Fucking Flip Flops

Did ya know that I hate flip flops? I am not saying I have a mild distaste for flip flops, or that I am of a mind that they are less than attractive.

I really, passionately, hate fucking flip flops.








Beyond just the crumbling of the basic rules of decent fashion, this particular bit of the new casual style is a god-damned affront to me. Feet are fucking ugly things, and I don't necessarily care to have them right out in front of me. Then there is that sticky slapping sound as sweaty sole releases and rejoins to the cheap ass plastic, I can do quite well without that. The sweaty slap is like siren to the fucking Frito foot smell as an extra assault on my delicate damned constitution.



As I was getting off the train, this morning, I got aesthetically attacked by a pack of the fucking flip floppers.

(Consider that it is winter here and it is motherfucking monsooning. It is cold and windy and less than comfortable for my wing tip shorn tootsies.)

There they were though, god damned hobbit feet slapping down the rain soaked sidewalk. I could actually see the filth of grey rain water dripping from those curled hog-nose toes. Splashing down the street like a pair of raw pork loins being clapped against a brick wall.


The rise of the flip flop in our fashion sense lies in diametric opposition to our society's level of intelligence and aesthetic sense. I rue the flip flop and question the character of any person that wears them for more than a trip to the pool.