So this thing, in case you haven't seen it, is basically a onesie for adults. Let me put that another way: its a billowing, one-piece sweatsuit for fat, American layabouts. It also comes with hindquarter zipper flaps so when chunkster aunt Barb has to shit out a loaf of casserole she doesn't have to negotiate the enormous hassle of retracting the front zipper and sliding the obesity shield down over her cankles.
These slovenly pajamas as the commercial implies, are perfect for not just the home, but also for public outings such as picnics and sporting events. Holy mother of our great and beautiful Lord of all beings way up high in the precious kingdom of Heaven. Are people really slipping on fleece fatsuits to go stand in parking lots and siphen beer and compressed meat tubes into their stomachs? I need to see it. I may even need to try it. Actually, fuck it. It looks pretty comfortable. I should probably just order one. They'll even throw in a second one if I call right now. Who wants to slither around on the couch with me this weekend like weary cancerous sloths, scooping meat paste into our mouths with Slim Jim flavored Doritos while watching the Golden Globes? Contact me immediately if interested. Our "giving up on life" uniforms are on the way.
Speaking of the Golden Globes. I've been watching a lot of movies lately in preparation for my favorite time of the year: Award Season! This isn't just my favorite time because I love movies and enjoy watching the best and brightest filmmakers and actors earning their due and proper recognition, but also because I have no friends or active social life anymore and have assuredly convinced myself that I now find 4-hour, garishly produced, awkwardly written and marginally humorous award shows not only invigorating but intoxicating. The mind works in wondrous ways.
So, be sure to check out my Three Sentence Film Review section all this week for a bunch of new reviews of current flicks. Thank you and good night.