An attentive reader recently hipped me to the existence of Star Wars Underoos for grown men. I have just one word for this fashion trend, and that word is FUCK TO THE NO. Ok that's four words. So we will keep it to NO.
I am all for nostalgia and kitsch, but this is some creepy Mary Kay LeTourneau shit right here. What grown woman wants to see her man's junk packed into the PJ's of a fourth grade boy? The levels of creepy here are simply beyond the beyond.
Once long ago I awoke next to a grown man who shall remain nameless. The first thing he said to me was "I had the best dream last night!" Oh boy, I thought. This is either going to be something awkward or boring, and it was both. His fabulous dream was that a Yankee player landed on the roof of his apartment building in a private airplane and whisked him away to a playoff game. I looked around to see if I was in fact sleeping in a car bed with dinosaur sheets, but alas it was the same futon that had always been there.
If a guy ever emerged in this outfit, I would peace out faster than Han Solo could pilot the Millenium Falcon.
No. Just. NO.