy, but why you would want your band to be associated with being cowards is beyond me) I actually like their symbol. It’s creative, effective, and brings to mind classic combination logos like the Los Angeles Dodgers, New York Yankees, and New York Mets. I even like the little smudge effect on the writing. Too bad the shirt has all the eloquence of a drunk bro who just got tossed out of the club and rips his best plain white t-shirt trying to intimidate the bouncer. Save it for Reddit.


The Paramedic – Fuck Party



If the name The Paramedic sounds slightly familiar, it might be because their former drummer is running for political office under the white supremacist Traditional Workers’ Party. You may also know them for their misogynistic shirt. Don’t worry, I’ll get to that one some day. Clearly this band doesn’t give a fuck. Hey, how about that! They made a super clever shirt stating as such. Man, these guys are so rebellious, I bet they just shit anarchy symbols and jizz Confederate flags. So non-existant are the fucks that they don’t use the same font on their entire shirt or even use straight lines. I’ll bet these guys were the envy of 6th period lunch.

What is the deal with these bands putting their name at the bottom of the shirt? Is it possible that they really think that whatever shitheel saying or slogan they come up with is more important than their name? If someone saw this shirt they’d have no idea that it was a band shirt, let alone the band’s name. Their desire to party while also not giving a fuck is clearly the star of the show. No need to sell more cds or tickets to your show. You said a dirty word and possibly offended a grandma. That’s what really matters. 10th grade will never be the same, yo.

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