The scene is ghastly to behold. An obviously unproductive member of society has made a permanent residence out of his living room couch. He slouches dejectedly with a five o’clock shadow and signs of an impending pot belly. Potato chips in one hand, a remote control in the other, and a mad look in his eye are all he has to show for the progress he has made in the past two months of his existence. 

 His concerned parents are secretly planning to move to Alaska without telling him. They worked tirelessly for eighteen years to get the result of a drunken night out of their house, only to be back at square one. Desperate for answers, alone time, and a witness protection program, they are not alone in their misery.