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.