Triple C Koozie

 They come in fists, like stories tossed across a fish camp table after the fourth pull of cheap bourbon. These Cortez Clothing Company koozies are neoprene hide wrapped in salt-rusted grit—printed black with the same ink that stains the knuckles of men who gut grouper before sunrise and drink beer before breakfast.

They are not collectibles. They are companions. They ride in bait buckets, fall off docks, get run over by pickups, and still show up for the next round. They’re printed in a wild bastard rotation, no two runs the same—because nothing in Cortez ever is. You don’t pick the koozie. The koozie picks you.

They say WORN BY WATERMEN and they mean it. Rooted in salt and meaner than grit, just like the fools who wear ’em. These aren’t for sipping. These are for slamming. For leaning against the hull of a boat half-sunk and still proud. For laughing through broken teeth about storms that tore the docks to hell and still didn’t shake your thirst.

No refunds. No repeats. Just the gospel of cold beer and hard-earned ink.