Eleven years ago Naked Man left the house, wearing sensible shoes, and Melissa Fyfe, who was then editor of EG in Friday's Age, said, "Please, come in." The cartoon was only intended as a summer jape, but the gloriously sniggering schoolchild who is never far away, thank God, from Melbourne's proper exterior, wanted weekly exposure to innuendo. More than 500 drawings later, is this the world's longest running dick joke? I can hear you saying: "Your parents must be very proud."

So, how did this sorry state of affairs begin? I have always loved those beautiful, mostly anonymous, and now rarely seen, drawings that decorate the pages of boys' and girls' annuals from the 1920s, '30s and '40s. Back in 1998 I owned only a couple of these annuals and I thought that blowing one of these illustrations up into a large pen-and-ink drawing would be pop arty, and that it would brighten up the living room.

Having done the drawing — it was a cricketer going out to bat, with his chums rallying around him — I thought it looked pretty good. There was something missing, though. Or, rather, there was nothing missing, and what needed to go missing was his clothing. I applied this principle to several other drawings, and they were suddenly released from the yoke that bound them to unreadable yarns about goings-on in the lower fifth. They cried out for captions, and the readers of The Age were just the people to supply them.

I'm an old-fashioned sort of chap, and each drawing, based on those originals, is done with a nib dipped in ink. Of course, I have to move figures around, introduce the Naked Man, and ensure that nothing is revealed that would cause the dysfunctionally repressed to burst into flames. A wisp of obscuring smoke, a gun, a flower, a feather, a giant squid's tentacle — you name it, Naked Man's genitals have been hidden behind it.

These limited edition T Shirts are available in large or as the creator, Robert Gott, says, "One size fits all".