Clown Shoes: A Manifesto

CLOWN SHOES

A Ranting &; Raving, well......RANT, OK!, Possibly Representing a
Great New Innovation, The Spiraling Tangent. [Soon to be a major best
seller, if I can somehow avoid pissing off even half the people I
should in having written this work...;on the other hand, they have to
read if first, so don't get me started, alright?] Or, for the more
traditional &;/or literate:

An Essay......

by J. B. Pravda

__________________________________

Introduction
Time marches on; yes, and on that march humans have walked the Earth,
however fitfully and haltingly, in anything but a straight line. Many
things have come and gone in that time trekking, but always there has
been the quest for ways to more efficiently augment the foot, without
stopping to reflect upon its simple yet profound message of
mortality.

While visual artists have strived, and mostly failed, to depict that
very foundation of our uprightness, sometimes extolling its
elusiveness, even its strange mechanistic beauty----even
ugliness----cobblers have faced the true challenge: how to enshrine
that enigmatic and most remote of all extremities in such a way that it
may retain its mystery, eschew its odor and otherwise be kept as far as
possible from the human mouth, at least when fully clothed or standing
[this, too, has been most problematic].
Now, for perhaps the first time, the author has undertaken-----and I
believe largely succeeded----to capture the perhaps most fundamental
albeit unnoticed story of human evolution: the seminal transformation
from pretty -smart barefoot smelly primate to smartly cobbled well-shod
talking primate.
For the first time the reader will see the steady application of homo
sapiens sapiens= tool-making proclivities, first to utilitarian though
crude covering of the foot and then, increasingly, to that now ages-old
creed of the cobbler-become-designer: AIt is better to look good than
to feel good.@ [Attributed to Oppolodorus,affectionately given the
sobriquet >Odorus by his peers, the putative founder of the Greek
Academy of Sandal Fashion].

And, oh, how far footwear has come since those early days until,
perhaps not since the unforgettable and ingeniously experimental,
though misunderstood, designs of Herr Doctor Honus Fassbinder so
embraced by the Imperial Chinese court in the realm of women=s footgear
[he was the harbinger of today=s platform/high heel industry!] has
there been such a revolution in this now multi-billion dollar industry.
Historically a male bastion, women have now entered this boldly
innovative undertaking---------to ever more cleverly make the humble
foot an asset to one=s overall look while, at the same time, not
forgetting, indeed honoring the skilled fellow craftsmen, the cedar
shoe closet carpenter.

Finally, the author truly breaks the eerie silence, once and for all,
surrounding the misunderstood, indeed thankless work over the years on
the enigmatic so-called ClownShoe, now, ironically, worn by Presidents
and statesmen the world over, giving both much unintended amusement
and, to be sure, sadness to countless millions over the ages. Using his
extraordinary access to the archives of long-forgotten repositories of
ancient lore and artifactual data such as the Zapata Institute in
Mexico City and Le Triumphe de Arche in Paris, he has been
indefatigueable in his research into what the foot has meant to man
and, as importantly, what mankind has meant to the foot.
Interviewing descendants of forgotten masters, he meticulously bemuses
us with the foot-driven origins of cliches which we would find
irreplaceable had they not come into usage: AGive him/her the boot;
bootstrapping; bootless; Puss n Boots; these boots are made for
walking; shoeless Joe Jackson; barefoot and pregnant@ and so many more,
whose origin/originator will surprise, and, sometimes, shock you.
Once read, this work will give timeless insight into the poignant
injunction of the great Oppolodorus of Sparta, who stood apart from
both his upward-peering astronomer/philosopher contemporaries and, yes
even those who looked too deeply downward, the Atomists, in uttering
those prohetic words: AOne must only look at the feet to see how not
far we can go and, hence, why they need homes, preferably with good
ventilation.@
[Ach, the sandal was born, along with the rest of what is a sad
zero-sum history!]
Professor Doktor Emeritus [Ret.], Hugo von Schmukken

The Institute for The World=s Greatest Authorities
Lausanne, Switzerland February 29, 2001
______________________________________________________

