Seriously, what is the point? Every once in a while I put on a pair of pants, slide my right hand into the pocket, and discover you have been there before me, weaving your demonic threads. What, exactly, is so important that it needs its own room inside my pocket, yet so unimportant that it can be stored in my pants? Are there really so many objects in the world that fit this description?
Another question -- have you ever tried to use your invention? Do you have fingers the size of a raccoon's? Having normal, man-sized fingers, I find this little capsule of cloth utterly useless. I can't even get a penny out of there. The other night I was at the store and needed change -- change I had on my person, mind you -- but couldn't get to it without doing either a cartwheel or some inappropriate groping of myself. I'm getting too old for both, Guy Who Invented the Pocket-Inside-a-Pocket.
You think you've served mankind with your little invention? Not so much. At best you've broken some of us of a bad habit of keeping our keys in our front pockets, which always creates an unsightly bulge. The reason I refrain now is because inevitably the wad of keys finds its way into the little pocket inside my pocket. That little pocket is like a Roach Motel for keys; they check in, but they don't check out. To release them I have to drag the entire pocket apparatus out of my pants and tug, pry, and curse. My children don't need to see this.
Furthermore, you need to understand something about decent people. When they see a grown man hunched at the waist, straining and tugging at his crotch region, they don't generally look closely enough to see exactly what he's doing. So even though I'm doing nothing more than trying to get MY keys back from YOUR little pocket prison, I look like a pervert to my fellow citizens. Being neither a street person nor the 42nd president of the United States, this is a humiliation to which I have been unable to grow accustomed.
Guy Who Invented the Pocket-Inside-a-Pocket, I must ask you to cease and desist. The other day I put on a new blazer and dropped my keys inside its waist pocket. I discovered that your handiwork has now spread to upper-body garments. As I struggled to free my keys, I wondered where you will strike next. Perhaps you'll team up with the Glad baggy people, and create a little baggy-inside-a-baggy. Or maybe you can sell movie theaters on a popcorn bucket with a little compartment that traps those last few pieces of corn that are the only thing that gets me through a Julia Roberts movie.
The possibilities are endless -- cars with seats too small to hold even a baby doll, newspapers with sections in size-one font, refrigerators with vegetable bins that can barely hold half a jalapeno. Just think of all the useless additions you can inflict on a host of valuable products. The opportunity for needless economic destruction rivals anything available to the Department of Agriculture.
Guy Who Invented the Pocket-Inside-a-Pocket, I wish you a painful end befitting the damage you have wrought on this earth. Perhaps some kind of hotel bed accident, wherein you suffocate after accidentally slipping between two tightly fitted sheets.
Repent before it is too late. Give up the Devil's work and dedicate the remainder of your miserable life to designing wide, luxurious pockets, the kind that can hold my keys, 99 cents in change, AND my Blackberry without the slightest bulge. Turn your talents to good rather than evil, Guy Who Invented the Pocket-Inside-a-Pocket, before you give the entire pocket-making industry a bad name.
