Written by wordwaymike
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Tags: Foot, picture, Wife

Monday, 30 July 2007

I recently had a cyber conversation with this guy who e-mailed me a picture of a hollowed out foot that he used to hide his bottle of "Who hit John?" from his wife.

I immediately saw that this fake foot had the potential to hot wire reality on a much grander scale than this guy could comprehend.

At which time, I e-mailed him my offer of 100 dollars in exchange for clear title to this flat-footed vehicle of conveyance, that was capable of transporting more than just my physical self down the road, or as I envisioned using it, through the custom lines of life.

Below, you will find a copy of my offer.

As of this date, I still haven't received a response to my offer. Also, a few days after I sent my request, his e-mail site was closed. I wish that I could locate him again. I'd double my initial offer.

I must have that foot!



Hello inthebag,

Thanks for the heads-up, and picture of that amazing little "now ya see it. Now ya don't" alcohol dispensing appendage that you managed to acquire.

I could use that there little baby to add some fun, and excitement to my worthless, dead end, downward spiral of a life.

So if you could find it within yourself to take pity on an old man, and what is left of his squandered existence, please let me buy that completely amazing five toed, technological wonder from you.

I figure that you could probably use some drinking money, being the lush that you are. And I am willing to give you 100 dollars, in exchange for that ankle attachment of yours.

That's enough cash to fully subsidized you continued round the clock black out for at least another 3 or 4 days. Longer if you ration it wisely....

OK. Two days tops. But your gonna start shaking like a dog shi**ing peach pits if your blood to alcohol ratio dips too low. So let's just cut to the chase.

I don't need nothing, but I got to have that "secret agent" foot!

I mean, Sweet Jesus in a customs line! That there little hollowed out appendage will be better off in my hands, or mouth, rather than running around loose. Or hopping around loose.

Anyway, let loose of that there foot! So I can start utilizing some of the amazing properties of such hi-tech wizardry!

Sure, I'm probably gonna run afoul of a few state and federal laws. Accidentally of course. But Sweet Jesus with false bottom sandals! It would be a much bigger crime not to take this fabulous faux foot out on a shake down cruise at least.

Something simple, and easy, like me!

I'm ruminating the "downside/upside" ratio of bringing some duty free tequila, firecrackers and switchblades back from Tijuana.

Hell! If there's something more red white and blue, all American wonderful than some quarter stick of dynamite M-80's, exploding in a room full of drunken underage hooligans, each armed with his own razor sharp, spring loaded nine inch pig sticker, I've never been charged with it!

I mean where's the harm? The cops are most likely gonna show up and confiscate all of the "door prizes" before any fingers are lost, or eyeballs are blown out of their sockets.

Which is my point exactly! It isn't about carnage, or months of painful physical rehab to learn how to live without something you can't live without.

Oh no! It's about the potential for such a catastrophic injury being "factored into" the casual anti-social get together, that kids these days insist on having come Hell or High water.

Which is why I have updated that aging "gangsta" mantra; "Don't hate the playa. Hate the game."

My new and improved gangsta mantra for the year 2,000, and beyond, (which is gonna be on us people, before you know it!) is; "Don't hate the playa. Don't hate the game. Hate the illegal receiver down field. Then "penalize" his ass!

So inthebag, my man! Please send that "what's in the foot?" faux foot my way post haste.

You can mail it to:

That's not mine.
123 #321 (corner of walk and don't walk)
Oxnard, Calif.
zip code: oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

I'm thinking that to "throw off" whoever might use their x-ray vision, or super hero psychic abilities on this package while in transit, please, please, PUHLEASE! Send it this way in anything other than a shoe box!

Myself, and a large number of anti-social, underage drunks are counting on you!

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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