Preamble [Even this lofty term, used in the Constitution, no less,
implies early walking, on you know whatCsee Chapter One]
The whole situation has gotten out of hand; what has been afoot, we may
ponder until our heads (not to mention our feet---------note: a really
bad habit saying that sort of thing, only as a set up to say that very
thing, isn't it?) ache and maybe even our stomachs.
What started out as a sometimes necessary protection of our tender
soles(souls?) has been perverted in such a way that an industry which
commenced in necessity promises to rob us of any prospect of foot
appreciation and the earth-connected humanity it once literally
represented.
I mean, it is as if the off-worlders who genetically tweaked our
primate forbears in their middle Eastern earth base added a postscript
to the eviction notice: "OK, you can't stay here anymore, but, since
we're not sure we improved your brains enough-----who would have enough
time, Jesus----(you'll understand that last reference a lotta years
from now, ok)------, there's probably a jackboot in your future; lot's
a luck, your pal, (the) "God(s)" P.S.----Don't call us, we're really
busy learning from our mistakes with your sorry asses----talk to George
Burns, he's still our local rep [What, you haven't seen "Oh, God", a
real scream, it's an order, ok; P.P.S.----Be nice to your feet, our
best, most practical work, really, just the asses [see prior comment]
where your brains tend to operate from we're kinda worried about; look,
stop whining, we didn't even have to start this whole thing, just had
some cosmic time to kill, sue me/us, same thing, six of one, half a
dozen of another."
Fast forward a few hundred k and what do you have: people have
discovered that their seemingly inadequate feet, when housed in some
pretty imaginative footwear, can be used to intimidate, manipulate and
otherwise kick a lot of ass [mind you this is way before the
military/industrial/entertainment complex was even a goal but, hey,
leave it to Beave, right?].
After all, if the Roman Legions could conquer the known world in
sandals, what couldn't shoes do! Pretty soon you get high heels and you
know the rest. [Note to reader: while I am resisting any more detailed
scatological reference here, I can't make any promises; look, it's a
long, intense enough book that we may both need a little titillation,
ok, so don't read it to the kids, there's a children's version set to
come out soon, read that yourself if you're so afraid of a little
double entendre or even T&;A, but don't whine to me about a refund
on this work-----like you don't waste that on latte at Starbucks, for
what, a cheap buzz to serve the corporate creed, shame on you; now I'm
too exorcised to even get in the mood, you're safe for now].
But here's the real quandary: because of all that has been said and
written about "clay feet", we will do almost anything to hide, cover
and disguise these two-per-customer reminders of how frail we truly
are. The goose step just isn't anything but suicide and laughable
without jackboots. OK, so tap dancing is lost, but we must come to
terms with the ultimate trade-off that has progressively come to
threaten world peace: scary shoes, Clown Shoes!
You need an example, fine: "Your mother wears Army shoes." Big insult,
back a ways. She, and countless other mothers everywhere, poor souls,
might have gotten lotsa love and respect were it not for the whole shoe
thing being exploitable by little heartless children, not yet exposed
to my life-altering notions; if you don't feel guilty about that and
its inevitable fruition into wars and otherwise needlessly destructive
behaviors, all because they/we had to diminish the peace-giving
attributes of motherhood, all for a little bullshit competitive
advantage, over what we couldn't begin to recall: lesson: teach the
children, got a plan, read on.
Just sit back, breath deeply and kick off your shoes! See what
automatically happens: liberation, the euphoria of having just shed
some preternatural skin, the properties of which seem to transform even
the meek into Nancy Sinatra from hell.
We need to get a "foothold", a toe in the water------our feet on the
ground, for Chrissake. Like our shadows, we cannot run away from our
feet; even if we could, how would we "stand" it? Look, we know that in
all societies since time immemorial, in order for the truth or
something equally profound to be revealed, a jester or reveler had to
reveal it------softens the killjoy factor, I suppose (and just look at
what they wear on their feet).
We are in jeopardy of losing our way, in such a way as only our G-d
given feet can find. In order not to repeat the past, let us explore it
and its wayward pathways so ruthlessly trodden by the shodden lost.
Consider me, then, I beseech you, your personal harlequin, cajoling
you, wheedling you into awareness of long-forgotten truths [hey, you
owe me already, try putting one of these ridiculous checkered suits on,
in front of total strangers, humiliating: but, it's my job, so work
with me on this: don't recommend wheedling and/or inveigling unless
your heart is in it, lots of jumping, dancing around, playing the fool,
very tiring but rewarding work, especially when you consider all those
real fools who spoke their minds directly and got separated from their
pieholes by the drunken, but divinely empowered----give me/us a break,
people actually went for this, among them your ancestors----to do
pretty much anything; incidentally, in this vein, imagine what a kick
it was for the jester guy who, therefore, especially if he had an
enemy, or someone to whom money was owed, thusly cut where they can't
exactly sow it back on, first thought to say: "The king is dead, long
live the King." Really heavy irony, don't see how he got away with it,
do you. Anyway, fools rush in, but only the ones in proper clown
attire, shoes and all, got to tell about it later.
Chapter One: Guilty Feet Ain't Got No Rhythmn......
Who said popular music is without depth? There it is, compliments of
the fey George Michael: our once utilitarian wheels have been allowed
to facilitate a panoply of the most reprehensible deeds in all human
history. The Legions, the Wehrmacht, Vandals et.al.------would we have
even heard of them without shoes? Were they, our feet, designed for
this? Certainly, not. They had but one simple function: to get us from
point A to point B, all the while, walking or running, pumping that
hemoglobin back north. Very efficient, they let us hunt what we needed,
return home and, yes, put up our feet!
Then civilization comes along with the utmost irony: let's find ways to
make walking/running and all that hunt-related exertion unnecessary,
and, into the bargain, hide those hideous boats we would just as soon
forget about in the first place. And, the more elaborate the disguises
we can come up with, the less we will have contact with the ground.
Dangerous, as we all now know, or will soon learn herein, to our
horror. "On foot" became primitive; barefoot was childish or indicative
of negligible educational attainment. Alright, granted "No shoes/no
service" keeps out the riff-raff, but are we less or more human when
without footwear as we have come to know it: a vanity concession which
today, more and more, has evolved into a voluntary mode of mass torture
not seen since, well, the Nazis made the boot required attire in the
danse macabre of oppression.
Let us begin with perhaps the oldest artform: visual art in the form of
painting. Can you imagine the Turkish Odalisque wearing anything on her
feet, or David in Nikes? Don't forget Dave [David of the Bible to you]
wasn't lounging around like her, he was slaying a really big
Philistine, who, by the way, was wearing footgear----didn't help him a
bit. Oh, lucky shot, was it :go tell the deity(s) who created both of
these fellows, including their feet. Just imagine how history might
have been utterly different had Michelangelo thought to feature a
really crucial accoutrement on that ceiling near the hand of God
instead of the same finger which, other than to wear the occasional
glove, we have since left alone. And its not even that important----the
thumb's the whole franchise. But, in fairness to Mikey, it didn't start
with him: show me a cave painting that even vaguely resembles a
foot-----no, it's all goddam antelope, mastadons, wooly mammoths and
human hands [ok, granted, how was the guy going to stand there and
outline his foot with charcoal mouthspray, but, he, he's got nothing
else to do, so let him figure it out, or use caveman "B" as a
subject----it's not like they're missing out on any TV or a "rock"
concert------well, they had a different interpretation of "rock", a
little more practical; besides, no outlets for the electric guitars
that hadn't been invented].
But the lowly [sorry] foot, now lose that and you're in deep ca-ca
[well, not as in stepping in it, unless with the other foot----assuming
you haven't been so bloody careless as to have lost both of them!]. So,
then, these painterly craftsmen weren't too swift in painting the human
foot; that wasn't going to get in the way of their commissions and one
man shows, no; let's just ignore them, it was decided. After all,
before pedicures, they weren't very presentable, were they? Perfect, a
conspiracy of silence which still echoes in its own infamy.
Let's pause. Guilty indeed, both insofar as their having been artfully
"amputated" and what they are responsible for, by default, once
ensconced in the Clown Shoe, man's ultimately arrogant answer to his
creator's "errors", the feet.
Wait a moment, you may be protesting: what about the concept of
protection, especially in competitive endeavors, such as sports. Ha!
Don't get me started: and I suppose that the first Marathon wasn't run
barefoot. [Some guy runs it today without shoes]. Look, while
protection of our "precious" feet may be an incidental benefit, the
fact remains that we cover them in so many intricately contrived ways
so that they will do that which, as apart from that for which they were
designed, we want them to do, as mere slaves to our ambition, pride,
conceits, and fetishism. [Note to reader: this is, of course, not to
argue that, say, oh, foot fetishism is somehow preferable,
although.....nor is it to propose in any way that high heels,
preferably red and spikey, not be forever exempt from the thesis put
forth in this tome----what, you never heard of poetic license?].
As Edgar Rice Burroughs might have put it, 'would Tarzan have won over
Jane with a pair of wingtips?' Certainly not: we prefer our noble
savages sans footwear. Not to mention our heroes/heroines. Spiderman,
just tights; The Hulk, they wouldn't begin to have his size. The list
goes on: Superman [why would he need them, unless the sidewalk
contained Kryptonite]; Aquaman [OK, cheap shot]; Bigfoot, a somewhat
heroic figure to more spiritually inclined native cultures worldwide,
respect that, but, really, no profit in it----what do we have here, a
few sales at best, assuming you can get IT in for a fitting, and, even
if you do, can you count on repeat biz, what do you say, "hey, love
your outdoorsy style, but, remember, you're not going to get the most
out of your aimless nomadic lifestyle without a regular replacement of
those size 84s so, come see me, won't ya, normal business
hours"----might as well go fishing, preferably as far away as possible
from Sasquatch, gonna be pissed he got into those things in the first
place: easier to track, 'feet' hurt like hell, etc.; or even
Batman-----he has wings. Alas, and so do we every time we have the
airfare: but there they are, even when we don't "need" them [we'll get
to that false conspiratorial propositon soon enough, so read on,
unwitting victim that you are], those supposed adornments/protectors of
the feet, enabling our humility to evaporate and our Egos to bloom,
even mushroom.
Science now has established that neuropeptides are to be found
throughout the body; formerly, it was believed that they only resided
in the "intelligent" brain. It is now clear that, as in "gut feeling"
legend, intelligence resides throughout the body, so much so, that
medical researchers of some attainment have opined that it is indeed,
psychosomatically speaking, often impossible to delineate where the
brain ends and the body begins. With this in mind, what do our feet
"think" about this?
Can they be said to have evolved, like automatonic servants to our
central processor/brain's desires. Or are they in open rebellion to
their fashionable prisons? Viva la Revolution, I, and you perhaps in
several tens of pages, will hear ever louder resounding in your
conscience. [Relax, we're just getting started; I suggest if you
haven't already done so, kick off those you know whats and venture with
me into realms of your being you have forgotten existed--------pretty
good, assured you that what you are about to experience, in terms of
awareness, amounts to the real salesmanship, huh? ] What if I promised
you forbidden fruit, forget Eden, the whole serpent thing: the serpent
wears a suit/ male or female, looks like you and me, but has forbidden
you to return to the Garden you were built to inhabit------this is
waxing poetical, and how fitting, as there is nothing prosaic about
those hidden wonders (yes, your feet, what did you think this whole
build up was about, YOU and your silly little life) you and I have
taken for granted, much to the detriment of our potential enjoyment of
them and the very Earth/once Garden upon which they were meant to walk,
one step at a time. Forbidden by whom, if not the serpent of old?
If this has had any effect upon you, you will now, or soon enough,
dismiss your shrink, or at least cancel your next appointment with
him/her [get used to this PC deal], at least until they [can't be
bothered, trying to make a point here] have had a chance to have read
and, in order to do so, bought, this book [don't lend him yours, he/she
[PC, ugh] needs your/my help more than you think you need his/hers
[stop, already], pause in your splendid and deserved stillness [think
this sucking up, even for a good cause, is easy], if you have made time
for it in your life, and get up, go to your nearest window, open it up
and join me in shouting, "I'm mad as hell, really mean it this time,
this is not a movie, this is my life, and I will not be an accomplice
to my own demise or that of my birthplace, Earth, anymore!" If they,
the corporate branders who like to decide things for you, have not
fully succeeded by now, you are reading this book, ready to once again
do that which you were destined to do: walk the Earth, not just on
weekends, in the right shoes, coordinated with your relevantly
expensive outfit, but using the original equipment entrusted to you.
[The PR department was right, this is starting to get to me, and I have
known about this stuff for some time now, and, no, this is not some
promotional pitch for nudist colonies, get a grip, really disappointed
in you, keep it clean.....].
The next most prominent argument beyond "protection" goes something
like this: glorification. This one really deserves unmasking. Isn't the
question "of what, the foot or its putative master, the brain?" Can you
say designer; ok, can you also say, fashion? Then you have your
answer.
The foot is a mere profit center, especially if it makes the short look
taller [Note to readers 5'6" and below: another exemption is seriously
under development in the author's otherwise comprehensive thesis]; the
nerdy look cool and, of course, the meek aggressive. This argument will
forever remain an embarrassment to sincerity after the Chinese
footbinding fashion of old. [See Diagram A within for stunning
similarity of design then and now].
So, then, guilty, indeed, as charged-----but, apologies to Mr.
Michael's poetic phrasing, it is hardly the foot which stands---
[again, sorry, but you now see how very fundamental this subject matter
is to not only our verticality but also our right to remain
upright]---- before the Bar of Justice. What other human
undertakings---- [there's that very relevant bottom up theme again, see
how it has been there all along in our shared set of symbols we call
language (that sounds pretty scholarly, keep it up, self]----- have
perpetuated the foot's indictment and consequent
incarceration-------let us explore.
Chapter Two: Man's War on the Foot
From "bootless cries...." to putting one's foot in one's mouth, authors
have served the brain and warred upon the seemingly lowliest part of
man. To be sure, there is the occasional elevation (effortless pun
break) of the foot, but only by indirection in praise of its house:
note the very first scene in Julius Caesar ----[he and his Legions
certainly bought into it, see Chapter 1] ----where the cobbler claims
to be the mender of soles/souls, only to admit that he enjoys wasteful
public holidays so as to obtain more business.
"What mischief is afoot?" Always with the negative connotation; can you
think of an equivalent comment in the foot's favor? "My kingdom for a
......foot!" Nope. No, it's always "the Devil's footfalls...." Or "You
must foot the bill." See what I mean. And where, may I ask, are
prisoners or suppliants always to be found: at the feet of their
superiors. What is a footman but a guy who has to bend and scrape a
lot. Has a footsoldier, even after surviving boot camp, ever gotten
more glory than the cavalry? And, when they really wanted to humiliate
Mussolini they hung him by his feet.
The foot is truly the Dangerfield of the human body. But why, where and
when and how did this fate befall the feet. What would martial arts,
actually a very brainy business, be without the foot, or ballet or
bungi jumping for that matter. The illogic of this conspiracy is
matched only by the silence surrounding it-----until now.
It is time to name names. Florsheim, Thom McAnn, Nike, Kenneth Cole,
Givenchy, St. Laurent, Chanel, and all you other
footbinders......J'Accuse! Forget 'Free Willy' or the Chicago
Seven------Free the Lowly Five/Ten!
Chapter Three: Hygiene's Dirtiest Little Secret(s) or How About
'Athlete's Foot'?
It's not called Athlete's Hand, elbow, face, ear, eyelid-------no,
Foot. The very name conjures sweat, dirt, fungus......yuk! Yet, similar
maladies-----conjuctivitis, tintinitis, tennis elbow-----have mostly
interesting Latinate or socially superior descriptions. Hey, but you
contract a really unctuous malady anywhere near your feet, it is
immediately consigned to the 10th level of Dante's Hell (see "The
Divine Comedy for Body Parts Below the Elbow", his sequel, poorly
received----don't believe me, try finding it in even an out of print
bookshop like The Griffin in New York).
Even leprosy, that ancient hygienic disease, is worst when the foot
falls off, for crying out loud. Corns, blisters, bonespurs, pidgeon
toedness, the list goes on: the foot gets bloody supermarket-available
Dr.Scholls, the rest of our special bodus is worthy only of the finest
research medicine. Give me/us a break. Where the hell would the rest of
this meatsack ----[sorry,but one can't help but get exorcised!]----- be
without healthy feet? Oh, I know what you are thinking, why all the
paranoia? Ok, you try going anywhere, everywhere without the
unmentionable foot. Yes, I know, evolution to the fucking rescue: in x
number of generations, we won't have any need of the foot, thank you
very much. Really classy, I must say, not to mention short-sighted. How
so: just how is one to climb Mt. Everest, the ultimate symbology for
human achievement on a spiritual basis. Look, it's one thing to talk
about how one's reach should always exceed the grasp, but ask Mr.
Browning how he would feel without any feet.
But I digress, don't I. Allright, back to basics: take the clubfoot,
please. Didn't help old Lord Byron's ambulation, although in fact it
did tend to make him all the more romantic. Why? I will tell you:
Freakishness.
What, you say? Yes, just soak those unmentionables in some Epsom
salts, and call me in the morning, me, the podiatrist. What, you say:
foot doctor, how, well, bottom of the heap can one get? You see, we
still don't get it: it's not top/down, it's down/up! What, is there a
bloody echo in here?!
Look again, you don't build anything that lasts from top down, now do
you. No. "Footers"; "footings"; footprints, all forgotten: why? Because
the foot has yet to come out of the closet, itself so full of shoes as
to crowd out nature's shoe herself. Sad, really sad----and with
consequences, oh, yes, indeed, as we shall now observe in the next
riveting chapter: "step" now, remember how, into that dark recess of
oblivion in the making, if you dare.
Chapter Four: The Old Point A to Point B Game.....
Yes, Mr. Global Village Marshall McCluhan of Canada---- [in his
possible defense, try going anywhere in your barefeet in that eternal
winter]----- we have heard you wax poetical about how, over time, the
machine will mimic the organic body's extremities: the car becoming the
foot, etc. Ha! Does the foot need petrol or gas to ambulate, certainly
not. Gimme some oat bran or whatever and I am off to see the proverbial
Wizard on that happy, happy footpath , not interstate, known as the
yellow brick road. And, really blowing up your high-minded sounding
little postulating, you still have us wearing shoes in the car! What,
the carpet too abrasive, you bathetic sissy?
Yes, Mabelle, we have always gotten there one step at a time, as in
smell the roses, thank you very much for nothing. There's the rub,
ain't it? And in the journey that is Life, are we really about the
destination at all costs/haste or the path of steps that is at the very
heart of that undertaking? Worried, well you should be. The next time
some sheik says "Get me some cash....and some hot young girls!" ,or
else, don't forget who told you so. Fact is this: the Chinks nailed it
when they told us that the longest trip starts, and continues, with one
step at a time. Rest my case.....and my feet! So, then, anybody want to
argue that we don't need our you know whats? Ok, we're making
progress.....or are we.

Certainly progress is the all-purpose cover story of the millennia. In
fact, now that I think about it for a nanosecond, it really pisses me
off that we have let us, you and I, get away with that crap. Name one
thing that the imprisoned foot can do that its nakedly free
brother/sister hasn't done first and, often, better still. Don't waste
my time, you're just stalling: look, from walking to crossing burning
coals, that latest of "I'm getting in touch with my primitive inner
self" revivals, to swimming ,the 'come as you are' foot kicks it
bigtime. Wait, heard that from the back, yes, you:"can't walk on the
Moon"-----cute-----who wants to do that anyway [and, that's assuming we
ever did-----hey, do I really care about the sanity of those buying
this book with perfectly reasonable cash, takes all kinds, which is a
major reason the shoe thing caught on the way it did, as in, easily led
off the cliff, etc.]; next-----no, seems that even NASA got bored with
that one; here's another load of you know what: what about walking long
distances on pavement, plays havoc with the fleshy sole, you posit. You
think I'm stuck, what with the pregnant pause you're imagining is going
on? El wrongo; you're engaging in specious reasoning aren't you and it
just takes a nano-moment for me to regain my never-really-lost
composure. How so: who asked for all the bloody [literally!] pavement
and sidewalks anyway, yes----a bunch of bloated sots who wear large
size suits, hardly walk anywhere, including your precious Moon, and
generally invoke "Progress" as their motivation! I appreciate circles
as much as the next person but don't particularly enjoy being led
around in them like some goddam sheep.
Waiting for your next excuse to smother the foot. Here goes, you say:
can't show up at a business meeting without shoes! Impressive, except
that, well, see the response to your pavement point and you will back
the fuck off: that's right, same schmucks who slammed you a tergo (you
know where) came up with that little gimmick to sell you what you
"need".......for .......your busy-ness....meeting, you feckless
wanker!
I can see you might need some help from everybody's favorite and
convenient asshole: the Devil's Advocate him/her-self [PC, get used to
it, goddam lawyers]. Hmmmmm. Interesting: 'how can I shut this putz up,
already, about the evils (got the right guy/gal, didn't I) of
footwear?' Got it: just how does anyone hope to get a job in a, say,
steelmill without protective shoes, preferably boots?? What about
armies, how are they supposed to fight for us in all terrain, including
snow------hey, reread Chapter One, will you or at least bring this up
with the "don't give a shit about logic, too busy with busy-ness" crowd
at the ...........PROGRESS Department, AGAIN!
Can't get noooo sat-is-fact-ion-------see here, do I have to say it
again, who decided we needed, as opposed to wanted, steel mills in the
first place? See your "friends" in the Progress Department and stop
bothering me with shit you at least once knew the answer to and still
should, that is if it's not too much trouble for you to take a little
time away from SHOPPING for pointless shit, including the goddam shoes
you need to go shopping in because the floor at the mall is too hard
and abrasive........brought to you by guess fucking who.
Helluva trap, no time left to think about what and why when there is
so much busy-ness [too obvious for the Progress guys, might get um
thinking-----make it Business, yes, much better, ahhhh, we'll create
whole cable channels breathlessly singing its praises------Note to
reader/listener: who was it, Hemingway, I think, who said: "do not
confuse activity with action...."; of course, he did turn a shotgun on
himself, and, aside from any religio-moral issues you may have with
that, the question still remains unanswered----was that an activity or
an action?----not like he knew, so why the bloody hell are we wasting
time on this, got bigger fish to gut; ok, a rather transparent attempt
on this writer's part to garner the intellectual crowd's
interest/support with a literary quote, won't happen again, as far as
YOU know ] the pursuit of which requires protection from wear and tear.
Really interesting: the foot ever wear out, except maybe from wearing
you know whats?
[So, you find it hard to believe the foot massage, human and machine,
industry didn't just get lucky in this whole scenario-----you know
what, you fucking deserve to wear shoes, ok; note to self: remember,
after the Revolution (see Chapter Seven, although it won't save your
ass, or your feet, I can promise you that, I know who you are), to
carve out a seemingly larger than expected category for mandatory
really ugly/clunky/otherwise uncomfortable, one size too small footwear
for these stolid dolts-----don't worry they're free, compliments of the
Masoch Foundation's generosity (see masochism, dumbasses)-----just our
way of saying screw you for being part of the problem and, on a more
personal note, being perennially self-disqualified from membership in
my burgeoning fan club, losers].
I can see that even old Diablo him/her-self[PC] can't give you any
shelter on this one, so, subject to a DECENT comment from YOU, let's
move on shall we. Let's hear from some really cool holy guys and gals
[ditto] who are concerned with another kind of progress, so powerful
and important they don't even feel the need for me to capitalize the P;
nope, just responsible for having created and/or preserved most
worthwhile things in what we used to call civilization, that's all.
Here we go, campers, it's called being awake and aware, try it some
time, like NOW.

