Bathroom Monologue: “Wait ‘Till We Get Our Hanes On You” –Television Commercial

Lawrence finally snapped when he heard a commercial from the other rooms, back-up singers repeating, “Wait ‘till we get our Hanes on you.” That was clearly a threat, and a perverse one. Were they going to strangle him with a pair of underwear? Smother him with a t-shirt? They’d said “on you.” On top of him? Would he walk out his front door tomorrow and have six tons of 100% cotton boxers dropped on him, crushing him to a cushy death? He’d be damned if he’d be beaten by some global organization of old people grown rich off of child sweatshop labor, even if its spokesman was Michael Jordan. He sent the basketball legend a series of frantic e-mails, begging for help, or at least for him to call the goons off. Meanwhile Lawrence took to an all-polyester-and-hemp wardrobe and knocked down the wall between his kitchen and the driveway to create a shortcut to his car. He’d dare Hanes to airdrop tons of downy-soft death on him now.