Three Wolves, One Moon, and an Immortal Fashion Statement

The True Story Behind the Classic T-Shirt 

As a man who has danced with the devil, wrestled with pigs, rode a white swan, surfed the lightning and conquered the seventh torment, I was once granted the rare honour of sitting at Odin’s left hand side in the Halls of Valhalla.

There amongst many noble Viking warriors and Norse Gods of old, I quaffed much ale, gorged on much goose fat, and liberally tore into the rump of many a butchered bull. 

In the wake of much playful male-bonding when I nigh on tore that pussy Thor’s arm off in a spot of non-competitive arm-wrestling, it was time for the gathered assembled to cease their endless fighting and boasting, and gather around the flicker of flame and heat of hearth for a tale as old as the hills, as endless as the night and as fierce as a cider hangover.

It was a tale whose elemental  words were conjoured from the earth, forged in fire and written on the wind. Such was its raw and unbounded power this tale could make medicine ill, bring a brick to tears, dry up both sea and river, and cause the sky to fall. It was of course the tale of the wisest, greatest and best dressed warrior of them all - “Three Wolves and One Moon.” 

And now my dear, dear fellow followers of high-style and setters of fashion, it is my pleasure, nay honour, nay duty, nay birthright, to tell you in turn the tale of how this brave warrior bastard with all the generosity of a caring, but not in the least bit slightly feminine, God, came to sacrifice himself for the good of future generations. 

Without further ado, fellow brothers of sword and shield, and disciples of a new dawn, I give you the story of “Three Wolves and One Moon.” 

Once upon a time when the land was young and the moon was but a young maiden sitting pretty in the sky. there lived a young buck called Graham. Now Graham came from a proud and noble clan called the “Teeeeee Shuurts.” The name of this warrior tribe originated for the blood-curdling war-cry that would spill from their lips like the blood of their enemies when they charged into battle - “Teeeeee Shuurts.” Which when translated into the modern tongue means “Free Man!” 

Now upon coming a full grown warrior governed by the dictates of cold steel and male pride, Graham, as was customary for the tribe of ““Teeeeee Shuurts,” was given his own war crest and new name, chosen specifically for him by the village elders who through their daily consumption of funky fungi, spoke to diving beings for guidance on a daily basis. 

Following a tribal ceremony where Graham had to drink his own body weight in alcohol, impregnate at least three women, and win ten bouts of  bar-knuckle boxing against the hardest bastards in his commune, Graham was no more.

Like a Phoenix from the ashes, in the place of the bloodied, bruised and befuddled mortal that once was Graham, there arose a legendary warrior chief who was said to be half-man, half-god, and all mad bastard. His name was “Three Wolves and One Moon” and the sight alone of his battle standard, which portrayed three furry beasts howling in untamed unison at the moon was enough to turn his enemies’ resolve to mush, legs to jelly, and bowels to liquid. 

Over many years “Three Wolves and One Moon” became the most ferocious, yet fair warrior to ever wield an axe and sever an artery. All the men wanted to be him and all the women wanted to be with him, such was the mythical renown and magnetic animalistic allure of the warrior they once called “Three Wolves and One Moon.”

In fact, so admired was “Wolfie,” as only his closest brother in arms called him, that the tribe of “Teeeeee Shuurts” abandoned their long tradition of individual warrior crests and to a man they all adopted the “Three Wolves and One Moon” battle standard as their own. It was said that when a warrior fought under “Wolfie’s” standard their might and skill in battle would be that of ten men and their renown with the ladies would be off the scale. 

After a lifetime spent fighting, loving, drinking and ruling like a boss, “Three Wolves and One Moon” was thinking of stepping down and letting a younger man have a shot at the title when a grave and deadly threat to the freedom and way of life that the tribe of “Teeeeee Shuurts” had enjoyed for centuries reared its authoritarian head. 

From the East a new danger appeared in the form of a tribe that called itself, “The Sooots and Tys.” Which in the modern tongue translates as “The men of conformity.” Great was their number and disciplined were the ranks of the “Sooots and Tys.”who appeared as if out of nowhere like a big girly gang of well-dressed and well-heeled metrosexuals. These well groomed and strangely garbed monstrosities had but three mission statements - to always remain clean-shaven, apply liberal amounts of perfume, and above all put an end to the rule of that hairy good for nothing “Three Wolves and One Moon” and wipe the “Teeeeee Shuurts” off the face of the planet like a bad case of acne. 

Sadly, and despite fighting valiantly with all the vigor and athleticism of well-fed canines, the “Teeeeee Shuurts” were no match for the forces of “The Sooots and Tys” who outnumbered them at least by ten thousand to one. Battle after battle was fought in scenes that made the film ‘300’ look like a teddy bear’s picnic, but all to no avail, nothing it seemed could hold the unrelenting tide of “The men of conformity” at bay. 

