RompHims. Fuck you. Whoever it was awoke this stygian nightmare from the lower planes of men's fashion is an evil bastard who deserves to be cast back into the pit of despair from which the awakened romper issued forth to blight the world. Fuck him, a pox upon his family, fuck everyone who looks like him.
We discovered the men's romper in the 1970s. We learned. By the elder deities from beyond Sears and Roebuck, we learned man should not meddle with fashions beyond his control and below his dignity. We learned when the gibbering bolts of double knit polyester came spewing forth in madness from lost D'upon't where Ry'on lies not dead but shimmering.
We learned through our own hubris. We thought we could control it, but we should have known. we should have known. I look back in these final moments before the velour destroys the feeble remnants of my mind, and realize, there was no way we could have known then.
Why wouldn't they listen to what we had learned, those benighted fashion design majors at Miskatonic U.
Now the madness has arisen anew. And I was compelled by a force from beyond good taste itself to chant ABRCRMB'EE SHUBB'E DOOBBE' CTHULHU ROM'PHIM R'LYEH FAGTAGAN! And I saw before me the twisted form of that which should not exist in menswear departments, and i felt my sanity slip it's bounds for the mountains of madness.