Literally (well, not literally literally, but you know what I mean) every person I know who lives in Los Angeles saw Paul Thomas Anderson's 'The Master' this past weekend. If you didn't, you MUST have been doing one of these things:

Sitting, pondering why oh whyyy didn't you Fandango those tickets.

Reading reviews of 'The Master' thinking "Damn, I wish I could enjoy this boat trip but I should be at 'The Master' right now."

Creepily taking pictures of all your friends walking into screenings of 'The Master' then waiting outside the theater to hear their thoughts.

In a sun fatigued haze, pretending you're P.T. Anderson, ripping off your shirt, and recreating the trailer of 'The Master' with coconuts.

Catching hell from your old lady for not pre-ordering those 'The Master' tickets.  As a punishment she makes you wear her bra on your head in public.

You had tickets for 'The Master' but you decided to stay up all night and do a PT. Anderson movie marathon in chronological order before the showing.  Mid-way through 'Punch Drunk Love' you got too excited about seeing 'The Master' and ran through your apartment complex nude resulting in your arrest and you missed the screening.

Damn dude, you watched the wrong movie.