T-shirts, sort of, with way too much text in parentheses

I was walking down Avenida Santa Fe this evening, while skipping class to go back home to eat (one of my classes just combined its previous twice-weekly meeting into one class, so now I have class on Wednesday from 18.00 to 20.00, thirty minutes to hop on the subway, ride downtown, transfer and get to class at 20.30, which lasts until 22.00...this time period is prime time for doing other things, such as eating, and my stomach has yet to let me forget that fact-I forsee many a banana and overpriced mediocre granola bar in my future Wednsday nights(thank goodness for the kiosk on Línea A)) AND (getting back to the point) I saw a fattish man walking along with his fattish wife, who was pushing what I assume is the reason for her fattishness in a stroller, and the man had a shirt that loudly proclaimed that he was a (are you ready for this?) MOTHER FUCKER. He seemed very proud, and I can only assume that he not only knew what his shirt meant but was aware of all its newfound truthfulness. Would it be great if his wife got him that shirt? I suppose it doesn't really matter...I experienced it equally.

It's almost as good as the shirt that the employee in the locutorio* I go to often sometimes wears, which unapoligetically (and incorrectly) ponders:

what the fuck is BODACIOUS

just like that. I now pine for such a shirt but have no doubt that I shall find one in the coming six months or so that I'm staying in A.L. If I do indeed go to Bolivia I'm afraid I will have purchase a soccer jersey, as on of the two major national teams is call The Strongest (yes, in English). Rock on.

*Locutorio=place with telephone booths and computers. I'm writing from one now! How exciting. Or ordinary (except when he's wearing his shirt, of course).