Mid-twenties and already beaten down and hopeless, Selraybob spends his days on his worn out lounger, drinking quarts of Busch and talking to his buddy Herm on the phone. Productivity is a forgotten dream. Until, right in the middle of his wife's long-overdue goodbye speech, Selraybob has an epiphany. It's about Time. Time, he determines, is a count. It's only a count. Einstein was wrong. And life on the lounger will never be the same.
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