Chapter Five: Even Hippies Can Be Right or Cultural Mysticism and Your
Feetsie-Weetsies [Maybe the baby talk won't be so scary-wary,
huh?]
Ok, then, you got your Japanese; Muslims; Jesus/footwashing; all kinds
of ancient ancient ancestors----Did the Greek Gods of Olympus wear
shoes?; what is the point of walking on a beach/fiery coals in shoes?;
ever hear of footprints in the sand?
Pretty spiritual busy-ness, this, all involving the shoeless or bare
foot. Why? No, the absence of really cool shoe boutiques is not what I
was looking for you happy little moron----you again, in the back? Do me
a favor, will you, shoot yourself in the head, you won't feel a thing
or notice a difference in your effectiveness as an AMOEBA here on
Earth. Fine, we'll let you wait for your friends to go shopping for the
gun.
Yes, the subject is "souls" but not the ones your mind-control
masters---I mean shoe designers----- seem so worried about; these don't
need shoes, in fact, they probably aren't allowed in the next set of
dimensions, you know, the one(s) we probably CAME from shooting down
that slippery canal mom prepared for you/us--------sans
booties------which explains, to me, why there are so many dead-looking
assholes walking around, in their clunky shoes, here on Earth, as
demonstrated amply by our audience today, yes,it may mean YOU
(particularly if you are either simply browsing through this book at
the yuppie bookstore or otherwise haven't purchased it for your
reference library: hey, you think it's so easy being brilliant and
insightful, especially in these fucking clown shoes-----show some
compassion!)
What are these "progressives" telling us when they enter their holy of
holies barefoot/without you know whats ?[Note to reader: it's a good
ideas to stop mentioning them by name, ok, helps get in "step" with the
whole FreeFeet movement].
Could it be that our Creator(s) think(s) feet are really cool, sort of
pride of construction, that sort of thing? Hey, these holymen/women
[guess] and their worshippers don't expose other body parts [even cover
their heads, home of the enemy, at least when in disuse, about 95\%+ of
the time these days, so very successfully encouraged by things like our
systems of education, mass communication and, of course, commerce, the
"New, Improved God", far superior to Brand X, the latter seemingly
invisible, apparently deaf, and, for all we know, rather dumb, given
the quality of what we have just been observing in that hard, thick
shell you carry around on your neck; personally I believe
HE/SHE/IT/THEM (stop, PC has not been officially extended to invisible,
etc. entities which, conveniently for the Commerce &; Progress
boys/girls----just ignoring it for now, sue me----may not even exist or
possess gender) has/have pretty damn good sight faculties, thus
explaining why "X" has/have no bloody intention of making the same
mistake----(Deity?)----again!], and, well, looking at your average
monk/shaman/worshipper, it's a damn good idea. Why should He/She/They
have to look at what has been done to a perfectly good physique?? Oh,
you are nodding your head like you are somehow exempt from this sad
fact: cut out the goddam pastries, take a 900 mile walk, and then we'll
talk about it.
Ever see an obese foot? Maybe chubby, but never fat. And that includes
most of the 12 billion + human feet in the world, Swanson. [He's our
statistician, who wanted to include his three feet----clever boy, nice
body, too. Gotta throw something in for the Gays,-------- just the way
I'm put together, what can I tell you, Mr. Inclusive Nice Guy].
Fit feet, something the maker(s) should be proud of; oh we love our
maker(s), really do worship God(s) and its/their handiwork ---[Author's
note:can't escape it, anything but footwork: oh, but, somehow Muhammad
Ali, when he did that incredible 'bicycle' shit in the ring was
godlike, really terribly inconsistent to the point of nausea] so
faithfully, but we're not so sure about the gunboats. Do me a favor,
next time you get up to go somewhere, or nowhere, just stand there,
avoiding the stairmaster at all costs, say Thank You, it wouldn't kill
you.
Who doesn't at least think they want to be famous for something,
preferably "good". Here's Jesus, Yeshuah, Christ----lotta titles, great
humanoid visitor from wherever, really goddam---(sorry,
whoever)---famous; ok, "he" thought washing somebody's dirty feet was
the top thing you could do, seriously. Coulda picked say the breast
area, my first choice [don't get all carried away, gay men, ok, that
last bone thrown was just that, PC, lawyers, got it?], but no, the
feet. Why? You wanna bet against this entity [except maybe in the
pissing off the Establishment department]? Not me. He is a money bet.
Does this tell us why the Establishment, Attention: Progress
Department, Bureau of Footwear is still trying to get past this
embarrassing little lesson for the other so(u)l(e)?
HELLO, anybody writing this down? [disregard, I already did, so just
buy the book, alright, so you won't have to]. Think it's a safe betsky.
Anybody seen a crucifix with J-man wearing shoes, and "he" is hangin in
a Church, man. Try walking in there with no shoes, though, can't you
hear it: "you're a kook, now show a little respect for your savior
here, all but naked---stop staring-----and go get cleaned up.
Jesus!"
Let's review: No shoes, No (religious) service! Looks like the Progress
boys/girls downtown have got the Godmen where they want them: plenty of
parking lot and pavement leading up to that house of worship. So much
for the Progressive West; what about the East?
You're lucky to find much of a temple, much less some paved road
leading to their House of Oz. Doesn't slow em down; nope, going on
pilgrimages, through the desert, muck and mire: hello, muck, hello,
mire! Happy prayers, these. And don't forget, this is the J-man's home
turf. And it has remained turf, just like Creator(s) like it, natural.
What, they couldn't make Astroturf?
Aside from the question of taste, they knew it was tough on the old
dogs.

Jump over to the Far East: Japan. Wanna get cut with a samurai sword,
you that bored, walk into a Japanese home with your boots on. They
welcome your FEET, just not those dirty hobnails you prance around on
thinking you're so fabulous. Ok, you say, but then they sit on the
floor to eat, what is up with that? Ever think it's because there have
been no filthy shoes on them. Even an amoeba gets that one, well,
except one [she get the gun yet?]
And, while, we are in the general neighborhood, Bigfoot puts in its
appearance: the perrenial reminder that native cultures who see large
hairy creatures give us pause as to the value of the foot itself,
really, how embarrassing,' they can't be sophisticated like ours'; just
in case, deny it exists, you know, like you do that original equipment
pair you're probably hiding on a regular basis, even right now, reading
this------mom or dad ever teach you manners?
Nice respect for your fellow primate; what is overlooked, of course,
is the humility it conjures about us and OUR feet. Can't have that,
bunch of savages on home-brewed firewater [hey, we're at least
comprehensive in our ignorant condemnation, give us that: we're still
pissed they didn't buy our booze: after all, aside from the lost jobs,
profits, etc., look how effective it is in dulling our awareness of the
rights and privileges of our you know whats].
Back to the Middle East, hometown to three major religions, one of
which actually directly encourages unadorned feet to enter the mosque.
Even lets you bring your own rug, but no shoeskis. Again, don't argue
with these guys, they have curvy swords like the Japs. And they are
pretty sharp. The Muslims, as well as their swords. These folks are
into haj, walking to Mecca in a toga-like garment or whatever, but very
little shoeleather. Learn something from this, will you: the "folks"
upstairs seem to like the foot, gonna argue with that, don't mention my
name.
Now we turn to the ultimate "progressive" test: ready to really explore
the "soul": get the hot coals ready. What's the point when there is so
much Bar B Q to be cooked? Answer: your mind----remember that gift,
brought to you by the same maker(s) of the human Foot---------can
create your own custom shoes for you!
Take a deep breath: who am I to create "shoes", don't even have a cool
[usually phony] designer name, what are you talking??
Orthopaedic blasphemy! Hello! Earth calling her one-time constant
companions, come Home to Jamaica, mon! [See Chapter Six for more
radically cool Rastafarian type shit].
Greece: the glory that was her, the grandeur that was Rome, right? Even
the sandal-wearing Romans, who got that idea, like most of their others
from the Greeks [see Odorus of Sparta, Intro.], knew that the Greeks
really had it together. Great statuary, sodomy, bestiality, terrific
islands, unlimited ways to exploit slaves, etc.; but, above all, it was
these tri-sexual [as in try anything, right?] fellows who created the
Gods in their image-----lotta chutzpah, right? See any shoes, other
than the occasional sandal, and this was due largely to the political
influence of Oppolodorus, ass kissing bastard.
You really didn't need the goddam sandals, truth to tell, you needed
to work on the whole underwear thing: ever see these togas, you can see
everything. Which, of course, meant that the Greeks were not on their
feet too terribly often, to put it to you directly. Real fuckers, flat
out. Come to think of it, they really needed to add to their list the
whole boy/girl [PC exempt] thing, right after underwear research,
really. This is, by the way, what they pinned on Socrates, you know,
"corrupting the youth of Athens." Give me a colossal Classical break,
please. Put yourself in his place: can see EVERYTHING, pretty hard to
concentrate on metaphysics when you want to get physical, am I right?
It's not like these boys were so pure, for crying out loud, they were
bloody shepherds, bloody largely from buggering sheep: so much for
Arcadia [see Romantic poetry movement, the whole goddam thing, all over
humping shepherds, it's depressing, really]. Where was I; see what I
mean about the Toga-thingy issue. And this was the apex, the zenith of
Western culture? No wonder the fucking Progress boys have been so
successful. Christ,....... I mean Zeus!
Time out. We are now ready, or not------here it comes-------to face the
ultimate challenge: La Revolution! Viva NOT Zapata, NO------Viva El
Footo, as the "sole" [on a roll here, don't fight it, Ok] hope for the
"human" left in humanity at large. It is up to YOU....... (sorry, no
amoebas allowed).

