I don’t want to change the World, I just want to sell jeans and t-shirts. I have an idea. I’m going to print lots of t-shirts with rock lyrics on them, some with skulls, and others with pirates. Then I’m going to sell them everywhere.

I’m going to call myself Lucky Brand, or maybe Lyric, or maybe Ed Hardy or Rock & Republic, Juicy Couture, Black Hearts, Affliction or Triple Five.

All this shit is going to be full of my favorite symbols, especially war, death and destruction. Crosses, eagles, swords, and skulls, black crows, fanged panthers, and python snakes. Goth and gambling. Vegas and virgins. I’m going to conjure up Hell’s Angels, Nam, James Dean, bronco bustin’ rodeos and the German Army’s Iron Cross. I’m looking forward to the 21st Century and my imagery doesn’t rely on the past. My customer is young, healthy, and a happy guy who doesn’t mind dropping $150 on a t-shirt to wear on his taut, toned body.

Fuck charity, or Kiva.org. This is my weekend and I’m going to rock!!

When they come into my store, they’re going to see thousands of jeans, in 40 different washes. They will sell for $300 and be ripped up, acid washed, torn, scratched, threads hanging, destroyed and ruined. And I’m going to rip a new asshole out of the wallet of my customers!

I’m a fuckin’ rebel and I make clothes for the guy who doesn’t want to look like everyone else. I make clothes that fit my fuckin’ worldview and I don’t conform to nobody’s sense of fashion except my fuckin’ own!