"A Day In The CommonWealth" An Adult Fallout Onesie Review

He pulled the tight fitting, elastic leg-cuffs of his Official Fallout Adult Medium Onesie over his sneakers and surveyed the horizon, the wind almost masking the crackling sounds coming from his Pip-Boy. He was desperate for a drink, but all he had was the hot, salty blood pumping through his veins and the tail-end of a most likely irradiated canteen, nestled snugly in his plush, Fallout Onesie’s “hoodie-style” pockets. Things were headed south in a hurry. Hell, he might literally be headed south, for all he knew. Damned compass. Damned radiation. Barely anything worked out here. Thank God for his Pip-Boy. And his onesie.

Although solidly constructed, he wished the zipper of his onesie zipped down just a little lower, so grit wouldn't blow in when he had to take a squirt, but there was no time to worry about that now. What the hell was he doing wearing an Official Fallout Adult Medium Onesie instead of Power-Armor anyways? He couldn’t remember, but at least the crisp, brilliant blue of the garment was aesthetically pleasing and easy on the eyes. The bright yellow trim was icing on the cake, as far as he was concerned. It was a hell of a color combo.

He pulled up his sleeve to take a look at his trusty Pip-Boy, noting the top quality elastic in the stretchy cuffs of his onesie. The Pip-Boy confirmed his fears; he was a complete dumbass for wearing a onesie in this bombed out, irradiated wasteland. “Still,” he mused, standing in the open, making no attempt to seek shelter as the radioactive wind further poisoned his blood, “If I was in bed on a slightly chilly, but not too cold winter night, this Adult-Size Medium Onesie would fit the bill perfectly, if used in conjunction with a comforter.”

The thought made him smile.

There was a definite chill in the air now, but that might just be the radiation sickness rocketing him down a greased slide towards a little place called “death-city”. He pulled up his hood, pleased at this luxurious feature. He staggered along, curiously finding that he couldn’t stop thinking about the strange onesie he wore; it was soft and pleasant to the touch, and if he wasn’t mistaken, it must be some kind of 65% polyester, 35% cotton blend. Perfect. He also mentally noted that the garment was a size medium and how well it fit his muscular, 5 foot 8 build.

He slumped to his knees, deciding to rest a moment. He heard gunshots in the distance, and knew he should find a hiding place. Instead, he reminisced about a better time, when he’d lift weights in the bomb shelter with his Official Fallout Adult Medium Onesie half-unzipped, looking totally authentic and completely badass, chuckling as the bomb-shelter women called him “gain-zilla”, while they lavished his Official Fallout Adult Medium Onesie with praise, especially the well-stitched, bright-yellow “Fallout” logo on the back. He remembered one woman asking if it was the nuclear winter causing the darkness outside, or if his muscles were causing some kind of “Swolar Eclipse”. Those were the times; just him, his onesie and bomb-shelter babes.