Boss Hog

ASK ME ABOUT MY HOG!!!!

BEHOLD, MORTALS… YOU STAND BEFORE THE BOSS HOG.

Oh, thank you, wise traveler, for scanning this sacred shirt. You have now entered the realm of legend, the domain of dominance, the presence of a god among men.

I am the Boss Hog.

Not just a champion—THE champion. The undisputed, unstoppable, and utterly unchallenged Master of the Deep. While lesser men flail with their rods and bait, I descend into the abyss, armed with nothing but my spear and an unbreakable will.

My lungs? Carved from the stone of Olympus.
My reflexes? Faster than a barracuda on cocaine.
My eyesight? So sharp, I can read your thoughts from here.
My manhood? Let's just say Neptune himself weeps in jealousy.

When I enter the water, sharks clear the way. Dolphins whisper my name in reverence. The fish don’t flee—they line up for sacrifice. They know resisting is futile.

I don’t hunt with a spear. I negotiate surrender terms.

One time, I missed a shot—on purpose, just to give the ocean a false sense of security.

I once speared a fish so massive that geologists mistook it for a tectonic shift.

The moment I surfaced with my trophy catch, the tide bowed to me. The wind carried my scent across the sea. The heavens parted so that the sun itself could bear witness to my victory.

I don’t wear sunscreen. The sun adjusts its rays out of respect.

When I walk into a bar, drinks pour themselves. The bartenders salute. The women swoon. The men reconsider their life choices.

And let’s be honest—if you’re reading this, you already know you are beneath me. But don’t feel bad. Most people are.

I AM THE GULF OF AMERICA!!!!!

So buy me a drink—but only if you are worthy. Approach with reverence. Keep your voice soft, lest you startle the lesser beings in my shadow. And whatever you do, do not, under any circumstances, question my supremacy.

For I am Boss Hog.

And you?

You’re just lucky to be in my presence.