MERCH BUNKERCart 0ORIGINAL SATIRE / FOUR WAYS TO RUIN BRUNCH
PICK YOUR COLLECTION.
THEN PICK YOUR FIGHT.
Wear the consequence. Document the wildlife. Visit the bakery. Or label the red flag before it kills the mood.
- 34
- original designs
- 4
- distinct collections
- 170
- available products
4 COLLECTIONS / ONE NATIONAL NERVOUS BREAKDOWN
CHOOSE YOUR PARTICULAR KIND OF TROUBLE.
Direct statements, meticulously documented political wildlife, or fresh bullshit from the propaganda oven.
Red Flags & Dead Bedrooms
Dating is hard enough without discovering the person across the pillow thinks a convicted felon in a trucker hat is foreplay. Six warning labels for people whose standards survived the group chat.
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Wearable Consequences
Nine direct political statements for civically exhausted people who still intend to be heard.
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The American Shitshow Field Guide
Nine meticulously documented creatures found thriving in the cracked ecosystem of American politics.
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Cultcake Bakery
Over-frosted authoritarian fan fiction, baked in grievance and served with absolutely no fucking nutritional facts.
Explore the collection →THE FIRST THREE WARNINGS
START SOME SHIT BEAUTIFULLY.
Every piece includes original TAC commentary, because product descriptions should have teeth too.
No Kings. Just Consequences.
America already dumped one king and we are not accepting spray-tanned returns. Wear this whenever some bargain-bin monarch confuses public office with owning the whole damn country.
Choose tee, crewneck, or hoodie →
We Kept the Receipts - Political Accountability
Selective memory is adorable until somebody opens the screenshots folder. We brought dates, quotes, and enough documentation to ruin brunch.
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The Ballot Box Bites Back
Democracy is not a decorative centerpiece for fascists to piss in. Feed the ballot box regularly and it develops a healthy appetite for wannabe dictators.
Choose tee, crewneck, or hoodie →THE WHOLE ARSENAL
BROWSE EVERY DESIGN.
Start with the artwork. Open any design to choose its available tee, crewneck, or hoodie.
No Kings. Just Consequences.
America already dumped one king and we are not accepting spray-tanned returns. Wear this whenever some bargain-bin monarch confuses public office with owning the whole damn country.
Choose your garment →
MatureDepartment of Fucking Around - Consequence Division
Welcome to the only federal department Republicans accidentally keep fully funded. Your case has been reviewed, your bullshit was documented, and the finding is unanimous: find out.
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The Constitution Is Not a Suggestion Box
It is not a buffet where authoritarians grab the Second Amendment, lick the serving spoon, and leave the rest for the busboy. Read the whole fucking thing.
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Exhausted. Disgusted. Still Resisting.
For everyone held together by caffeine, profanity, and the stubborn belief that democracy should not die because the assholes had better attendance.
Choose your garment →We Kept the Receipts - Political Accountability
Selective memory is adorable until somebody opens the screenshots folder. We brought dates, quotes, and enough documentation to ruin brunch.
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Special Delivery: Consequences Enclosed
Signed, sealed, and shoved directly through the mail slot of your own terrible decisions. No returns. No store credit. Enjoy the package, dipshit.
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Accountability: No Exemptions Political Satire
One law for everybody - including rich pricks, loud grifters, and politicians who think a flag pin is a diplomatic immunity badge.
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The Bill Comes Due - Accountability Satire
Every con runs out of suckers. Every tantrum loses oxygen. And every smug bastard eventually meets the invoice with his name printed nice and large.
Choose your garment →The Ballot Box Bites Back
Democracy is not a decorative centerpiece for fascists to piss in. Feed the ballot box regularly and it develops a healthy appetite for wannabe dictators.
Choose your garment →
Cultcake: Baked With Alternative Facts
A warm little grievance sponge made with no evidence, too much frosting, and one family-size tub of whatever the loudest bastard online said five minutes ago. Best served with a fact-check and a fire extinguisher.
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MatureCultcake: All Frosting. No Fucking Substance.
