By Roger Talock, Special to The Brutal Times, MILWAUKEE – My feet hurt.
From walkin’ ’round all the time!
Yeah, no, and what’s more is you can’t even bring it up no more.
Feet are killin’ you?
That’s too bad, my boy.
No one wants to give my feet story the time of day.
Thanks, BT, for givin’ me the time to air my feet.
It all began years ago. My feet were clean, they had a good job, supporting me and sometimes even a little ladyfriend. Those were good times. But these days, whoo-eee! My feet! Killin’ me!
Some say soak ’em.
No one has had any other ideas.
I have asked over 26,000 people about it over the course of my lifespan (I’m thirty-seven). 2 of those people, a Mr. Fred Laurentian, 29, of Montreal, Canaduh and a Mrs. Teresea Laurention (no relation; if you notice, she spells her last name differently) shoved me and peppered me with colorful language. I would say at least ten thousand people (many of them teens) kicked me in the shins. 5,004 people hoofed me in the balls. One lady, Mrs. Eloise Fachet, 80, of Nebraska, tried to steal one of my teeth. A Mr. Greg Underwood, 53, of Chicago, forcibly ejected me from the porch of his home. By forcibly, I mean he shot me.
So, yeah, talking about my feet has been trying.
It makes me a hero.
Am I right?