This is the kind of image that could lead to a lot of awkward conversations between parents and children.
“No Timmy, Mr. Met wasn’t shot by gangsters and dumped in a snowy field. He’s making snow angels. Stop crying Timmy, Mr. Met isn’t in heaven with Aunt Gladys. He’s in his lair right now giving Matt Harvey a rub down.”
Are these the happy kind of snow angels or the “I took too many pills and now I think I’m flying” kind?
Mr. Met is probably deeply depressed. I hope he’s not over-medicating.
Put on a coat Mr. Met! Hypothermia can come on faster than you think. Even if your head is a giant baseball.