It’s the weekend, and it’s daytime. A few years ago you’d be taking this time to drink, or at least plan your drinking for the night. But that seems like a long time ago. You’re tired. Hey, you put in 43 hours this week and finished that thing for your boss that wasn’t that hard, but it took a little while. You’ve earned some simple downtime to relax. You settle into your recliner, your pride and joy, purchased from IKEA, not a thrift store, and you’re ready for a day of not doing shit.
You’re a postgrad. Obviously, this means some binge watching on Netflix, maybe after watching the first half of some random game. You turn on the TV, and after watching seven minutes of some Big 10 school dicksanding some other Big 10 school, you decide to move on. You scroll down your guide just for shits, and what’s that…”My Cousin Vinny” just started, on cable. Good movie, though…you could probably stream it somewhere, but eh, you’ll just watch it until the first commercial and then start the binge.
Now you’re trapped.
You have to wait through the first commercial because you haven’t seen Pesci yet. Second commercial, damn, you forgot how funny this movie is, and how much of a smoke show Marisa Tomei was/is. This edited version of the film isn’t as good, but hey, you’re going to start watching Netflix soon, so it’s fine. Or so you think. In reality, you’ve been sucked into a tractor beam of old man-ness. Before you know it, you’re so damn engrossed in the snarky courtroom scenes that you don’t realize you’re completely fine watching the same commercial for e-cigs five breaks in a row, and that the crumbs from your homemade nachos (Tostitos and melted cheese, you lazy fuck, stop calling them nachos) aren’t bothering you in the slightest.
Oh no, you need to pee. The two Miller Lites you slammed have shot right through you, but you don’t want to risk missing Vinny looking like a genius when he grills the witness about making grits. The cable programming has brainwashed you into forgetting you have DVR. The youthful part of your brain makes a Custer’s Last Stand effort to remind you that you could even re-watch “Breaking Bad” again and it would be a more efficient use of your time, but by now, you’re done. You look down at your socked feet, and somehow you’re rocking the socks and sandals look. Your stomach has doubled in size. Is…is your hair actively starting to thin? No time to check, Vinny and Mona Lisa just got into an argument, and it doesn’t look good for the boys and their murder charges.
It’s the home stretch now. A couple more e-cig commercials and a goddam Sarah McLachlan sad dog travesty and you’re in the final courtroom scene, dug so deeply into your recliner that you might as well get a shitty motel room after to seal the deal. You watch Mona Lisa rip off her amazing analysis of the two cars and [20+ YEAR SPOILER ALERT] the guys get off. What a relief, the old wife beater that had somehow appeared on your torso 45 minutes ago couldn’t take anymore chest sweat. Exhale, and end credits.
Holy shit! You fly out of your chair, panicked. You look down at your feet, you’re now just wearing socks. Your stomach is back to its early beer gut stages, nowhere near its girth just minutes prior. Your hair is back to its full potential and cheap haircut, and your comfortable Nike shirt is bone dry. That was a close one. You just watched a two hour movie that took three hours. You took in as much advertising as the first half of the Super Bowl. And as you look around your empty apartment, you realize that you’re one step closer to becoming your dad. .
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