Making America Great Again is Making My Head Great Again

For years now, your humble author has been a ‘no words on my clothes’ kind of guy.  My body is not your billboard*.

And then a t-shirt showed up under the Christmas tree that changed everything.

Everybody loves Vault Boy.

That t-shirt is a simple black shirt featuring Fallout’s Vault Boy giving the ol’ two-finger-gun-salute.  People compliment this shirt all the time.  This shirt is so relentlessly optimistic and fun, people can’t help but get caught up in the feeling.  No doubt wearing this shirt inspires a man to walk a little taller, smile a little more, and just generally be more pleasant to be around.  Which inspires compliments, which makes a man feel more energy, which…

It’s a positive feedback cycle in all the best ways.

Funny thing, I don’t even play the game.  Love to, no time.  No matter – some people recognize it and some don’t, but you don’t have to recognize it to love the feeling it inspires.

The other article of clothing that inspires that feeling is my #MAGA hat.  It is so relentless optimistic and fun that it makes a man feel two inches taller.  The comments one gets – good or bad – are worth the price of admission alone.

Rando: “More like, ‘Making America HATE Again,'”
Jon: “Whatever it takes to make it great, brother.”

Rando: “Are you wearing that hat ironically?”
Jon: “Irony is for chumps!  Chumps don’t want to make America great again.”

Rando: “Nice hat!”
Jon: “It’s a great hat, a beautiful hat.  Believe me, this hat is so great, you can’t even believe how great it is.  I gotta tell ya, it’s so great…I’m getting tired of how great it is!”

For a guy who has never voted for a Republican in his life, it’s a very strange feeling. 

I think they call it ‘hope’, but not having experienced such an emotion since Reagan, it’s hard to say what it is.

*Okay, I wear race t-shirts for events that I’ve run.  Those are more braggadocio for having done a thing than to advertise a thing.

About Jon Mollison

Jon Mollison was weaned at the literary knee of Tolkein, Howard, Moore, and Burroughs. He spent decades wandering in the wilderness of modern genre fiction, wondering when the magic and wonder went out of the world of dragons and space ships. In his darkest hour, he encountered a wise man who handed him the open secrets to crafting works that emulate the stories of the great authors who built the genre. They are easily summarized in but two words: Regress Harder. Now one of the twelve champions of the Pulp Revolution, his self-published works represent a more direct lineage to the tales of action, mystery, romance, virtue, and pure unalloyed adventure than the bland imitations churned out by New York City publishing houses in recent decades.
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