Rolling down the hall, sucking psyllium, sipping on tannis root...laid back, with my mind on satan's offspring and satan's offspring on my mind.
As with these commercials for million-dollar-ideas the situations the "actors" convey aren't exactly realistic. Take, for instance, the woman who can't work a regular blanket. Seriously? I'm to believe that blankets are that much of a hassle and ineffective? The only times I've ever had to wrassle a blanket like that were nights of my youth where I did one bump too many and didn't have a Xanax to take the tweak off (and of course as soon as you get comfy it's time to get up and pee again). Come on! Get a hoodie and a bigger blanket and you're golden.
No need for a satanic mass uniform.
Or, the family at the game? No way in hell that will ever happen in a million years. Frankly, if that were my family I'd be winging whatever ball I'm playing with at their heads and running to put myself up for adoption. I'm all about freedom of sartorial expression, but I draw the line at wearing what is essentially a backwards bathrobe in public. I don't care how cold it is and I'm from Michigan, I know from cold.
Like any good feminist the first comparison drawn was the cover of Margaret Atwood's "The Handmaid's Tale". There is no cold that is cold enough to require me sitting around looking like Ofsnuggie. None.
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