After doing a post on the giant-sized-chastity-belt that is ‘The Snuggie”, I feel inclined to share my Snuggie-story. For my birthday last week a couple of asshats friends brought a Snuggie to the party.
There in front of a small group of my closest friends (including Salma Hayek, Kanye West and that lady from the ‘Head-On’ commercials) I was made to try it on.
I was convinced that the Snuggie would be ridiculous-looking in person and uncomfortable to wear as well.
Well to my welcome surprise it was actually worse.
First of all, the Snuggie is HUGE. This cannot be under-stated. It is massive.
It was like I’d just ceremonially received the skin of a Flying Purple People Eater to hang on the wall next to my unicorn’s head and minotaur hoof.
Once I put it on, I was flush with heat. It was as if the Snuggie was stealing my very life essence, like that little troll did to Drew Barrymore in Cat’s Eye.
So there I was, my brown ass draped in this hot-red Snuggie. I basically looked like Fat Albert after overdosing on Hydroxycut.
I am sure that I’m the first person of color to don a Snuggie, thus making me the Jackie Robinson of Snuggies.
But that’s not why we’re here.
A Snuggie bar crawl.
That’s right, a mother-Snuggie bar crawl is being held.
I’ll say it again: balderdash.
Can you imagine being out with your friends, shooting the shit at a bar when the door suddenly swings open and in walks in a flock of Snuggies. You’d be like, “oh shit, Opus Dei is having a night out”, right?
I don’t know how they’d even manage to walk around town in those things.
I mean, I’m admittedly a small guy, but still, the Snuggie ran well past my feet and pooled itself on the floor like a wedding dress.
At one point I had to pee, but with the voluminous amount of material to lift and without anyone present that had been certified in Snuggie-bustling, I was forced to urinate on myself.
At my own party.
They say that they provide you with a complimentary booklight for reading (riiight), but I think it’s really used to help the Snuggie demographic find their genitals at night and raiding pic-a-nic baskets without waking Ranger Rick.
Plus I imagine that if you fell asleep and woke up still wearing your Snuggie, you’d start freaking-the-fugg out so much that someone would have to use the booklight in order to calm your synapses or something.
So imagine not only walking around town like that, but with an entire group of multi-colored idiots dressed just like you, as if you’re re-enacting The Fall of the Pacman Ghosts.
Seriously? I’d rather do an “elephant walk” down Broad Street with 5 other guys or be the Grand Marshall for a Klan parade on MLK Day than be in a Snuggie-walk.
I guess the good thing is if you lose someone in the group during the course of the night, it’d be easy enough to ask after them:
- “Hey, have you seen a guy about yay tall, dressed like Orko?”
- or, “Have you seen a flurgle (please note: a group of Snuggies will now be referred to as a “flurgle”) of people dressed like Fanta cultists?”.
Can you imagine that? I picture a series of booklights snapping on whipping left and right down the bar strip and the group calling out to their lost Snuggie in some weird Elven tongue: