The Superior fit!
“Breaking news from the denim front lines!” Chainsaw Chicken announced while twisting his hips in a pair of spray-painted-on jeans. “Apparently, wearing American Eagle now qualifies you for a slot in the Master Race—at least if you’re Sydney Sweeney and your marketing department forgot what century we’re living in.”
Chainsaw spun around, arching his back just enough to show off the logo stamped across the denim. “See, I’m not just working these jeans… I’m leading a cultural revolution! Step aside, Hugo Boss uniforms—there’s a new designer in town.”
Reporters asked Chainsaw if he was offended by the undertones. He adjusted his belt and smirked.
“Offended? I’ve been called worse just for shopping at J.C. Penney. Listen, if a pair of jeans is all it takes to resurrect the Reich, then we’re in deeper trouble than I thought. Maybe the secret weapon wasn’t the V-2 rocket—it was stretch denim!”
Chainsaw folded his arms. “My doctors have been studying my genes since I was young. They always end up saying the same thing. ‘The genes look fine, but there’s something else we can’t seem to identity causing all this’. Not sure what the ‘this’ is except my superior look. Boot-cut, relaxed fit, and enough room to breathe after a burrito. No propaganda, no goose-stepping—just jeans that don’t rip when you bend over to tie your shoes.”
He paused, pointing to the hidden ChainsawChicken.com insignia stamped like a secret glyph in the background.