BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

So, I finally wore out my Sunday Go Ta’ Meetin’ Reeboks.

I’m a little disappointed, but I can’t really complain. After all, I managed to get better than four years out of them. I bought them on sale at a Sports Authority in Virginia of all places. Just outside of DC, as a matter of fact. I was on tour with Morrison, and after two days of standing around bookstores in my dress shoes, my feet were killing me. I knew why, of course. It was because I had bought an unbelievably cheap pair of dress shoes with no arch support whatsoever. I’d never worn them for more than a few hours at a time, so it wasn’t that big a deal. But now, I was doing some long stints on my feet and they were doing me in. I considered getting some insoles – but I’d tried them in the past and all they managed to do was make me hurt more. So, on one of our rare mornings off, when Morrison needed to run to the office supply store, I tagged along and hit the Sports Authority next door. Twenty minutes later I had a stylish pair of black Reeboks that had been ON SALE (I mention that because E K likes it when I buy things on sale), and my dawgz were feeling much better.

But, like I said, I finally killed them. The sole pulled away from the upper on one of them, and shoe glue just wasn’t doing it. They’ll work for knocking around in the yard and such, but not for Sunday Go Ta’ Meetin’ like before.

So, I went out shopping for some new shoes while we were on a “household supply run.” After checking out the on-sale Reeboks that looked like some kind of plastic & Velcro Stormtrooper shoe from Star Wars and deciding that I wasn’t interested in looking ridiculous, I wandered down another aisle. I was futzing about with some Reebok knockoffs that looked much like the pair I was aiming to replace, when E K said, “Come here, lackey!”

Well, even when you are in the middle of a store with folks all around, if E K gives you an order you follow it, lest she beat you to death right there in public. And, she’ll get away with it too. Trust me. But, well, you know… digressing and all that…

So, I dropped everything and rushed down to the end of the aisle where E K was waiting and panted, “Yes, Mistress. What may I do to serve you, Mistress?”

Quite a few women who were in the general vicinity reached out and slapped their husbands to get their attention, then pointed at me and announced, “See? HE knows how to behave.” Of course, the husbands just glared at me, but I’m used to that by now.

E K finished reading an information card attached to a pair of shoes, then handed them to me and said, “Here, lackey. Try these on.”

I looked at the shoes in the box she had handed me, then I looked at her. Then I looked at the shoes in the box she had handed me, and then I looked at her.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” she hissed and snapped her fingers. “Chop chop!”

What she had selected for me were “Therashoes“… No, not Theraflu, THERASHOES… The problem is, they looked exactly like something Herman Munster would wear. Seriously. I would not lie about something like that. But, Her Supreme Worship was glaring at me, and all of the other wives were holding their husbands by the ear and making them watch how obedient a lackey I happened to be, therefore I had very little choice.

I tried them on.

I walked around for a minute.

I almost fell down 72 times in the span of 60 seconds.

You see, not only do “Therashoes” have a platform sole like Herman Munster footwear, said sole is shaped like a rocker on a rocking chair. Again, no kidding. I wouldn’t lie about this. You can see it just a little bit in the picture, but believe me, that doesn’t do it justice. These things have as much curve as a freaking basketball (see cross section below).

I guarantee you it is easier to walk in stiletto heels – and, I’m sure you are wondering how I could possibly say that with any authority. Well, because I have walked in stiletto heels. No, not because E K makes me dress up like a French Maid and wait on her… Well… Not lately anyway… But, because in my youth I went to a costume party in drag on a dare/bet. BTW, I looked damn good and I won the bet. I certainly couldn’t pull it off now; besides, the costume was long gone, long ago. It just didn’t go with the rest of my wardrobe…

But, back to the shoes… In the end, E K decided these were the clodhoppers I needed to have. I wore them for about six hours today and I now feel like I have been hobbled by Kathy Bates wielding a sledgehammer.

It took me a few hours, but I finally figured it out. These things were designed by a Dominatrix – hell, probably by E K and the Redhead Collective – as a type of bizarre bondage gear in order to keep men from escaping during torture. I’m certain of this, because I’m here to tell you, wearing these damn things I can’t even run away from a toddler…

I can, however, pitch back and forth like a rocking horse.

More to come…

Murv

Elizabeth Taylor ain’t got nothin’ on the Evil Redhead…

Seriously.

E K is way hotter than E T ever was, and way more evil.  By several orders of magnitude on both accounts… And, she’s really a Kat. So there…

Yeah, so obviously this is a bit of a play on words and all, but since I’ve also been babbling in my status updates about helping Scuba with a roof job he has, I thought perhaps I’d give y’all a bit more info.

Especially since I’ve only recently discovered the fact that E K didn’t leave her evilness on the ground when she went up that ladder…

Day 1 – Tearoff…

I didn’t arrive at the site of the roofing job until late morning because there was a furnace issue at Hell House I had to address. By the time I made it to the roof, tearoff was in full swing. Here you can see her supreme evilness shoveling old shingles in the direction of the dumpster below (out of frame)… I later found out that she was covering up the bodies of those who had been in her way while doing the tearoff. It seems she would simply lure them to the edge of the roof, then hit them in the back of the head with the shovel and push them off into the dumpster. Then, like a cat in a litter box, used the old shingles to cover up the… Well, you get the idea.

BTW, the reasons you will see no pictures of me on the roof –

1. Due to a severely injured foot (long story) E K forbade me from being up there lest I fall off and kill myself. At first I thought this was kind of heartwarming, but she later told me that she simply didn’t have time to break in a new lackey.
2. I was afraid E K would hit ME in the back of the head with a shovel and push me off into the dumpster. I mean, you never know…

Here we have a shot of the Dewalt Boom Box / Battery Charger that goes everywhere Scuba goes. Much grumbling came from the kids on the crew – those E K hadn’t yet pushed off into the dumpster, anyway – because all of us old farts had the toonage set to classic rock from our era.  And, of course, there you have the redheaded roof mistress on the right…

This is a picture of what we on the ground (working cleanup and cut crew) thought was E K helping Scuba with the shingles. Of course, we later found out she was threatening to hit him with a shovel if he didn’t get on the ball. What a slave driver she is…

Here is the Evil Redhead once again. Turns out that this time she was threatening to kick the ladder over if Scuba didn’t hurry up and move faster…

Okay, okay… So, she didn’t really push anyone into the dumpster and she didn’t threaten to kick over the ladder. However, she still didn’t check her dominant self at the door.

During the job, on several occasions Scuba would say, “I’m done. Let’s call it a day,” whereupon he would find something else to do and start in on it. After the fourth or fifth time he did this, E K put her hands on her hips and announced, “Steve, you’re done! Get down off the roof. NOW!”

Yep, he did what she told him to do. Even Scuba knows it’s best to obey the Evil Redhead… Besides, she still had a shovel up there with her and there was room in the dumpster.

More to come…

Murv