They called it S.O.S., but every man who’s ever eaten it knows the truth — it was the taste of the military industrial complex distilled into one glorious, beige abomination. It wasn’t meant to be good. It was meant to keep you alive long enough to hate another day.
Somewhere between the mud, the hangover, and the sound of the first sergeant’s boots, you’d find yourself standing over a dented metal tray, staring down at a pile of meat-gravy slop on toast. And somehow, against all odds, it hit different.

This shirt isn’t nostalgia — it’s a war cry for every man who’s eaten standing up, wiped grease off his sleeves, and said, “hell, I’ve had worse.”

Printed in R/R’s signature grim minimalism, it’s a tribute to the legend of military cuisine: hot coffee, cold toast, and a belly full of determination.

S.O.S. — “Shit on a Shingle”

Serves 4 hungry bastards or 2 operators who skipped breakfast.

Ingredients

• ½ pound ground beef (or chipped dried beef if you want that “WWII boot camp trauma” authenticity)
• 2 tablespoons butter or bacon grease (whatever’s in the pan)
• 2 tablespoons flour (for the roux that’ll hold this mess together)
• 2 cups milk (whole milk, not that skim-milk nonsense — this is war food)
• Salt and black pepper to taste
• 4 slices of toast (the “shingles”) — white bread only, you savage

Instructions

1. Deploy the meat.
   Toss the beef into a hot skillet and brown it.  Drain the fat if you’re fancy — leave it if you’re not.  Remove the meat.
2. Make your roux.
   In the same pan, melt the butter, then stir in the flour until it looks like muddy paste from a foxhole. Don’t burn it — we’re going for tan, not trench-mud brown.
3. Add milk.
   Pour slowly, stirring constantly. If you dump it all in at once, you’ll get clumps.  Keep stirring until it thickens into a glorious, creamy mess.
4. Reinforce with beef.
   Return the browned beef to the pan, stir it in, and hit it with salt and black pepper until it tastes like victory (or at least not like regret).
5. Serve over toast.
   Slap that glorious, salty sludge over toast and admire your creation — breakfast of heroes, hangover cure of legends.

Optional Authentic Touches

Sprinkle with a few drops of Tabasco, the unofficial sauce of every mess hall since Guadalcanal.

Eat standing up, wearing a wrinkled uniform, while yelling about supply shortages.

Complain loudly that “they don’t make chow like this anymore.”