Chapter Six: Back to Nature----why does every shoe-wearing son/daughter
[sorry,gender PC clause in my contract] of a bitch/bastard [ditto,
tiresome, isn't it] want to go there?
I promised you a bloody Revolution; intend to deliver. Ever stand in
cool green grass, sans shackles, a/k/a shoes? Bliss, baby. As hot as it
may be as in ambient temperature, it is there, a constantly cool source
of love for the Earth, that which you have forgotten how to love, just
good for trampling, littering and, oh yes, PAVING. Earth Day: she can
take us or leave us, it is we who need her; that's only the half of
it----rename it Barefoot Day, screw the snobs, and you have a promising
opening salvo for your Revolution.
Are you ready to go with me, then, to the Promised Land, where there
can be land on which to trod, as Nature herself intended; do you yearn
to get back, get back, yes, get back to where you once belonged, even
if your name is not JoJo [yes, wiseguy/gal (both genders have plenty of
assholes...... pretty obvious,now, on, reflection----never mind), have
the Fab Four's permission, can you say dedication----see author's name,
ok]? I'm sensing Yes, take us there...........Wait! Not so simple, ye
of questionable faith. Do you know what awaits you, beyond that blue
horizon: salivating shoe salesmen, for one thing, do anything to get
you in the store, and, once there, all sortsa shit, using mirrors,
measuring devices, anything. You know why they do it: don't give a shit
about the seminal (nothing to do with semen, dirty mind(s)!)
shoe/barefoot issue, just want to see up your skirt [guys who are
offended by this are either fruits or really jealous: both of you work
with me, ok, I'm on a fucking mission here, ok?].
Very well, then, if you have tears, prepare to shed them.........for
your enemies, because cavemen, without a shoe in sight, knew how to
righteously kick ass, let me tell you; just ask, (like you could,
temporally or linguistically-----pretty swift, huh?), any mastadon
carcass you happen to come across.
That Patron Saint of All Exploitation Including the Shoe Business,
P.T. Barnum, has us where he wanted us: in one huge Circus, all of us
wearing Clown Shoes and, as a direct result, albeit unconscious [see
'subliminal suggestibility'----no, it's not in any of my chapters----do
I have to teach you everything?] crying on the inside kind of clowns!
No mas, no mas!
Ecology----how dare we speak of it when we have lost our most basic
foundational contact with Nature: walking the Earth. Not just like
Cain, Mr. Kung Fu or the walkabouts of Australia, more like the
Aborigine of that same continent. Oldest continuous civilization on
that self-same mommy Earth island continent. No shoe industry, fuck em,
right? Wrong. They got it going on, pals. But we are not ready for them
(nor they for us, no shoeshine stands, no sidewalks)---------fuckin
paradise/hell, [latter for all remaining living amoebas, without
mentioning names--------hey, lighten up, amoebas don't have names (yes
they do!); sensing my inner rage/conflict over this? -----see what
bloody grief all the clueless assholes out there can cause] .
First, we must pass the test: the footprint test. Right, no more
fingerprints, wrongheaded [but, then again, what would you have
expected----see incisive commentary on this point above: what
page/chapter, you ask]------look, just return the book, ok, for a 50\%
refund, no questions asked-----not that you could answer them, mind you
(those two don't go together, trust me; look, it's really frustrating
when someone is so goddam thick that they can't be insulted, so have
some consideration). Take a look at your birth certificate [those of
you who are unsure of your mammalian descent, talk amongst yourselves,
you just aren't going to see a lot of relevance for the next BILLION
pages----sorry, no refunds, largely due to the fact that you were lucky
to both have found the bookseller and to have been allowed on the
premises]; chances are, its got a tiny wrinkled blob of ink on it: they
had the right idea; let's take it to the wall, man.
Second, anybody able to hold a gun in their foot? Hey, if you can
fucking shoot me. Alright. [Hey, the Progress boys/girls--- (now these
assholes invented this shit to keep you in fear and otherwise away from
a whole lot of analysis and overall witty comments you otherwise might
utter to the right person, leading possibly to a threat of some kind to
their hegemony)--- will pay up handsomely-------you can go buy some
more fucking shoes].
The time has come to value the foot as much as, if not more than, the
hand. Any hand fans out there? And don't even start with that opposing
thumb shit, alright? "Oh, the incredible dexterity to grasp
objects........" yeah, to knock the shit out of each other, ever
fucking since! But, let's review its long esteemed human story.
Murderers love em; burglars swear by em; ever heard of a kid fondled by
a foot? [Ok, I can explain that, so calm the fuck down!, kid's word
against.....]; fact is, Mr. Hand has had his day, a day that is passed.
Don't find that credible: hey, pencils are for dorks and kids, pens for
signatures-------look, fugedaboutit, you're about to lose your keyboard
["Computer, take a letter...."; lotsa luck, remember Hal 9000] and
penman/womanship [hey, see gender clause assholes, ok] will be some
quaint memory.
Hand's job is done [prudes won't get it, freaks think its not
enough,many will take offense at this innocent phrasing, except, of
course, all you Clintonistas out there for whom such an entendre isn't
even sex, "is" it?], got all this hand surrogate shit happening
[fucking McCluhan, thanks for depressing us 30 years ahead of
time]-----missiles, electronic voice activation, the list goes on
[sorry, no more freebies: buy my next book, you can order it over the
voice activated appliances which have amputated most of your humanity
to date, to be entitled "Life, the Universes and Everything, Part 2",
with appropriate dedication, and royalties, to the estate of the late,
great Doug Adams, patron saint of sardonic humor----see you alongside
the cosmic highway (pretty soon, if these Progress fucks get ahold of
me), hitchhiking, of course-----you don't know who he was?----points
for courage, none for awareness of a true genius; in fact, don't want
you reading my book, ok, use it to hold up that shitty couch you WASTE
away on, vapidly drooling over insipid TV's corporatized propaganda and
other brain-killers----no harm, no foul, right?].
Foot's the next "step", mark my words---yes, smartass, with your voice
activated shit-----unless you are one of the growing "educated"
unthinking illiterate (you know, like "working poor", that sort of
unacceptable paradox)-----oh, you're not working poor, just do poor
work; that case, just use your computer, and all the attachments you'll
buy anyway as really large paper weights, for the paperwork you do from
time to time, that is, once you learn to write. Stop bothering
me,alright, or I'll force you to have sex outside the family.
The requiem now reads, down with the hand [keep it clean, ok, this is a
family book],yet, I add Up with the Foot! Up,indeed, up with yours (or
just "up yours" if I don't like your attitude, so watch it and keep
studying this book, promoting it, that sort of thing) indeed, but
where, how, who, and when?!
Where: here, there and everywhere, John &; Paul calling [see Fab
Four reference above----this one I co-wrote, ok, yeah, separately and
simultaneously, like Newton and Leibniz, you know, calculus-----you
really need my next book!]. Lose the shoes, if only on weekends, ok;
ok. Today Saturday/Sunday, tomorrow..........who knows. Start with
stocking feet, if you must, just begin.
Who: am I talking to myself? If you've come this far, maybe, just maybe
you are willing to go a little further [royalties due Stephen King,'
Shawshank', like he needs them, check's in the mail].
When: what are you waiting for, your idiot boss/brother/sister/whoever
to lead, when they're not even reading this fucking book [you know YOU
have the power to change that, not me, done my part]; get a grip on
yourself, YOU have been chosen. Screw Nancy Sinatra, bitch [relax, he's
dead and any of his pals are either so old they think this is their
first chance to get laid in a millennium, must feel like; "dey bin put
in my nex screenplay", ok?], like her goddam boots are going anywhere
if she has the guts to ask, why? 'Just because my boyfriend fucks
around on me I have to act like him with the whole macho thing and the
crushing and kicking'------Frank, patron saint of romance, where the
Hell was she, down at the Harley shop when you were recording "Nancy
with the laughing face"? Four-ged-about-it!
Thirdly, we must embrace Nature's answer to urban sprawl: the much
maligned callus [Note: mostly, by sissys and assorted shoe-dependent
enthusiasts who believe, poor soles?/souls [there it is again], that
the callus is a man-made deal, never realizing that their
hand-counterpart's callus, the hand-maiden [see the bias, Jesus!] of
rock guitarists, is the key to musical bliss. So too, then, with the
Earth's bruises, to make us stronger footwise [hey, got a nice ring to
it: don't like it, I suppose you never heard of "sitting at the feet of
a master"-----not next to his/her (Jesus!) brain, hand, shoulder, so
try and keep up, slackenheimer].

