I think I have stumbled upon the way that foreign governments plan to bring about America’s demise. If you have purchased a pair of shoes for your child or grandchild recently you must have noticed that they were not made in the USA. China, Pakistan, Mexico, Taiwan, anywhere but the good old US of A. And if you read what they are made of, you will find maybe a little leather, but mostly manmade materials. Whatever those manmade materials are, they have a distinct ability to begin to emit a very foul odor after they are worn two or three times.
I bought a pair of Dockers shoes a few years ago. When I tried them on they just had that nice new smell. The tag inside read, Made in China, leather uppers, balance: manmade material. I wore the shoes almost for a whole day and when I took them off that night, the smell had changed. It was almost a stink. I thought to myself that maybe these shoes made my feet sweat a little bit. The next Sunday I wore them to church. When I got home, I sat in the recliner to read the paper and leaned back with my feet up. What is that smell, I thought? Surely not, I pulled one foot up toward me and sniffed. Gag. I took both shoes off quickly and put them in the closet. They are still there, the smell has gone into hibernation, but I know the shoes are just waiting for some warm feet to slip into them and once again foul odors will begin to waft.
A while ago one of my daughters, Misty, was at our house and for some reason someone mentioned stinky feet. She said that she had a pair of sandals that really stunk. Well, I didn’t think that was very likely since a person’s feet could breathe easily in sandals. “I’m serious Dad, they are terrible” she said, reaching down and pulling off a sandal and handing it to me. Without thinking, I brought the shoe toward my nose for a sniff. It was almost my undoing. The odor was palpable, my head swam, and I jerked back involuntarily. My daughter took the shoe out of my trembling hand and said, “I TOLD you they were bad. What do you think I can do with them?” I remembered that she had recently had trouble with a skunk getting under her front porch, and I suggested that she throw the shoes under the porch. I figured that would run the skunk out of there pronto.
I mentioned this to Carmen and she told about the time that she wore her sister Bethany’s shoes. They were blue suede and were notorious stink shoes. Carmen borrowed them to wear to school one day. She sat down with her feet under the desk in front of her. A boy named Caleb sat behind Carmen and he exclaimed, “Dang! Carmen, you’re not wearing Bethany’s shoes are you?” “Yes, I am,” Carmen replied, “why do you ask?” “Because I can smell them from back here” he said.
Last week I was at the school gym to watch one of the grandsons play basketball. A gaggle of teen age boys came up and sat on the bleachers right in front of us. I noticed that each of them was wearing the high top, high tech sneakers with the latest air-filled soles, gel soles, etc. As they sat and talked, an odor began to rise from their shoes. It mingled with the scent of Polo, Drakkar Noir, and Calvin Cline. I almost could imagine that it shimmered like heat rising off Texas asphalt. The boys seemed oblivious to the smells and were talking about girls and the upcoming Homecoming dance.
It was then that I began to see the widespread effect of this devious plot. The boys in front of me had developed some sort of immunity to the smell. They were carriers, spreading the odor everywhere. It is like vampirism. If you are lucky, you flee the smell. If not, you are overcome by it. If you ever become used to it, you are like a zombie, a lost soul wearing stink shoes of every sort, roaming through the community with people fleeing from your presence. Your only fellowship will be with other stink shoe zombies. I doubted that these boys had a ghost of chance at getting a date to Homecoming wearing those shoes.
But what was the ultimate goal of this insidious plot. What did these foreign countries hope to accomplish by making us all stink shoe zombies? It was becoming difficult to think. I was getting dizzy, and having trouble breathing. And then, in horror, I saw that it was too late. Four girls walked up the bleachers and sat down amongst the boys, laughing and talking. They seemed completely unaware that they were enveloped in a smell that would make the fumes from a gut wagon seem like a breath of fresh air. We’re all doomed. I’m not sure to what, but doomed for certain.
Ronnie
I bought a pair of Dockers shoes a few years ago. When I tried them on they just had that nice new smell. The tag inside read, Made in China, leather uppers, balance: manmade material. I wore the shoes almost for a whole day and when I took them off that night, the smell had changed. It was almost a stink. I thought to myself that maybe these shoes made my feet sweat a little bit. The next Sunday I wore them to church. When I got home, I sat in the recliner to read the paper and leaned back with my feet up. What is that smell, I thought? Surely not, I pulled one foot up toward me and sniffed. Gag. I took both shoes off quickly and put them in the closet. They are still there, the smell has gone into hibernation, but I know the shoes are just waiting for some warm feet to slip into them and once again foul odors will begin to waft.
A while ago one of my daughters, Misty, was at our house and for some reason someone mentioned stinky feet. She said that she had a pair of sandals that really stunk. Well, I didn’t think that was very likely since a person’s feet could breathe easily in sandals. “I’m serious Dad, they are terrible” she said, reaching down and pulling off a sandal and handing it to me. Without thinking, I brought the shoe toward my nose for a sniff. It was almost my undoing. The odor was palpable, my head swam, and I jerked back involuntarily. My daughter took the shoe out of my trembling hand and said, “I TOLD you they were bad. What do you think I can do with them?” I remembered that she had recently had trouble with a skunk getting under her front porch, and I suggested that she throw the shoes under the porch. I figured that would run the skunk out of there pronto.
I mentioned this to Carmen and she told about the time that she wore her sister Bethany’s shoes. They were blue suede and were notorious stink shoes. Carmen borrowed them to wear to school one day. She sat down with her feet under the desk in front of her. A boy named Caleb sat behind Carmen and he exclaimed, “Dang! Carmen, you’re not wearing Bethany’s shoes are you?” “Yes, I am,” Carmen replied, “why do you ask?” “Because I can smell them from back here” he said.
Last week I was at the school gym to watch one of the grandsons play basketball. A gaggle of teen age boys came up and sat on the bleachers right in front of us. I noticed that each of them was wearing the high top, high tech sneakers with the latest air-filled soles, gel soles, etc. As they sat and talked, an odor began to rise from their shoes. It mingled with the scent of Polo, Drakkar Noir, and Calvin Cline. I almost could imagine that it shimmered like heat rising off Texas asphalt. The boys seemed oblivious to the smells and were talking about girls and the upcoming Homecoming dance.
It was then that I began to see the widespread effect of this devious plot. The boys in front of me had developed some sort of immunity to the smell. They were carriers, spreading the odor everywhere. It is like vampirism. If you are lucky, you flee the smell. If not, you are overcome by it. If you ever become used to it, you are like a zombie, a lost soul wearing stink shoes of every sort, roaming through the community with people fleeing from your presence. Your only fellowship will be with other stink shoe zombies. I doubted that these boys had a ghost of chance at getting a date to Homecoming wearing those shoes.
But what was the ultimate goal of this insidious plot. What did these foreign countries hope to accomplish by making us all stink shoe zombies? It was becoming difficult to think. I was getting dizzy, and having trouble breathing. And then, in horror, I saw that it was too late. Four girls walked up the bleachers and sat down amongst the boys, laughing and talking. They seemed completely unaware that they were enveloped in a smell that would make the fumes from a gut wagon seem like a breath of fresh air. We’re all doomed. I’m not sure to what, but doomed for certain.
Ronnie
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