From a very old New Yorker back page:
GLENGARRY GLEN PLAIDBY FRANK CAMMUSO AND HART SEELY
Excerpts from the new Land Ho! catalogue, as it would be written by David Mamet.<snip>
ALL HAIL CHINOS! EVERYONE SHOULD OWN A PAIR!
You think chinos are queer? Let me tell you something: Everybody's queer. So what? You cheat on your wife? Live with it. You own a pair of bell-bottoms? Deal with it. At least these chinos have a fly that stays up, and you're not paying a hundred dollars for some piece of puke-colored polyester. Right now, you're asking, What do I want from a pair of pants? Comfort? Durability? A name? An investment? Listen: When you're in the accident, and they're cutting off your blood-stained trousers in that emergency room, who cares if you're wearing an expensive label? MACHINE WASHABLE, TOO!
OUR STIRRUP PANTS DON'T COST AN ARM AND A LEG!
You bitched about our stirrup pants. We heard you. Christ Almighty, everybody in the state heard you. We trimmed the legs, so, even with your fat thighs, you won't look like a Buick. We stitched up the back to prevent pulling. You guys know what pulling is? It's when the pants pull down on a chick's ass, because the things are strapped to her goddam feet. Smart, eh? Like all anybody needed was a strap to hold pants down. What ever happened to straps that held pants up? Ever hear of belts? Broads. Don't get me started. Look, this isn't about backstitching, or yuppie fashions, or why a nickel is bigger than a dime. It's about men and women. Screw it. I need a drink. AND THE SEAMLESS STIRRUPS MEAN EXTRA COMFORT!
MEET OUR MOCK: THE TURTLE WITH A LITTLE LESS HUG!
You don't like turtlenecks? You say they're too tight? What are you, some wussy? Can't handle the pressure from a fifty-fifty blend? What do you know from pressure? You sit there in your chintzy house and you can't deal with a turtleneck? Jesus Christ. You know, this pisses me off. You don't know squat about running a business or about publishing a catalogue. You just sit there, looking at all the shiny, pretty pictures, and when you do finally call, you are the Customer, and the Customer Is Always Right, so the Customer can screw around and waste the time of men who bust their balls for a living, and it doesn't matter that the Customer Is Full of Shit. Who taught you to buy clothes? You stupid, lardassed deadbeat.
That's it. I've had it. I don't care whose nephew you are. I don't care who you're boffing. You drive everybody goddam nuts. This catalogue costs big money, but what do you care? You get it for free. That's the problem. You don't respect what you cannot buy. Well, buy something, asshole. AND IT'S MADE IN THE U.S.A.!
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0375504125