Chapter 7: "I pledge allegiance to the United Toes of Earth [the
U.-T.O.E. acronymn seems to work best for name recognition by
those---most of you whose brains are at war with their own feet---I
know, very catchy; hey, anything for the cause]...."
OK, you are ready, it would appear, to commence study of the Manifesto
[Note: my last name is not spelled, nor has it been changed from, Ted
Kazinski, alright, ---should be bloody (should I keep that last word in
in light of the context, what the hell!) obvious, I can't do high math
[of course, that is strangely irrelevant, thanks to the
bastards/bitches (gender cl.....) who brought us/me voice-activated
computer "toys"]. But I digress [I know, it's my cross to bear....so
little awareness, such genius to "share" (see former commentary, which
bears repeating, concerning the small pittance of a price you are
permitted to pay to incorporate this Renaissance man's thinking into
your own)]----better purge some of those "important" knowledge files in
that wetware of yours-----you know the ones, "what shoes are
appropriate for the ball", "Lou Dobbs is on at 6"--------really, it's
enough to both make me throw up and demand, for the sake of all/most
(charitable, ain't I) of you, that biology change its rules just to
keep me alive forever.
Let us begin:
Preamble: [see above, you know, as in before Chapter 1]
Whereas,
the world as we know it has been forgotten by the self-same "Brain"
that has forgotten, rather meretriciously [look it up, this is a
high-powered document, no dumbing down allowed], the very feet with
which it shares an interconnected and otherwise, at least, equally
intelligent corpus [dictionary's already open, one would hope----hey
you're messing with the flow of this historic document, otherwise I
might grant you an insight into the latest research, for now, just see
above for the neuropeptides discoveries------it's under "n", just
stop]; and
Whereas,
the Earth and her
[sorry guys, gender clause superseded by the obvious, which, of
course, is why male-dominated corporate boardrooms/executive suites are
so Stepforded----look, even most of the broads (straining exemption,
but try and serve me a summons) in there have, sadly, had to buy into
the 'I'm better than you' mindset, promoted by men---hey, just look at
her shoes, you think a woman would do that intentionally?, and have
ended up mimicking men, except, of course, when it comes to getting
them in bed----sorry, it's a million year old reflex thing, ok]
multifarious manifestations have been systematically exploited,
ravaged and despoiled due largely to one of the few instrumentalities
which Mankind has solely [me=punmonster] invented and employed, in the
name of facile psychological chicanery and manipulations of
his/her
[good spot to mention the lawyers who insisted on the gender clause,
don't you think?;complain to/about them, got it]
fellows, the SHOE; Now, Therefore, Be it Resolved that----
We hold these truths to be self-evident or, at least, so bloody obvious
that everyone alive and deceased, for no longer than 30 minutes, in
either case, should fucking get it
[Jefferson was a distant blood relative, OK; the anger thing, well
that requires some explanation involving a minor violent incident
wherein blood, from the famous Virginian was drawn which in turn got
onto----in this case we're calling it into [see "poetic license", you
know how these stories get distorted over time] as my father tells it,
he was accosted with a knife in Paris in 1793 by a mendicant 4th
cousin, twice removed (unsuccessfully from the family tree) to my
great-great-really great grandfather, Sheldon Wannabeesky, a Polish
vendor down on his luck----so were a lot of people, in his defense,
look why do you think they had a fucking Revolution----not because they
were barefoot or really liked cake [especially French pastry----oh
sure, plenty of calories, heavy cream, butter galore, but, for my
taste, anyway, really not nearly sweet enough], although even then the
Progress assholes had done quite a lot of cobblestone work, really a
bitch on your feet;
no it was because everyone who was barefoot was hungry, walking around
with headaches, you get the idea; he later redeemed himself by working
a sweetheart deal with Dr. Guillotine, of beheading fame, on some used
blades which he got way below wholesale---don't ask, don't tell----from
a gypsy prince: ok, he "gypped" the gypsy, not an easy thing to do;
made a fortune which was squandered by his sons on a mass printing of a
multi-volume set of Polish jokes [actually pretty funny, the jokes, the
whole idea really, but sensibilities being what they are].......which
the schmucks tried to sell in Poland: cut their balls off, end of a
dynasty.......but I digress] ----
Article One: Campaign for International Barefoot Day to be Declared by
United Nations for Summer Equinox, Including Really Cool &;
Potentially Violent---Hey, They're the Bullies, with all Their High
Profit Margins, Etc.-----Sloganeering Which, It is Hoped, Will Lead to
Barefoot Week, Month &; So On by the Year 2005
Section 1.1: MONEY: Sufficient Financial Support will be obtained from
the sale of every unnecessary [my 800 number will be published
everywhere, don't worry about this decision, really] item of footwear
via a sales tax levy [see 800 # comment regarding amount, but, in case
you were wondering, the really ugly ones----you guessed it, they'll
have to call me, albeit toll free----(ok, the cost of the call is
averaged into the tax but, for details, you should really talk to
Swanson, my statistician, remember, but no homo jokes, he's very
sensitive, might affect the calculations, get my drift?)-----but, I
don't mind telling you, it's gonna cost em, oh yes] so as to defeat the
Fashion Shoe Industry's diabolical counter campaign to set the date
firmly as the 12 th of fucking never------
[can anyone else see the mercernary resurrection of Johnny Mathis on
this one: won't work and, Johnny, you're an African American, your
bullshit-o-meter/'I am being used' gauge should be off the proverbial
chart, pay attention to your instincts; what, too busy with you new
found second career and your (how predictable, what am I gonna say: new
line of fashion footwear, the Mathis Pump)---- [hey, you forced me to
go with the 'questionable gender' thing which, has nothing to do with
the gender clause, but I'm sure the lawyers will flog that one now that
I brought it up, full disclosure man, that's me]----where's your
self-respect, in your wallet like every other slob out there with the
Sally Struthers physique and that "You like me, you really like me!" [I
like her so no naming names this time, you're safe, such a doll that
Sally Fields] other-directed self esteem-o-meter nauseatingly cardboard
cutout self-concept? Fine: why don't you rerelease "Chances Are...",
with some new lyrical twists, such as, I dunno: "......I'll wear a
silly grin the moment your shoes come into view....", sellout.
No, no, too good for you: hey, it's your call, nonviolence is our
creed although can't ever tell what those unemployed jackhammer
operators might do, cabish? Advise you to study Section 2.1; you have
been warned].
Besides, "Never Never" [really happy with this, cute, huh?----conjures
up really uncomfortable pirate shoes, even peglegs (obviously, a sad
manifestation of what the wearing of circulation-inhibiting footwear,
even hand made, think about it, can lead to-----you didn't really fall
for that violence/swordfighting cover story put out by the cobbler's
guild with the exclusive deal with Blackbeard and his ilk, Jesus,
things are worse than I thought: what, what am I talking about----where
do I begin----ok, maybe you had a deprived childhood, ask your kids
about Peter fucking Pan, gotta go......] will be our well-publicized
slogan as we, if necessary, use their very product, especially the
really heavy clunky looking shit that amoebas buy to win approval from
people they either do or would despise if they only knew them, to bash
in their skulls, even though their "thinking" is what we depend upon to
garner our movement its greatest support----hey another of life's
little, well, actually, rather ugly and clunky, ironies: we'll just
have to live with it, I suppose.......while they DIE!HAAAAAAAAAA.
Section 1.2: More Money: Do you realize how many assholes are out there
whose skulls have "kick me" signs on them or, otherwise, are so
incredibly na?ve and bloody stupid as to be persuaded to do or buy
anything?
Well, it's a fucking lot, I can tell you, hence, the
advertising/public relations budget is hereby tripled, retroactively.
Not like we can count on shoe lobby support, now is it. Although, the
'Earth shoe' people and other really annoying looking shoe products
like them-----they're not fooling us for one minute, seeking only, even
if inadvertently, in their Joker-like placid smiles, to all the while
make the foot look uglier than it already may be------still, they could
be useful idiots, to use Lenin's term: I heard that, you took the bait,
just wanted to see how very reactionary and brainwashed you truly
were.
Fucking pathetic, some visionary, such as myself ,decides to employ a
particularly well-turned phrase and all you can think to say is Commie
Pinko Bastard! We choose to ignore this sort of hysteria [foregoing was
only a demonstration, not really pissed at all, although we do have
ways of finding you----Swanson has worked out a really ingenious way of
interpreting this book's purchase volume and the frequency of
dog-earing, divided by the moons of Saturn and their daily
declination........why am I telling you this, you could be one of
them]----(see paranoia, that is if you are not afraid to).
Section 1.3: Possibly Even More Money: See Swanson on whether 1.1 &;
1.2 raised enough cash----really very doubtful, so, this section is
Reserved for likely additional finance-related rantings.
Article 2: With Growing Sympathy/Participation in Worldwide Barefoot
Celebrations/Festivals [Hopefully to be broadcast on our next venture,
the Foot Channel----this will likely mean Section 1.3 above will have
to be activated due to the great cost, not to mention the necessity of
my having, as CEO and Chairman (gender clause inapplicable) Emeritus of
this new cable network, a handsomely appointed Pied-a-Ter in several
world capitals (Note: this is so damned appropriate I'm sure you are as
thrilled as I am: the term literally translated is
"Foot-to-Ground"------always wanted to use this term, just to impress
the hell out of people, but now I get to use it in the service of a
great cause-----no thanks necessary, just doing my job)] A Monopoly
Style Boycott Will Be Commenced Against All Hydraulic Equipment Used in
Paving and Sidewalk Construction
Section 2.1: Jackhammers Must Go: Really, did you ever see one of the
poor slobs using these things-----chances are they can't even find
their shoes, much less put them on/tie them after using them; these are
our natural allies, whom we will create alternative employment for,
primarily in responding to "kick me" signs to be found on the heads of
our fashion footwear buying adversaries; hey, we'll take care of bond
and lawyers, a cadre of whom, such as David Boies of Gore campaign
fame, will enter the Courts on our/their behalf wearing really
minimalist footwear [guy wears generic black sneakers, he's definitely
our choice for Lead Counsel].
Also, there is a bonus here that, frankly, we will exploit like mad:
pollution-----dirt, deafening noise; hey, it's true that some of these
workers may be so far gone----arms vibrating and ears shot------that
they will need to enter our journeyman "You Can Be A Rock Star Too,
Especially if You Can't Hear Shit Anyway/Already So What Have You Got
to Lose" Program; we guarantee these entrants employment entertaining
their fellow program participants who have washed out due to no fucking
talent; beautiful thing here is, of course, their audience will never
know the bloody difference, so nobody's feelings get hurt [at least the
non-physical ones----oh, sure the physiological ones are shot, but,
look, we can't do everything, for Christ's sake, we have a cause to
advance].
Section 2.2: Money, Again, I'm Afraid: See Sections 1.2 &; 1.3,
Above. Look, these equipment operators can get pretty bored, even with
decent compensation----can't hear shit, even if their pals are really
wailing, so, here's the need: some really hot hookers, both sexes (
never know) all with foot fetishism as their common feature; got our
principles, you know, this isn't just the usual sex part of rock n
roll, ok. Dig deep, gotta keep the troops happy and mindful of the
foot's ascendancy. Also, a lot of these gals and guys, sad to say, will
have been cast away by the mainstream hooker community inasmuch as they
have worn really rough on the foot, high heels and other assorted
footgear for their perverted Johns so that, well, they are really
rather disabled; we, in observance of an expansive view of the
Americans with Disabilities Act, will make all reasonable, including
some that aren't so fucking reasonable, accommodations to these
comrades [see Lenin rant as to why I don't care if you are put off by
such a charged term, goddam true believer you], thereby garnering
support and publicity for the cause from upstanding and very
well-respected sources whose executives still prefer their prostitutes
to wear really tortuous [ouch] things on their uncared for, by neither
the customer or servicer, feet-----as well as other assorted
accoutrements from some very seedy retail establishments specializing
in leathery and spiky sado-masochistic paraphernalia for almost every
part of their partner's body; out of respect for these private
pecadillos, we intend not to ever make known their identities, so long
as accounting and legal approve of the regularity and amount of their
contributions.
Article 3: A Ban on All Lightweight But Still Clunky Looking
Soles------They're Just Used to Confuse &; Convince People Who Are
Very Easily Confused-----Which is Most of Them, That, Because They are
Quiet on Hard Surfaces They are Not in League With the Hard Surfaces
and the Damage Done to the You-Know-Whats----That's a Phrase 'They'
Would Approve of, let me Tell You, Don't Call Attention To The Problems
for Feet They Foment----Trapped Suffocating and Generally Being Smushed
Inside These Mobile Prisons we intend to jettison.
Section 3.1: Dinero: Hey just got tired of hearing the English word, so
fucking depressing, everything you want to bring up comes back to IT;
see Sections 1.2, 1.3, and 2.2 above. Based on legal's last memo, the
lawyers insist on one of two things, preferring both,to tell you the
truth: 1. total use immunity, I suppose to be garnered via our
sympathetic followers now undercover---including their feet---- against
any and all criminal charges brought by any of our contributors should
they ever, for some reason unfathomable to this writer, bring charges
of extortion or any related offense (what the hell is the Mann Act,
paranoid lawyers, huh) and/or 2. new identities and severance pay so as
to live abroad in a country where both shoes and extradition are rare
and prohibited, respectively. This is going to really be rather
self-defeating, you ask me, as we will simply have to pass along the
cost to our contributors who, in all fairness, have brought on these
extra sizeable costs. Whatever happened to the purely eleemosynary (you
know what to do) spirit, please tell me that.
Article 4: The Foot Channel, Later to be Established Through a Global
Network of Affiliates With the Suffix "Feet"----Chinese Feet, then
cross-branding deals with say the Porno Producers of Conscience for the
Foot Fetish Hour [Much More on this HereinBelow]-------- Which will
Serve to Get Our Message Out to the Maximum and Support My/Our
Pied-a-Ters In Strategic Cities, Preferably Major Ones with Great
Restaurants----Hey, Look, I Have to Persuade Them To Lose the 'No
Shoes/No Service' Signs and Deal With the Risk of Loss of Michelin and
Other Ratings----Exhausting Work, That Is, Let Me Tell You
Section 4.1: Pedicure Positioning Strategies: Ok, the biggest selling
point we've got is that a well-groomed foot has a better chance of,
well, getting in and through the door [will the damning clich?s ever be
exhausted---you see what I/we am/are up against]; once in the door, so
to speak, the foot's best ally is the disgusting grime from the
sidewalks/street picked up by the most expensive shoe: think about it,
health code Nazis, you are next! Note: we have no such problem for, as
you will recall, we will use our monopoly (very costly, see Sections
1.2, 1.3, 2.2, etc.) on acquiring heavy equipment to destroy filthy
sidewalks, parking lots----[Note to automobile interests: good chance
we can come to an understanding, on one major fucking conditon----work
really hard on the alternative fuels thing, using all those superfluous
highway dollars wasted every year everywhere (don't start with the
public funds bullshit, ok, you corporate fellows own the government,
are we communicating, don't try that crap again, really), then go to
SUVs----we'll bloody well support you all the way, real offroad
capabilities, none of this shitty 'looks tough' drivel-----don't know
how your casualty insurance buddies let you get away with that shit,
must be getting them girls (look, ours are better, real foot freaks,
see above), public has already bought in bigtime, now give em what they
'thought' they were getting, and we'll all get along jolly well], and
their foot-bashing ilk; not to worry about consequent mud, we shall
have Korean pedicure kiosks conveniently located every 1/2 block;
really nice recycled wood planking, outdoor parque, really, recycled of
course, will span the gaps-------fucking think of everything, don't
I/we? [Note: in case of a shortage of Korean female immigrants,
Hispanics will be substituted, with even greater appeal to the snobs
who already have them, undocumented with no Social Security declaration
to boot (see what trouble those 'things' can lead to?). Which is not to
say that the 'common' man is not in our Plan......
Of course, show up, even by accident or in a stupor/torpor, missing
every other tooth, the others broken off at the gum line or with a
dayglow tattoo blinking "My Sister &; I Just Love Our Kids', you're
on your own, scumbag.
Section 4.2: Back to The Foot Channel: Anti-Nike ads galore will be
financed, although not nearly entirely, by freedom loving people
everywhere; no more sweat shops with barefoot people making fucking
shoes for fatasses; remember, feet, as pretty damn important parts of
humans, should have a big percentage of the human rights pie.
This opens up a whole panoply of revenue sources from Foundations,
governments and other influential donative group resources, I can see
it now: "Stand up for your rights!" [Bob Marley was way ahead of his
time, mon]. Bloody says it all, eh? It isn't, 'may I have a show of
hands, all those in favor of human (not, humans without the feet,
please) rights, please?', no, and don't even talk to me about how you
love Reggae, ok, ever see how they want to live------bingo, without
footwear.
[Semi-tragic note: some of us know about our heroes: Bob's dad was
white, never looked back; also, he died of cancer of the skin of the
foot, fact; not pointing fingers, as it was melanoma, but, the whole
tight, ill-fitting shoe thing when he was younger might easily be
culpable; so, don't fucking play/dig the music without a symbolic show
of sympathy for what he went through].
Section 4.3: Cash: Look, there are only so many decent people, like me,
and even possibly you, who support the governments and philanthropic
sources crowded with suppliants; even I don't argue that our cause
takes precedence over AIDs, even though I harbor more than a strong
suspicion that it is brought on by certain fashion footwear, at least
indirectly, if you take my meaning [timeout: I can see by your vacant
stares I must spell it out----girl meets boy, girl is wearing, largely
to please him or someone like him, really hot spikey heels, preferably
red (see above for author's attitude reinforcement), one thing leads to
another, and safe sex is outta here; any questions?]; hey you don't see
me grabbing for that funding [taking a wait and see attitude, depending
on the CPA's reports]; well, then, there it is: see Sections 1.2, 1.3,
etc. above, really sorry about it, like the barter system myself much
better; for one thing, no fucking odd change, especially pennies, not
even copper anymore.
Section 4.4: Porno Producers of Conscience: This little known group,
for now, founded by your civic-minded Chairman and a small number of
men who, through a magnanimous spirit and ,on advice of their counsel,
have chosen to remain anonymous in furtherance of our cause.( Pregnant,
almost poignant pause). It is not easy to get choked up in print, but
it just happened, sorry.
Who says men of wealth cannot be reached for the greater good. Please
Note: that pregnant reference a moment ago, the charges have been
dropped and all legal fees have been donated by our side. The other
side, incidentally, was discovered----and no settlement terms are being
breached here as far as you know-----to have been a regular purchaser
of surplus Army boots, an obvious Lesbian obsession, no harm, no foul.
We have, after serious debate, decided to omit them from our enemies
list inasmuch as they are not a reproductive threat and only minor
allies to our enemies, and, really fun to watch, if you are into that
sort of thing (with the obvious exception of the Jean Garafolo types,
of course or the female Dole species, expected to be extinct soon
enough, anyway, largely due to the absence of either sex organs and/or
gender----ever notice how they are rarely seen together, the Doles?)
Author's Note: Should any reader deduce from the latter reference any
allusion to cross-dressing naked political aggression.......don't get
carried away, it's goddam obvious: besides, who/which would be First
Lady and, even if that quandary were acceptably decided, what would
become of the ubiquitous, albeit useless fucking pen in his/her hand?
Hey, these are the jokes, folks, so lighten up, you 'Liddy' lovers.
[Supplemental Author's Note: this was added to suck up to Dave Barry,
really powerful guy, OK, which, nevertheless, doesn't detract from its
humorous merits, feel he would agree].
Article 5: Outreach, in this Case, Really Pretty Long Reach, to
Vertically Challenged Allies: Too long the victims of Lift and Heel
Scams, These Brothers and Sisters Must Be Made to See the Liberating
Facts: They are Closer to the Earth than We, Hence We Must Be Sure And
Feature Many of Them In Leadership Positions [Note to Self: In This
Sensitive Connection, Be En Garde for the Odd Napoleonic Complex,
Rather Commonly Found at 5' and Below]
Section 5.1: The Munchkin Syndrome: Beloved for generations for its
revelatory messages of hope and self betterment, The Wizard of Oz
tale's oft-ignored treatment of the woes of MunchkinLand is ripe for
exploitation.
Yellow Brick Road, indeed, did they ever travel it: No. It was the
province of an assortment of non-human creatures, for crying out loud;
yet the Ms are walking around in what had to have been very
constrictive footwear, probably the Mayor's doing, himself a mere
lackey of the Yellow Brick Road Gang, themselves an unsavory branch of
the Pygmies for Progress cabal worldwide----that's right, what they
lack in verticality is more than made up for in horizontal horror
-----[Fiction is just no protection from these pave anything
freaks].
Our crack medical research team of podiatrists have theorized the
circulatory cause long predicted in foot circles.[Look, the brain has
its intellectual circles, doesn't it; get used to this wave of the
future]. Stunted their growth. Not that they missed anything at the end
of that Road, just some Emerald City hype with a clown [in goddam you
know what kind of shoes] who thought he was bloody God! And why, you
ask: answer, fucking elaborate, ego-driven footwear. Seen it too many
times. What a waste, for both Munchkin and Oz, the low and the
high.
[Speaking of which (latter term, 'high', for all you non-Pentium
brainpans out there) Jerk must have been, what with all the Sturm and
Drang, must have cost a fortune to boot [as in excess, won't find that
with us in the barefootin crowd], not counting the price of the faux
emerald thing, obviously backed all the way by the footwear fashion
cartel-----
[well, anti-Einstein, where the bloody hell do you think emeralds come
from: bingo, native third-world cultures where there are no jackhammers
to speak of or dudes wearing shoes operating them; the symbolism was
not lost on us, zero-sum (if I feel like it, I will explain the whole
Game Theory dynamic which has too long dominated the pseudo thinking of
the Establishment, starting with that prick Dr. Malthus and his
bullshit theory: 'well, the world's wogs multiply like rabbits, so I
guess there won't be enough resources around for everyone----fuck the
little guy/gal' [this was long before PC, but what the hell]);
really a major load of horseshit---see, there certainly is an abundance
of fertilizer, as in food production---taught in schools ever since
just to keep you on the reservation, good boy/girl [PC if for no other
reason that we will need you all in the Revolution, gotta stick
together], cupboard's bare, when, all the while it was just a shabby
ploy to empower the bloody British Empire
[pause: this is all the more ironic inasmuch as I am an inveterate
Anglophile-----why all the 'bloody' this, 'bloody' that; in my own
defense, however, BLOODY is what it was, adjectivally speaking,
implementing this rapacious fraud on the innocent peoples of the
world-----feel much better now, really, confession good for the soul
[not going there, not contextual],
except, where is their BLOODY confession, still waiting,[ don't hold
your breath] via the East India Company, Elizabeth I's gift to herself,
involuntary compliments of the whole fucking world----these pricks are
now 'respectable', got a goddam website, bloody hell, buncha fucking
pirates with an indemnity from the Queen, virgin my ass, she certainly
knew plenty about fucking---YOU!;
Jesus, I was going to save that as a bargaining chip, but, this is a
rant, after all; don't believe it, read-----you can read?----Bucky
Fuller's "Critical Path", still in print, incredible genius, invented
the geodesic dome, Harvard drop out, but unlike Gates, doesn't preside
over the Gates of Hell; read it, it will promote the Revolution we
want, which HE invented----getting all serious and shit, can't help it,
loved the guy [he wasn't a girly man, ok, no fucking PC
allowed-----bloody imperialist predicatability.
Don't forget, they promote this crap to kids! Our cause is just,
succeed it must..........(visible lachrymose reaction by me, and I'm
pretty hardened to the task; oh, yes, look it up, in fact, just carry
the damn lexicon with you, ok?, even if it is the Queen's English, same
namesake, even-----arghhhhhh).
Section 5.2: Gelt: Ties in nicely with the sturm and drang thing, don't
you.....never mind, it's that time again; here, there is good news
inasmuch as we may need only roughly half as much here, call it half
-dollars, drachma, rubles, francs, Euros, etc. [This clause is to be
deleted from all copies distributed to its objects, don't want to hurt
the little buggers feelings, now do we, bloody Napoleons lurking, feel
quite sure of it].
Article 6: The Mall: Enemy number one is by far the True Emerald City
Scam of them all: It is at the End of all Those Bloody Brick Roads out
There At War with Your Feet, Yet They All, Every Last One of Them,
Feature Gads of Shoe Stores: Alas, Their Achilles Heel Has Been Found:
As These Footbinder Peddlers Go, So Go the Malls!
Section 6.1: Kung Fu! /Cain Walks the Earth Again, And This Time He's
Pissed to Begin With, And, Without Shoes, He Can Still Kick Your Ass,
Especially If You Are So Foolish As To Attempt Purchase at A Mall Shoe
Emporium [A bullshit word invented by the Roman cobblers trying to
confuse shoppers, usually with minimal foot covering, who were really
looking for the fucking vomitorium anyway; hey you drink wine because
the water is not potable, fucking 1000 year wait for treatment plants
and non-lethal plumbing, eat lying down, on your stomach, all kinds of
shit from wherever in the Empire, you are not thinking of shoes, ok].
I/We shall raise up an army of martial artists who will enroll you in
their sensei classes, using the little spoiled bastards/bitches you are
raising to be soft little clones [got carried away, missed it,
attorneyman [PC clause, ok] or, if all else fails, ever so passively
block, through peaceful protest, entry into these dens of entrapment
[you'll back off, you overweight farts----oh, yeah, I forgot, Mall
security: these are the guys who can't get hired to as village idiots,
for Chrissake, too outta shape to take all the abuse, too dim to look
all pitiful when tormented and ridiculed---hey, it's the essence of the
job description, ok, I certainly didn't create the position, don't look
at me like that with your phony empathy].
Article 7: Would You----(and You Know Who You Are)-----Stop With the
Goddam Equipping of Nature's Innocent Creatures With Shoes! This one
really takes the Taco, Enchilada, and Other Assorted Mexican Treat
Awards for Nth Degree Exploitation: Barnum is Blushing Folks.
From Mickey Mouse in Clown Shoes, to Scale [don't think I forgot
Minnie in those painful pumps!, even animation has its Fascists, it
seems] to the nameless freak of a bird of "pray" [awesome pun, coming
right in the middle of an unrelated paen, don't you think: shit,
there's another one, "paen" for "pain", vice versa:
forgetaboutit!]------you know the one, "Say the fucking secret word,
win a hundred"...........Look Groucho needed the money, was a major
icon among iconoclasts (isn't that a paradox; givin him a pass, anyway,
fucking love the monkey, really----say, why didn't he use a
monkey?----must be he didn't want to get too close to his idiot guests'
egos, they being primates and all) and who gives a shit about George
Fenneman anyway [hey, all that effort peddling DeSotos pay
off------90\% of the world never fucking heard of them, didn't waste
your life, did you now, shoe-loving bastard [hope PC applies, always
thought he was rather fey, huh] ----
(fairness pause: what's with this 'rather' crap, better see my shrink
pronto, worried), but no wonder Paddy Chayefsky burst an aneurism or
something exposing network TV-----that's right, WE'RE "Mad as Hell",
not taking it anymore!
Oh, and you SUVs climbing up the Grand Canyon walls, you're on the
death list, subject, of course, to coming round to my generous olive
branch earlier-----if you're bloody (already explained why this is so
prevalent with my work) serious, you'll find it!. Not that that is
close to the outer limits in the brass balls category, no sir/m'am [see
gender clause, no doubt written by SUV-driving bastard/bitch(see gender
clause AGAINNNNNN) lawyers], it's just a metaphoric prelude to
condition you for the SUV footwear collection [you creeps do that, my
offer, above, when you find it, is withdrawn, hey, getting David Boies
on board, back off]:
hell, they'll slap a bloody likeness of old Mercury, Deity of Commerce
[see Grand Central Station, et.al.] on the side and show Stephen
Fucking Hawking hiking like a son of a bitch/bastard [right, the
clause] up vertical buildings and cliff faces to evince the wonders of
this shoe of shoes].
Our lawyers, the ones not tied up redrafting gender clauses, are busy
negotiating with Superman (yeah one of the Reeves boys, stock footage
being what it is) to counter this menace; looks good, seems the guy(s)
don't really need much, what with super fucking powers already in their
arsenal----read it and weep Phil Knight, as in "it's the end of your
heyday!"
Section 7.1: In Your Face Plan: Who wants to see these Barnums on
steroids, maybe even acid, hoisted on their own petard (barefoot, of
course)?
We've got those guys from such box office hits as "The Gods must be
crazy" and "Raiders of the Lost Ark" fame ready to match and exceed all
the special effects bullshit these Clowns, in Shoes worn by Clowns [see
Title of this classic tome] pretend to be able to do in their Sports
Utility Shoes. We don't care if they are thrown in with the purchase of
their shitty SUVs. They have forgotten not only their souls [you see,
the best part of us, the one we ignore almost as much as the foot,
brings to mind that most utilitarian of exploited extremities],
BUT........ enter Wiley Coyote!
Roadrunner, beep, beep, kicks ass every time that poor slob of a once
proud predator buys into the Acme bullshit product line---[our crack
team of non-gender clause lawyers is also deep into research as to the
cabal of 10 or less persons worldwide who are Acme board members who,
in turn, do everything remotely bad mentioned in this work; we'll be
naming names, etc. soon enough, you bloody fat bastards/bitches
(clause)].
From strapping on fatal-to-the-whole-corpus jet-powered footgear to
who knows what, this cousin of the lion was blithely judged expendable
as a symbol of supernatural power. I suppose the jerk(s) behind this
major boomerang [also employed by the coyote, which, when you think
about it is a blasphemous affront to the Aborigine people, some pretty
tough hombres (close to a deal with them, and shoes never came up, ok)]
have been promoted.
Hey, we like to know that the opposition is being led by clowns
wearing clown shoes who can't even show their marketing tool winning
even once. Keep up the good work, schmucks and you might be spared the
burning coals initiation ceremony when the world's last one million
assholes finally come over to our side [better get your number now;
contact Swanson---remember----get your assigned SS # ("sublimely
shoeless") to avoid being in that group, enough said, no high pressure
tactics, just full disclosure].
Finally, we have nature's largest creatures already on board,
elephants, whales and the rest in full support of the soon available
"No Shoes Tattoo", see Figure B [lawyers are behind on this one, seems
there is a trademark issue with the smiley face and handicapped logo
people; should have it worked out soon, promised them high SS numbers
from Swanson which are available now, for a limited time [call me on
the 800#, see above] to all protected logos, as long as we can work our
message in, even subliminally----hey this is war].
Section 7.2: Funding: Looks good here, what with tattoo bookings really
piling up; besides, what are we, greedy fat bastards like them [clause
exemption when in the context of condemning greed; lawyers advise it
has an apple pie deterrent effect-----I mean, who really wants to be
seen as effectively saying "Hey, we're really ticked off that you find
our greed offensive, what are you un-American?" Aside from the
red-baiting crap that really turns people off now, they tell me it's a
variation on the really sneaky "When did you stop beating your wife?"
strategy. Any suggestions on how to improve on this strategy, contact
the Legal Department, please; it'll free up my precious time from
time-consuming gender clause invocation, Ok?].

