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| Tall, blond, suited, and booted |
This blond guy has to be over six feet tall. I wonder what his story is. Maybe an oil-company exec? Or a state legislator from a small town or suburb? Maybe even a policeman? What color are the socks underneath his cowboy boots? Black? Gray? Blue? Are they brown because he ran out of other clean pairs, because the missus is out of town? Are they white sweat socks, the kind one buys in a pack of three or six pairs? Is he wearing them for the second, third, or fourth day in a row? Does he wear those boots for twelve hours a day? Maybe longer? Maybe he put them on at 6:30 in the morning and he didn't pull them off till 11:30 at night (seventeen hours!). He's not grossed out by the cloud of foot stench wafting off his big socked feet and out of his tall boots. In fact, he takes a kind of pride in the manly stink of his feet, which caused the young salesguy at the shoe store to recoil. For his wife's sake, he often keeps his boots on during sex, but the athletic coitus causes his feet to sweat up his socks and increase the aroma. Tonight, he lets his foot odor fill the bedroom, till it smells like a locker room and not the potpourri his wife likes, but that makes him sneeze when it's fresh out of the bag.
He hooks a thumb into the top of his sock and peels it off his foot. Then he peels off the other sock. They feel warm and damp (not enough to wring out) but like a used washcloth. The air feels cool on his feet, out of those humid boots and socks. He wiggles his toes. Crumbs of sock lint and dead skin between his toes, all over the soles of his feet, underneath his toenails, which he just notices, are kind of long. By looking at him, you'd never suspect his feet were ever so smooth and soft, like butter. Come to think of it, they smell like buttered popcorn, or vinegar, or stale mac and cheese, depending on the shoes and socks he wears. He almost never goes barefoot. At the beach, his bare feet made contact with the hot sand and it made him lightly hop, like a rabbit. From then on, he wore tennis shoes to the beach, taking them off only to swim. He wonders if he's still flexible enough to bring his toes to his mouth and bite off the excess growth of his toenails. His wife saw him do that on their honeymoon and made him use a nail clipper. Women, he thinks, can be real prisses.
He can still bring his toes to his mouth. He bites off and spits out pieces of toenail on the one, then the other foot. It tastes salty. He looks down at his size twelve boats. They could be salt licks. His neighbor's son, in college, recently got him to talk for a while about his feet for a class project, P.E. or sports medicine. He thought it was the weirdest thing, at first. Then it got him thinking, Why did his feet stink all his life, but not those of his little brother, who became sort of a hippie and didn't bathe for up to a week at a time? But then he wore sandals. And yet... he bathed regularly and tried to change his socks daily. The student also got him thinking about the nature of foot odor: is it a problem, a sign of bad hygiene, or is it also a symbol of virility and manly effort? After all, guys wear shoes all day long, working hard, playing hard. Then they take off their shoes and unwittingly gross out their wives, girlfriends, daughters. The student thought guys with sweaty, stinky feet should tell their women the following:I know you're offended by the smell of my feet, but I put in long hours at the office/store/shop, etc. to earn money and support you. Darling wife, those earrings cost $250. That's a couple days' pay for me. I've been on my feet all day every day. My feet get hot and sweaty and tired. Could you rub my feet? Think about the hard work I did to get you those earrings. This is crazy but, could you learn to love the scent of my manly feet? Could you appreciate that my feet could stink up the living room? Think, my husband works hard to provide for his family. That's the smell of hard work. Hey, daughter, you like that twerpy Beaver guy? (It's Justin Bieber, dad!) OK. Do you think that girly boy works hard for his money? I'm on that hot car lot six days a week, fourteen hours a day, walking up and down in a pair of size thirteen Rockports. My socks aren't cushioned and don't wick away sweat. My shoes are as dank as the jungle. It feels good to air out these big dogs. Can you smell them? How far away are you? (Ten feet.) Good, good. When I give you money for the mall, think about how I got that money. The harder I work and the more money I make, the funkier my feet get. Gives a new meaning to stinkin' rich, doesn't it? My wife, my daughter, come closer. Think about the farmer. Does he grumble about the smell of pigshit? No. He's thinking about the money he'll make selling the pigs at market. And his feet stink up in his boots, by the way.
(I never thought about it that way, dear.) (Me neither, Dad.) Good. Who wants to rub my achy, smelly feet. You'll each take one? That's great. Daughter, if you're lucky, you'll marry a fine man who'll provide for you. And in return, you'll rub his big feet.
When his wife comes home, he's going to ask for a foot rub. That'd be swell, the man thinks as he falls asleep.
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Stephen Harper, Canadian prime minister, often has a smarmy expression that makes people mad. They think he's a real dildo. Well, this is a picture of a dildo made to look like him. A "dildonification" if you like. It will have to do for the countless women (and men) who fantasize about swallowing him up, head first, into their orifices.
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| Stephen Harper, Canadian PM, dildonified |
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