Big swirl. Loud colors. Absolutely nothing in the middle. It is less a pastry than a campaign platform with sprinkles, and somehow the empty center is still yelling about immigrants.
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Do Not Feed the Cultcakes
Attention only makes them rise. Stop tossing outrage crumbs into the enclosure and back away slowly while the frosting screams that the health inspector is part of the deep state.
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Cultcake Ingredients
One cup grievance, two scoops conspiracy, a fistful of flags, and enough artificial patriotism to make the bald eagle file a restraining order. Mix poorly. Serve loudly.
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The Cultcake Has Done Its Own Research
It watched three videos, misunderstood a meme, and now believes the frosting is a licensed epidemiologist. Please keep it away from microphones, school boards, and your Wi-Fi password.
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MatureCertified Cultcake-Free
No grievance glaze. No conspiracy filling. No orange fondant screaming about stolen ovens. Just a clean bill of mental health from the Department of Basic Fucking Reality.
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MatureThat's Some Cultcake Shit
For those special moments when ordinary bullshit has been whipped, frosted, weaponized, and carried into a school-board meeting by someone who thinks Facebook is a peer-reviewed journal.
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Cultcake Reserve
Small-batch delusion aged in a grievance barrel and bottled at 100 proof hypocrisy. Pairs beautifully with tax cuts for billionaires and screaming about the price of eggs.
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No Kings. No Cultcakes.
A balanced democracy requires neither a crown nor an over-frosted strongman pastry demanding immunity from the health code. Throw both in the compost and wash your hands.
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MatureMAGA Foreplay
Bitch about pronouns, recline the cuck chair, and watch a Democrat finish the job. A complete three-step intimacy plan for men whose emotional range ends at a red trucker hat.
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The Ballot Badger
Compact, furious, and powered by the sacred knowledge that your polling place cannot legally close while you are still in line. Attempts to remove it usually end with claw marks on a voter-suppression memo.
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MatureRed Merch, Dead Bedroom
If he wears Felon 47 merch, his dick's been left in the lurch. Consider this the warning label the dating app forgot to require.
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MatureThe Gerrymander
A spineless little map-fucker that survives by twisting entire communities into shapes resembling a tapeworm doing Pilates. Has never won a fair fight and has no plans to start.
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MatureRed Cap in Sight, Vibrator Night
The hat walked in. The libido walked out. Fortunately, the night still has competent leadership.
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The Common Bootlicker
Often found polishing the footwear of men who would not piss on it if it caught fire. Mistakes proximity to power for having a personality.
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MatureIf the Hat Is Red, the Pussy Has Fled
Nature has many elegant warning systems. Poison frogs have bright skin. Terrible dates have red hats.
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The Red-Hatted Bullshitter
Its warning coloration makes identification easy, although the nonstop mating call - FAKE NEWS! - usually gives the loud bastard away first.
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MatureThe Bedroom's Clinically Dead
If the cap is MAGA red, the bedroom's clinically dead. Time of death: approximately three seconds after he said woke mind virus.
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The Know-Nothing Screech Eagle
A majestic demonstration that volume and intelligence are not even distant cousins. Will scream over any fact it cannot eat, ban, or blame on a librarian.
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MatureRed Hat Detected. Erection Rejected.
A concise diagnostic result for the only red flag visible from across a dark bar.
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MatureThe Thoughts-and-Prayers Vulture
Circles every preventable tragedy, lands for the cameras, and deposits one warm pile of absolutely fucking nothing before flying back to its donors.
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2 in the Thoughts, 1 in the Prayers
When thoughts and prayers are the only thing Congress keeps loaded, subtlety can go fuck itself.
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The Corporate Welfare Hog
Squeals about socialism between mouthfuls of public money. Its natural defense is explaining why your lunch break caused inflation while its third yacht creates jobs.
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The Migrating Goalpost
A twitchy evasive bastard that relocates the second evidence approaches. Scientists have tracked one argument across six topics, three conspiracies, and a cousin’s Facebook page.
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The Endangered Public Servant
Keeps the water tested, records filed, roads inspected, and country functioning while billionaires hunt it for sport and cable news asks why government never works.
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