Article 8: Let's Here It for Big Lies and How They Can Serve a Really
Good Cause. If it's big enough, told often enough, the great mass of
schmucks will believe it, right?
Thank you Nazis; argh, want to get out the mouthwash for having even
felt the need to say that, but it seems that they are really cool
Americans now, hangin out on Madison Avenue, equating that stupid
smiley face [they are still holding out, trying to get some leverage
here] with buying everything, including closets full of clownish shoes
you don't even wear anymore, they hurt your feet, or most pernicious of
all, they are not in style. What do you expect from Nazi clones, a line
of really delicious Kosher foods? [By the way, any of you devils still
alive out there, you can fucking forget about any chance of getting a
good SS number----No, that one you got from Himmler doesn't apply,
sleazebags from Hell-----Swanson is Jewish, and so am I------and it's
not just your feet headed for the coals, so kiss you ass goodbye [or
the guy's next to you, you all started out as homosexuals, 'the brown
shirt doesn't work, how about the black?", makes me sick because
homosexuals are great human beings......and really great decorators,
doing all my Pied-a-Ters at a bulk rate, have you know ].
Note: the author wishes to make perfectly clear, lawyers or no lawyers
clauses, hyperbole, when set within a stream of consciousness context,
can be highly effective in presenting a satiric, even parodic point of
view, all the while preserving the tongue-in-cheek marshaling of all
aesthetic elements, ambience and nuanced good taste even despite
seemingly vicious assaults upon unnecessarily witless targets of
seeming rage; get it?.

