Clippity-clippity-clop. You hear the sounds of hoofs approaching your motel room and peek out the window. The unicorn outside flips her mane and tells you, ‘Your flannel shirt keeps getting sweat-soaked when you hike around the park, and then you freeze all day like some sort of stupid freezing asshole.’ She kicks down the door with her silver hooves, and coughs up a glittery mucus. ‘It is the Motel Jacket from Bond,’ the unicorn says as her magical snot transforms into a performance jacket. The moisture-wicking flannel and a breathable taffeta lining mean you’ll stay comfortable while you shred.