Yes, I know Mr. Pascal is Daddy
So, recently, I have been trying really hard to make one of those Freaky Friday situations happen between myself and Pedro Pascal. I know you are supposed to be family, for this to work, according to early aughts movie lore, but since Mr. Pascal is - technically - everybody's daddy, I think it might still be in play. Just in case I figure out the physics of this whole phenomena, I bought this cozy little party crasher. It feels like appropriate attire to crawl through an entire generation's fantasies, like, just imagine, body half buried in the bathroom vanity as I slowly tighten the nuts that hold the faucet to the sink. The way my shoulders ambulatory motion transfers to the slight twisting of the exposed leg (in chinos, duh), as this fine breathable slice of fabric slips an inch up the dad bod, and you can almost hear the sound it makes, somewhere between felt and velcro. Imagine my head finally pops back into view, and you are confronted with that exact, perfectly calibrated mustache, and the soft but firm voice telling you, go ahead kiddo, it's all fixed, all better now. You're safe. All this, in a shirt that screams Pablo Escobar's sweet older brother. But wait, wasn't that the plot for that movie he did with Nicolas Cage. In fact, I think Richter did another one once with dice and playing cards. Leopard print western wear, what!?!?! Classic Cage...