Incidentally, not that I'm in any way trying to change the subject, the
lawyers tell me that any gender issue here would be an insult to any
injury already done, so I'm going to just drop it, certainly know when
to fold, less is more, my motto.
Section 8.1: Variation on A Theme By Liars, in A Flat (Foot)---sorry,
but the cause requires sacrifice, even including the sanctity of music,
which really isn't so much sacrosanct as it is misunderstood as the
audible (albeit by only a few person we call composers) rhythm of the
cosmos, that's all;
now you see how possibly deep that apparently corny reference was;
just try to stay with me in the future.
This is such a huge area of vulnerability one scarcely knows where to
begin, but begin we shall and must. Ok, let's start with that favorite
refrain of children, "Liar, liar, pants on fire!" There are plenty of
kids out there who, even if they have heard it, use it regularly, would
be perfectly open to our preferred version, which actually makes sense.
I mean, how often are your pants likely to actually heat up
[if you're reading this book, you should not be contemplating sexual
matters, except those which involve what you would like to have done to
the opposition shoe lobby/industry by some guy [got a pass from legal
for poetic license] in prison who wouldn't really mind anyway, ok,
pervert, save your energy for the cause],
much less catch fire. Nonsense, but catchy nonsense=our ally,
especially with the little ones-----who promise to remain inordinately
small if we allow this shoe cabal to prevail, and, you know what that
means: more goddam Muchkins, ok, enough said, see hereinabove,
especially the concerns over the Napoleonic thing-----you want some
pathetically short punk lording it over you, shoes or no shoes? Didn't
think so; you know what you gotta do.
And the kids are a perfect example, right, open-minded and otherwise
anxious for any excuse to get the bloody things off. Now they have the
only one they'll ever need.
You wanna explain why any child should be exposed to the slightest
possibility of even the most minor burn? Well, that's what these
footwear clowns are going to have to deal with from now on. "Mommy, my
feet feel like they're burning, isn' t there anything that can be done
to end this potential torture, if not of my body, then my fragile,
impressionable mind, or, like the overly commercialized world we live
in-----HELP------will you stand idly by and see me sacrificed upon the
altar of greed, to your possible ultimate damnation and de-listing from
this messianic book's author's most enlightening dinner parties and
soires, during which you will become informed of the evils awaiting me,
and you, huh?" will be heard across the world. Forewarned is forearmed
is the general rule, until now.
[Does it bother you that either the clich? is bashing feet or outright
ignoring them: what the hell is a forearm but a stooge of the now
discredited, overrated hand. This has gotta stop, I'm going to look
into getting rights to "Hand Jive" for our campaign, all there is to
it].
Can you see the poster? Makes "show us you underalls" seem like the
merely cheap scatological double entendre that it was [working on the
rights to that too, chance to maybe meet some really cool underwear
models, especially the ones in bare feet, which is really just about
all of them, see what I mean; hey they were soldiers in the cause
before there was one; besides, really good memories of adolescence
when, yes, we preferred bare feet, bare anything really from age
13.........uh,just got an email from legal, let's move on].
Section 8.2: The Wonderful World of Cliches and and Archetypes [could
really exploit this one, taking the high road instead, barefoot at
that]----- see McCluhan, Jung, et.al: Here we go-----"barefoot in the
park", who doesn't want to be there; "I'm going to have to put my foot
down", not shoe, except as in disuse, when one is truly passionate and
committed [stop looking for cheap jokes, this is a serious work]; time
to fight back with those unthinking, uncritical phrases, "tit for
tat"
[never understood how people get away with this one even in court,
with the Queen, synagogue----ok, the Bible is pretty hot, but who's in
the mood and, besides all that, what the bloody hell is a
'tat'?].
Because the rule is you're gonna get "he/she [it's a quote, otherwise
cool with the clause thing] put his/her foot in his/her mouth" [good
thing this one was exempt, look at all that obsessive gender
crap].
Oh, like that's something horrible, implying that the foot is
loathsome, dirty and darkly in enmity with your mouthpiece
[you know what's creeping around in there even with your stupid breath
mints from England? Don't ask; and, let's not forget the ephemeral
sensuality of putting.....another email from legal, prudes].
Politicians invented this practice and, far from harming them, we are
told it makes them human by those same corporatized handlers who would
sell you child an AK-47 with the kung-fu grip if he/she [there's that
pink/blue thing at the heart of that damned clause] had the
finances.
Nevertheless, they have stumbled [probably could have avoided this
embarrassing physical misstep had they not been wearing you know whats]
onto the truth: there is human warmth and fuzziness to be found in the
heart of the foot [good word association, the PR department assures me,
everybody loves the heart; seems like such shameless sucking up to
me-----"oh, please keep beating....so I can go to the mall and buy
needless stuff and avoid introspective self-examination along the
narrow path to enlightenment and, yes, jettisoning of all footwear,
especially overpriced fashionable little tortuous pumps!" [Look, if I
have to bring guys into this, and they are equally culpable, this will
be a four volume set........hey, why didn't the publishers bring that
up: they like their shoes and their mind-controlling soulless
advocates, that's why [hey, that was a really good pun back there, full
of pith, irony and was otherwise a real bon mot, see it?].
Most offensive of all, showing both desperation and the arrogance that
they will actually get away with it: "he/she tripped over his/her own
feet! HAAAHAAAA!" Really bloody funny, you sadists; look, how in the
Hell does one do that? Waiting for my explanation, MR. DeMille. Gonna
get pretty hot/cold
[why can't people make up their mind about the ambient temperature in
Hell-----must be the same clich? factory the foot bashers use]
here where all the devils with tridents are writhing around, so let me
respond for you: IMPOSSIBLE, or, at the very least, highly unlikely.
You are ready to be told what to do by these twits? Wanna know why the
deafening silence, do you-------because 9 of 10 times you're tripping
over some buckled concrete or pavement, going to/from your miserable
Earth-killing car, to some sterile gathering place for the living
dead/neck-up variety are the worst, called The Promendade Mall or The
Crystal Shrine of Commerce-------never want to stop throwing up, and
all over your shoes, at that.
And, so, what shall our rallying cry, our creed be: "We don't need no
Footwear Fashion, dah dah dah , etc., Hey, Cobbler, leave us kids
alone!"
[Really excited that Pink Floyd will be coming over to our side, they
were really quite noble about it, although legal says I can't get into
the emoluments involved, technical and so forth, but they will be
kicking off the "Footloose" World Tour, with Kenny Loggins as opening
act [hey, it was only 'fitting', as in what you won't need to attend
the concerts, as in no shoes whether they 'fit' or not------by the way,
anybody know whatever happened to Messina?].
Yes, with Floyd's inestimable help [we got the Tshirt concession,
pretty sweet, huh] we hope to take the Clown Shoe coterie to the Wall
[we also have rights to the song, video, etc.: come on you know the
words, sing along, ".....all we are is just another brick in the
Wall...sealing us off from nature, where our two feet belong." [All you
former hippies out there, we need help with that last lyric, dudes
[unisex longhair exception to gender clause]. Or, as a last resort,
anybody got Weird Al Yankovich's number?
Why "kids" in that terribly clever variational lyric------see my
remarks concerning the whole pants/shoes on fire phenomenon, soon to be
sweeping a playground/playroom near you and, as importantly, the
feeling we adults get when our feet are free-----young at heart, baby,
kids again, recapturing that au naturale feeling [sound like a bloody
deodorant commercial, PR insisted].
Section 8.3: A lotta cocoanuts, Ok. Those intellectual property rights
back there, pretty expensive. But, with the right accounting procedures
we should squeak by, what with our CPAs having lower overhead working
barefoot, very casually at that. And the lawyers.
Bean counters, though, they are a real breakthrough, besides, they
prefer digits they can relate to when computing all that hard math
stuff. The "this little piggy thing", doesn't bother anyone after
awhile, and it is a really good reminder of our WE ALL Really Want to
Be Barefoot dynamic in the workplace [really squishy carpet, the
works----foot-friendly, we call it; legal is working on trademark deals
right now].
The next (barefoot) step: the work at home crowd, ripe for their dogs
to run free [still have to walk them, only these you'll want to].
Join me on the ultimate trip into cyberspace, where the virtual
reality will help shape a shoeless future reality, really, for real.
[Love the way that 'virtual' adjective has blurred the lines,
boundaries if you will, man-made as they are ['everything is
everything']; the computer has made the foot your friend once again;
let's learn how---see Article 9].
Article 9: The Internet and The Missing Ten Digits or Do you want a
Truly Completely 'Digital' World: You have ALWAYS Had One, as far back
as your cave-dwelling ancestors. Duh! Can you say the First Digits,
count em, ya got 20, ten of em in desperate need of rediscovery. Look
at it this way, you've just made 10 new friends, friends who will never
leave you, never cease to get you there: how do we treat our would-be
friends, can you handle the truth? Enough said.
No more excuses: "pedicures", shiatsu massage [what is with that
machine that looks like lava erupting or something], Epsom
salts-------they're drowning for Christ's sake [see footwashing,
above]..
Alright, as tempting as it is to really milk this one, suffice to say
that you work at home types, you can be the vanguard. Even underwear is
optional, but, you know, there are issues of good taste imbedded there,
not to mention really cold furniture, it could get ugly. Not so with
the already "ready" foot, set to go at 3a.m. when you can't sleep or
have an inspiration or deadline to meet. Even with hardwood floors
something is released within you, the soulful
[this is too easy, God must be on our side, talking manufacturer here,
folks, whose is theirs, Ha!, which raises an interesting question: Do
these Fashion Footwear moguls/designers see themselves as Gods: hey,
anybody forget the duck test----you got it, and, while you're there,
just remember who/what made the ducks, ok, so shape up, will ya]
playfulness.............(pausing here to let you find your place: hey,
the tangent is a freeform art, ok; get a grip, the content is worth it,
take your time, really, I'm virtually limitless in my patience and,
when get back on track, hey, be there for ya, waiting right HERE)
embodied in the Sanskrit term 'lila', having the meaning divine play
[remind you of that chic Leyla you used to date?; forget it, Clapton
has her, move on, ok]. Where were we, oh yes, that global village thing
[see McCluhan, he's out of print so just take my word for it, he's got
it in for the foot, and the rest of your physical being] is here, and
the information highway is not paved, yet it is touted by even our
adversaries as the commercial, cultural and whatever else happens over
phone lines, second coming. Can you say chink in the armor, hole in
their contradictory arguments.
Even have the gall to peddle their shoes over the net. Isn't this
having it both ways? Uh, not happening, we're the men from glad, ok,
and we don't need no stinking shoes! [We feel that we are quite within
our rights, legalities aside, to use this now familiar border-crossing
slam of unbending authority, even without the badges reference and
Mexican accent].
Which, of course, leads to the subject no one, not even the makers,
wants to expose: good freakin reason, too, it stinks to high Heaven.
Yes, foot odor: that's it, blame it on the foot, shoes are blameless;
even the sandal is going to compete with some cheeses, for crying out
loud.
We are working on a testimonial from Dr. Scholls------you know him,
you love him, can't live odor-free without him------guy says he's made
enough money, what the hell, can't live with himself anymore, covering
up THEIR malodorous mess. No longer.
Time to come clean, as in bacteria are in full, and open, support of
the needless imprisonment of our feet. Bastards.
[Most if not all bacteria are asexual, sorry; so if you microscopic
voyeurs-----you know who you are, at the lab late, kicking it,
watching......for what: get a human life, meet some girl, preferably
shoeless (trust me, hey, the high heels aren't going anywhere, break
the ice flying coach first), get married, have some kids, and teach
them about burning shoes].
Article 10: Hey, Cheer Up, We Already Have 2/3 of the Earth as A Done
Deal: Even Jesus, "HaySuess" for our Hispanic compatriots, knew if he
did it [water-walking thing] in shoes, even sandals, there goes the
franchise, as in redemption, ok, got your attention, see all so-called
'major' religions: check it out, they all dig Christ: our Muslim
brothers consider him a divine being; Jews, well, we're always
jockeying for first, competitive thing really, largely attributable to
having not been picked for softball until the other team had like four
guys more than yours, ok, pretty sensitive stuff, so, don't go by us,
too insecure; Christians, well, he IS the franchise, right?
What, there are no such things as Hindus, oh, I see, only gave us the
Mahabarata, Vedas, etc., just ancient tabloids? Can you say Western
myopia is our cause's best friend [got the lexicon------dictionary,
-----ok].
Seriously, here's the deal: even if they wanted to expand their
exploitative marketing strategy, not happening: when is the last time a
whale shark had any contact with a shoe salesman, ask yourself. So,
they're faced with these really spread out land masses, most of them
already saturated with concrete and asphalt paving: downward curve
coming at you, corporate pimps for pumps
[this is all extemporaneous, hope you know, damned impressive, have to
say so myself, just get me in front of the world press, no contest,
what with prepared remarks, atmospherics, really expensive graphics and
a well-rested me having spent the night in any major city in a
well-appointed, tasteful pied-a-ter [see Sections 1.2, 1.3, etc.],
forget about it!]
I mean, how many of these remote villages, where our lurking shock
troops are in blissful barefoot residence, even have mass
communications, that painless narcoleptic, global village my ass!
[Note to the late, great Marshall McCluhan: love your work, really, if
for no other reason that you actually comprehend the works of James
Joyce, recently voted greatest modern master of English lit., but,
really, I know Canada is mostly provincial, but could you have taken a
look around and seen that the greed creed mavens only wanted rapacious
interest for its country club banker/golfing buddies, fuck
enlightenment/ cross-cultural communication except at the apex, a place
where their feet are just, for some generations now, extruded masses of
protoplasm upon which to feature their latest southernmost mask for
their "spiritual/human being versus human doing" inadequacy?]
But, again, I digress, albeit into the MOST IMPORTANT TRUTHS
IMAGINABLE! Here, you get a really nice bonus----reread the extemp rant
above about Game Theory/zerosumness, and go clean out your closet:
don't give the shoes to the Salvation Army, just go out and look for
hard to find sixties/seventies songs like "Barefootin", ok?
Ok, the accountants, not to mention the lawyers, want me to lighten up.
No problema. Really. I'm fine, expletives deleted.
[Remind you of the Nixon years, does me: effete snobs, right on, Mr.
Agnew --- sorry, did I disturb your money round of golf with Gerry
Ford, do me a favor, why don't you swallow Gerry's tongue for him, not
sure he could do such a no-brainer simple thing again even if Christ
wanted to see it happen! Angry, nah, just at slobs who can't see that
their own rhetoric DESCRIBES THEMSELVES, THAT'S ALL! Oh, and, Gerry, we
fucking know you altered/suppressed evidence in the whole JFK Warren
Commission deal, bloody stupid bastard [PC might apply, seen some
interesting photos of you in drag, old Betty "He Drove Me to Drink"
Ford, at her own Clinic wearing a strap on-----no, the negatives are
not for sale], recommend strongly that you surrender your recent Medal
from the Profiles in Courage outfit: what, were they in on it too?; I
have much more work to do than even I believed. Inquiring minds want to
know, cabish? And don't try to intimidate me, I am a personal friend of
Frank Sinatra, Jr., ok. You putz].
Where the hell were we, oh, yes: water, the enemy, and don't even start
with the goddam 'duck shoes' ,who came up with that 'humans are not
just a new, improved ape' distraction to the demands of nature? What,
oh, I see, mud is fine, so long as it is administered by fucking Helga
at the Spa---by the way, Helga thinks you are fucking soft assholes,
pisses in your goddam Perrier, ok, leaving the rest of humanity to deal
with mud without a masseusse, selfish creep(s). Don't advise you fall
asleep on the massage table, got it. You putas, you; that's right, you
lose IT, but get a new name as your very own : hey, it's easy to be
fair when you not pissed off.
[LOUD KNOCK AT THE DOOR]
I'm fine, really. These restraints are actually quite unnecessary, so
either they come off or my lawyers are on you like flys on
.........there, back to the Manifesto proper. It's the closing Article,
nice round number like ten, just want to get across here without people
wondering, why nine, got a problem with that? Feel better, I know I
do.

