METALLI-FUCKIN-CA

Is it too much to ask that a girl be able to have a vintage Metallica tshirt stay intact?
It seems it IS.
My painful need for one has only increased as of today when I witnessed possibly the greatest image of all time.


Metal heads and Metallica shirts. Yes. Terry Richardson is my hero.
I wish I had the capability to candidly capture people and make them look amazing and drugged out.
Instead I'm one to take a digital camera out one night, forget to take more than 5 photos and then go through the next day and delete the 4 candid shots of me and my double chin.
But back to the serious issues. That being that I NEED a Metallica tshirt STAT.

Let me take you into my past. A life where I once owned, well still do own the tshirt of my dreams.
Only after a few months of ownage, seeing this immaculate piece of vintage goodness return to me from the washing machine as some bleached out piece of shit.
And I'm not talking the great love of acid wash. I'm talking spots where I look like I was devouring bleach as a snack and decided to dribble it randomly on the collar SLASH chest area of my shirt.


What can be seen of the shirt above on myself as a herpes whore, is the affected area in question.

And my constant search for a replacement via my favouritely OCD checked website Ebay, has ended in fake tears.
So I have resorted to creative thinking. LIES. sheer and utter desperation that I have decided my all new love of studs will save my shirt.
YES. I have decided to stud the shit out of the chest area and cover these acid drool marks.
AND in true fashion I could not mention such an epic winner of an idea without showing you what I mean by

MUTHAFUCKIN STUDS.