With an army of over 100 thousand strong snapping at his heels, and with only two surviving warriors left from his once great tribe of “Teeeeee Shuurts”, “Three Wolves and One Moon” decided enough was enough and said to his two trusty lieutenants, ‘Brave Al’ and ‘Little Wayne’, “Enough! No more running me bonny boyos. It’s time to make our stand and fall like real men in one last glorious bout of carnage and guts or be damned as cowards for eternity.” 

With a mighty roar that made the ocean shudder “Three Wolves and One Moon” pulled out his sword and frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog, looked the hordes of advancing “Sooots and Tys” square in the eye and snarled, “Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough you big bunch of perfumed ponces.” 

First to fall in the horror and bloodshed that followed was ‘Little Wayne’ but not before a good twenty thousand of the enemy’s number had tasted his steel up them. Like a courageous pin cushion ‘Brave Al’ fought on despite being pricked from head to toe with at least 218 of the enemies’ shafts. With 48 thousand, five hundred and sixty two “Sooots and Tys” slain, ‘Brave Al’s’ strength finally deserted him when arrow number 219 penetrated him and thus rendered the very last of “Three Wolves and One Moon’s” legendary band of warriors unable to hold his sword aloft and fight on in honour of his noble chieftain. 

Screaming like a vengeful god caught in an inconsolable hormonal rage, “Three Wolves and One Moon” went into a terrible battle frenzy, and knowing he was the last of his kind, fought with all the cunning and awareness of a cornered rat. Before the night had bruised the sky that day, the battle field was filled with 99.882 thousand corpses. Needless to say, “Three Wolves and One Moon” wasn’t one of them. 

This proud and slightly psychopathic warrior of whom I speak had managed to depart the field of battle, heavily wounded but alive. Yet no man, warrior or wizard,  cannot escape their destiny and knowing his time was rapidly coming to an end “Three Wolves and One Moon” crawled on his hands and knees like a pitiful zombie to where he did not know, he just felt compelled by a strange urge to keep crawling.

With the very life-force seeping from his bones and sweating out through his pores, “Three Wolves and One Moon” reached an ancient woodland where he cried tears of lament with the instinctive knowledge that he was the last of his breed and that in the distant future, future generations of men would become more weaker, less manly, less aesthetically aware, and more emotional needy than his own - just like the “Sooots and Tys”

Yet it slowly dawned on “Three Wolves and One Moon”, that there was a way to ensure the customs, traditions, attributes, and code of conduct that the “Teeeeee Shuurts” held so dear could be kept alive for future generations.

With grim regret that he would not that night dine in the halls of Valhalla with his warriors and drink fortified wine from the skulls of his enemies, but with all the grim resolve of a dying and vengeful bull,  “Three Wolves and One Moon” as is the right of any dying warrior summoned Odin to his side. 

The great Norse god appeared immediately and said in a voice like rotting bark, “What ails thee lad.” To which “Three Wolves and One Moon” replied, “Oh great Odin father, I am the last of my kind and I fear for future generations of men. As such I will forsake by right to feast and fight for all eternity in Valhalla, if you will but grant me the power to distill my very essence into a select range of insanely mythical, hugely significant, criminally potent, seductively barbaric, terribly stylish and outrageously beautiful garments that will be available for every real man with a set of iron-clad balls to buy for a very affordable price.” 

Odin looked strangely at “Three Wolves and One Moon” for approximately 37 seconds with his solitary bloodshot and watery eye, before replying in a voice that was reminiscent of the ripple of the ocean’s waves or the frying of bacon and sighed,” Consider it done soft lad.” 

And with a simple click of Odin’s fingers, “Three Wolves and One Moon” was magically transformed into a limited range of designer t-shirts whose strong visual design and dynamic was such that it was guaranteed to only appeal to a certain type of man. 

And from that day until now, men all over the world, who instinctively recognise the warrior greatness of the  “Three Wolves and One Moon” t-shirt have worn them with pride and felt the life-changing qualities that are inherent to the garment. An item of clothing which infuses the wearer with a little bit of the qualities that made the man, warrior, legend, that was  “Three Wolves and One Moon” so great.

So if you are still hesitant to purchase one of these fantastic t-shirts, because you have doubts that you are not really worthy and perhaps a little too feminine to harness and wield the full force testosterone rush that pulling on one of these garments gives you, then this is not the t-shirt for you my friend. 

However, if you desire to roar like a lion, run like a bull and unleash the warrior within whilst transforming yourself into a man god, then it’s high time to fulfill your destiny and become the child of the wolf and man of the moon that nature intended.

Immortality is only a click away. It’s yours. Now take it!