I get lots of compliments on my UK shirt. It’s a real ice-breaker. A bona fide tone-setter. People always ask if they can buy it from me, and some even try to steal it right off my back. One guy even offered up his wife for just one night with my shirt. I’m spoken for, guy, and so is my UK shirt.
My UK shirt brings out my eyes. It also accentuates my awesome. Cute polo, fella. You a Cats fan? Oh, didn’t notice the wee little logo up in the corner there. That thing moisture wicked?
Tell me folks, on what other article of clothing can you find both Commonwealth and Cliff Hagan Stadiums, and Rupp Arena, and Alumni Hall and the Funkhouser Building? When I walk into the game, I get a standing ovation. I get the fireworks.
My UK shirt guides me. Literally. It’s a map.
I go hard at the gym in my UK shirt. As the heat turns up, the buttons come down.
I wear my UK shirt in the club. Girls go ham.
I wear my UK shirt in the grocery. Get free ham.
I wear my heart on one sleeve of my UK shirt, and wipe my nose on the other.
I day-trade in my UK shirt and make bazillions.
I’m on the phone with Asia, making deals in my UK shirt.
Ladies love my UK shirt. Moms trust my UK shirt. Dads pat me on the back and say, “hot damn, now that’s a UK shirt.”
I don’t smoke but I keep a soft pack in the front pocket because that’s just what you do with pockets on UK shirts. Anyone got a light? Actually, I do, right here in my UK shirt.
There are pennants all over my UK shirt because really, who doesn’t love pennants?
My UK shirt has taken me places I never thought I’d go: Bowl games, Final Fours, breakfast at Wheeler’s, Davenport, IA once for work, Turks and Caicos. Where has your “Dunk Dynasty” t-shirt ever taken you?
We’re taught in school that too much of a good thing is bad, and living in excess is somehow wrong. They say you can’t go through life cloaked in UK wallpaper because no one will take you seriously. But there’s no room for naysayers on my UK shirt. There’s actually no room for anything else, at all.