Disclaimer: This website, in its entirety, requires your willing suspension of disbelief.

Finer Facts

Finer Facts:

Thursday, June 24, 2010

The Undershirt

 The guardian of the eyes
...For it shields the sight of unsightly chest hair...

The absorber of perspiration
...For it acts as the last stand in the never ending war on pit stains...

The psuedoclass-proof vest
...For it protects us from unclassiness like a bulletproof vest does bullets...

Nothing completes a look quite like the white semicircle situated beneath the gentle downward-sloping arc formed by the collar and button. The Undershirt, also referred to as the Nethershirt, acts as a classy person's canvas, on which they create their masterpiece by assembling dynamic coexistence between the Polo horse, the base color of their choice, and possibly a small pattern that coincide in perfect harmony as they rest loosely around the torso of their maker.

Though officially unknown, the Undershirt's origin can be dated as far back as the "Pre-NameBrand-ic Age", an era void of any common knowledge of class, where psuedoclass roamed freely as it pleased contaminating any unlucky, innocent soul that crosses its path with its terrible affliction. It was said to be more devastating than the Black Plague. Thank the class gods for human's ability to innovate, thus producing --> The Nethershirt - believed to be mankind's adaptation to compensate for the loss of the ability to grow thick, insulating chest and upper torso mane, thus losing the vital ability to grow your own clothes as some may say. Today, those of Spanish origins are fortunate enough to have remnants of this fur-like hair. This offers them the luxury of being classy without an undershirt or with an undershirt. The rest of us must abide to the latter. So kudos to you, Spaniards, for keeping this long lost gem as part of your genetic makeup. To give you  a better sense of just how long ago this was, we, the Class Connoisseurs, have composed a time line.

Thick, Fur-like Hair --> Loss of Thick, Fur-like Hair --> Undershirt
^                                                ^                                   ^
Pre-NameBrand-ic Age      -----   "Class Purgatory" -----   Modern Era

Though extremely complex, this timeline above gives us the conclusive evidence needed to support our hypothesis. After much analysis from the best in the field of classiness, it can now be assumed with reassurance that some sort of undergarment has been sported for all of mankind's time of existence. Which means the Undershirt has been most literally aged to perfection.

On a different note, there are certain things that should not ever be done while sporting this fine article of class we've dubbed the Undershirt:
  1. Never should the sleeves of the Nethershirt out length those of thy Outershirt
  2. Never should one observing a sporter of the Undershirt be able to see the likes of any kind of desgin through the Outershirt that could cause a distraction and thus hinder the full appreciation of such an aesthetically pleasing masterpiece. The Undershirt is solely a undershirt, no t-shirt can be merely "converted" to the Undershirt status
As with everything else contained in this blog, "Easier read, than done". We've given you the legend on the mysterious Map of Class, now it's up to you to scour the topographical depiction in search of the classiness that is hidden somewhere deep down inside of you. We wish you best of luck.

Yours in Class,

William & Walter
W & W

"Quadruple U"

Sunday, June 6, 2010

The Tranquility that is Brought Forth While Enduring a Midnight Rest on the Beach and its Complements to Summer

      Summer time has dawned upon us and it has expelled the aromas of freedom and opportunity in order for our figurative noses to take a grand whiff. These aromas come in many a form during these blistering hot months. Whether it be the refreshing dip in the pool or a good willed sporting tourney amongst friends, summer offers no shortage of thrilling excitement and freedom. However, nothing epitomizes this freedom quite like an outing to the beach. A visit to the borderline between the land we love and the abundant mysteries of the ocean frontier is capable of revitalizing even the most fatigued. At the beach, the cooling waters of treacherous oceans and the soft sands of the land combine to create the unmistakable sounds of waves flowing and breezes blowing. This landscape embodies summer by inscribing a nonchalant approach to life towards all its inhabitants, rendering them capable of constructing castles, consuming corn chips and soda without question, and purposefully allowing themselves to be scorched by the arriving remnants of the sun's 5,778 degrees K radiating surface.

A portrait of a perfect night

      Astonishingly, I have managed to partake in a superior rendition of the above paragraph in what can only be labeled as an unprecedented occasion of class. Recently I engaged in a brief stay at a beach front condominium who's exotic whereabouts cannot be revealed as requested by the UN. Come the end of an extraordinary sun filled day, I felt a yearning to unwind. It was not my choosing to go out on beach that night, for on this occasion I was merely an actor in a play entitled destiny. As the moon's blossoming light guided me in solitude towards the beach, I was enlightened as to why Walt Whitman used this activity as the title for one of his poems. Although I had thoroughly enjoyed the excitement brought forth while spearfishing several great white sharks to protect an endangered species of fish, it was no match for the soothing nature of the post twilight beach. The following list describes what I observed this night as I laid back on my towel made of the finest silks:
  • The only sounds that sounded were those of the thunderous waves from restless oceans seeking refuge on the receptive shore and the breezes of a million tides echoing the turbulence of the sea.
  • The only sights that were seen were the arriving lights of stars after a journey of light years and the soft glow of the moon giving hope to the nocturnal inhabitants of the earth.
  • The only smells that were smelled were the freshershist aromas that naturally spew from these tropical lands.
  • The only feelings that were felt were those of wonderment and curiosity along with the gentility of the age old sands.
  • The only tastes that were examined by taste buds were the salty composition of the air and the remnants of the exquisite lobster I had captured and consumed for dinner.
The simplicity inside the complexity of this epic night I spent alone on the beach is one that I encourage all to partake in if given the opportunity. If said coarse of action is passed up, one may be considered to be pseudoclassy.

Stay Classy,

William & Walter
W & W
Quadruple U