Section 10.1: Can you say, 'I'm alright out here in the rain." Anybody
seen a crucifix featuring the contemporary footwear? Case closed.
Section 10.2: Alms. Gonna take a lot of you know what to expound upon
Section 10.1, what with all the controversy and hype, entirely
unintentional, you understand, had nothing to do with exposure
----except for you know who up there, no sunscreen, horrible-----or
outreach to the atheist/agnostic crowd
[really odd bunch, those, like you created your ability to be so obtuse
and/or vain, or anything, for that matter, begs the question, really,
although, like Brutus' good salesmanship buddy Cassius, if you were one
of these guys wouldn't you choose not living over bowing to such a
thing as you, yourself, very top of the food chain in the whole cosmos,
depressing as hell----now, see, ya can't get around all these charged
terms and have a decent metaphysical discussion, just stay as you are,
got it all figured out, no need to explore such UNIVERSAL concepts,
you're right, gotta go play fucking golf----hey, if I were that certain
higher power I wouldn't want you even using my name(s), ok, hope you
land in the rough]:
is the author really sane, what did he mean, etc. [PR people strongly
feel that this could be the makings for a helluva lecture tour, forget
Clinton, safe stuff, really: we are on the cutting edge, no prisoners.
Strange how the opposition will sell you the rope with which to hange
them----legal says to refer you to the Lenin rant above, you know the
one]. Still got to pay for the rope, even if it is on easy credit.
We'll just stiff em, likely doing business the Enemies anyway.
Section 10.3: Swimming with the sharks. See, the really great this
about unbridled capitalists is that they really don't care about the
product/service, just the profit margin. Gotcha. Bigtime. Into the
bargain, they have not, therefore, figured upon the growing amount of
mud in rainy seasons, dust in drought. That is about the time they will
start to hedge their bets, coming to us for focus group feedback. [See
sections above dealing with halting paving/concretizing of the Earth].
What do we say: fuck off! Suggest you divest your holdings and support
this movement [see Section 1.2, 1.3, etc.] They will play both sides,
typical amorality.
It is then that their former loyal/unblinking customers will start to
question their fearless leaders, stand in the cool grass and look up
for their salvation. Enter us. Want to play footsie, do you? Here's the
plan: get your runway models ready for the latest fashion: non-shoes,
yeah, feet, original equipment-----remember body painting: get your
graphics people to adorn the foot/feet of your top models with pop art,
baby. Fall for it hook, line, sinker.
[Legal tells me they can cut a deal for copyright on the latest
designs, washable, new look everyday! Hey, when it rains, maybe twice
the revenue. Remember the Korean pedicurists, every 1/2 block in urban
areas, for no overhead they're in the foot-painting biz. Hot. New.
Fresh. Profitable. Accounting says we could ask for 60\% of gross, no
problem]. Hey, the creed is not greed: we'll take 50\% of net. Kinda
guy(s) I/we am/are, doing this for the Earth. [Do the math: with the
2/3 H2O thing in our favor and frequent muddy rain, we're looking at
daily repaintings, with non-toxic colors, mind you, @ whatever a pop,
revenue stream, baby, for our various foot-friendly undertakings
described above]. Game over. No shots fired. Thank you, Vladimir Lenin
for all that wisdom about greed. We will even contribute to cleaning up
mother Russia where, even with the late, not so great shoe and its
"handiwork" [see, can't even find a relevant adjective, bathetic,
really], it's not a good idea to go outside even in a radiation suit
and booties.
Chapter 8: Where We Go From Here,----Yes, On Foot!
What kind of world will have been wrought, then, with this projected
success through cooption, for our children? You haven't forgotten about
the burning shoes campaign have you, the kids certainly haven't. Forget
about the monster under the bed, they are properly focused upon the
,now exposed, real monsters in the proverbial closet, ok. Relax, they
are on board. What, all of a sudden, hiking and camping are bad words?
Don't go soft on me now, truth is it won't do you any good: the shoe
whores are trashing their own former products. All of a sudden it is
'fashionable' to test one's soles.......as originally 'planned', toward
soul discovery. Get with the program; think of the possibilities. A few
examples will serve to illuminate our point.
Next time a judge makes a really amazingly just ruling, check under the
bench, chances are he/she [everyone is now less uptight about this
shit, clause revoked] is sans hobnails.
Ballerinas, nothing new for them, you always admired how they achieve
'point' on their fragile toes, well, they were just pointing the way.
[You see, nothing has diminished the pun-making power of your
guide].
Sports: Nobody gets cleated, slide into second all you want.
Politics: no more beauty contests, trust me. All feet are created
equal, kinda part of ET/off world 'creator(s)' plan, no time to
elaborate. [Look for the next volume, tentatively entitled 'Sondheim
Was Wrong: There Don't Have To Be Clowns'; hey, just started
negotiating the deal, could be they invalidate this working title by
refusing my demands].
World affairs: can you say no concrete silos? [Don't count on this to
last, barefoot men are still men; here, we are counting on the
imagination of the foot-painting artists of the world and, of course,
the absence of really funky high heels to actually thwart the libido of
men; women need a couple of centuries to regroup, ok, think it's easy
to make it in a patriarchal society, especially when guys are bitching
all the more due to lack of streets to cruise for chics? ]
Mass communications: No more traffic reports------as in no traffic.
Just a matter of time before all those chase scenes and helicopters are
finished; you know what, lotta good news will have to be reported, by
default: hey, they're meretricious, remember [you should know this one,
used for second time], and, besides, can't have dead air, gotta keep on
babbling, doesn't need to make sense---------but at least it won't be
so goddam annoying or depressing.
Wrestling: ok, these 'people' were always ready for this, granted, for
all the wrong reasons, but this will help reinforce the new 'step' in
politics mentioned above, which is really good for the longevity of our
plans, not to mention increased government funding.
So, come on boys and girls, come on out in greater numbers than ever,
it's not like you can fornicate with your siblings 24/7 or easily fill
all that spare time that you're not spending in a dentist's chair;
that's the spirit, left, right, left, right, you've always seen a lot
of them, now you can really work on that walking upright thing.
Super.
[We have found that such childlike hyperbolic terminology has always
had the desired effect with these folks, thanks Research, take the rest
of the day off, until you can find something just a tiny bit less
obvious to 'work' on; besides, there will always be plenty of job
opportunities out there for you doing government or privately funded
studies which tell us what we knew when we were six or-----and these
really pay well------tell us incredibly audacious lies in the service
of sheer greed or some other really elaborate commercial purpose, aimed
at keeping the consumer confident, albeit slowly toxifying, poisoned or
just plain dying from use of their now found safe products.
Anybody falls for this shit, keep wearing shoes and doing what you are
told, hope you enjoy getting buggered by shepherds or bored wrestling
fans, ok.
Faith/Theology: See above commentary, I am not just trying to fill up
pages being cleverly tautologous [under 't'], besides, publishers get
nervous when you hit that old 1000 page barrier; better to
sequelize.
Mountain Climbing: No more interesting ways to kill yourself and try to
be younger/more alive than you really are, on Mt. Everest and other
really pointless physical objectives.
Although, if climate change does what it should/we deserve, look for
really bad flooding, crop destruction, and the consequent proposition
of starving to death before you can even think about going up there now
that the snow is gone. Hey, you started all this warming with your SUVs
and all the rest it takes to get them to the Mall to buy...........been
there, done that; reread the book if necessary.
Gonna stop here, plenty of other examples; tell you what, let's get
interactive, send me your suggestions and we'll see what we can do in
the sequel volumes; besides, already reached the imaginary but real
publishing barrier of 100ish pages: key to avoiding pamphlet status,
all the while not upsetting all you summary freaks, like your patron
saint of all-around but especially in the thinking department
inadequacy, 'W.'
[That last sentence had less than adequate structure and syntax just
to soften the blow to you know who you are, either voted for the low
moron or, like the low moron you may well be, blew off the coup de tat
the Supremes pulled off ('it was so close to Christmas, just had to get
ma shoppin done')-----hey, you bought the book, why not get something
like reassurance through numbers out of it, got plenty of other books
(pronounced "booohx") to hold up the couch.
Chapter 9: Miscellaneous Musings [Hey, Want to Get to Ten
Chapters------see commentary concerning Ten Articles, Ok?]; Also, A
Tribute to Sondheim, He Always Knew.....
I want to pay tribute to all you Clowns out there: no, just the ones in
the funny clothes, makeup, shoes-------I see why you're
confused-----------------Ok, let's try it this way: all you persons,
and little dogs, etc. who have worked or are doing so or planning on
it, for Barnum &; Bailey, Ringling Bros., assorted Kings, Queens,
really menacing dictators, et. Al., this one goes out to you.
I have utilized what is perhaps your most distinguishing costume
feature to kick some sense, allegorically speaking, into your
audiences.
Don't you just endlessly marvel at the supreme irony of it all: you
are the serious ones, THEY (yes, you reading this, especially if your
lips are moving or your index finger is leading your eyes) are the
Clowns, however unwitting; actually, a lot of them are the latter,
leading to the whole 'holding up a mirror to your folly' thing YOU do
so well (only applies to my dedicatory audience with a very few of you
thrown in charitably, so there's hope).
So, I want to say thanks for all of us who got/get it, and for those
who shall, having now read these 100 or so pages. As a result, until
that day of final triumph, gonna have to ask that you keep the outfits
and the really big funny shoes in reserve as the enemies are many,
their sedentary ways countless.

So, then, "Bring in the Clowns, There Ought to Be Clowns...." Is right
there on the shelf, whenever needed------oh, don't bother, They're
Here!

Chapter 10: Made It! The End.......of The Beginning
You made it, so did I. Remember those SATs, etc.: you sat on your ass
all day, and when it was over, you were bloody exhausted [especially
those of us whose scores were really up there]. Same deal here, at
least for you. Then throw in the truth and you've got some pretty
taxing brain functioning going on. I say that's a good thing: after
all, it's about time that organ did something constructive, know what I
mean?
[You certainly ought to if you were paying any kind of attention, for
crying out loud]. The foot has been blameless in this whole thing we
call the Status Quo, sat out the whole Progress thing (see rest of the
book, really)-----the same cannot be said for the brain. An accomplice
before and after the fact, so to speak.
[Incidentally, why does the Status Quo have a Latin name? Right, pretty
old game the brain---that belonging to others you have followed and/or
your very own, has played, you who let it fool you and it be fooled,
for that matter, and its cool little gadgets, machines and pretty
destructive heavy stuff, with accompanying self-created shoes, that has
made life a challenge, if not a constant struggle, for the foot.

Hey, the shoe is just "their" way of saying.....we're not sorry,
besides, you NEED these very attractive and/or utilitarian whatevers
for all those tasks we have....well, made, necessary.

No, uh uh. Don't go there. Warning you. It's time for U. to T.O.E. the
line we have now redrawn. Hey, call me at 800 NO-CRAMP. I am outta
here, for now. Viva Zapata, Not!

1
140 Pages in Length

11/30/01: WARNING: THIS WORK OF FICTION IS COPYRIGHTED TO THE FULLEST
EXTENT OF THE LAW AND MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED, ALTERED, WITHOUT WRITTEN
PERMISSION FROM ITS AUTHOR, JOSEPH N. BARON, ESQ., 1730 K ST, NW.,
#304, WASHINGTON, DC 20006

REGISTERED AS TO OWNERSHIP/DATE OF COMPLETION WITH THE WRITERS GUILD OF
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