Allow me to dive right into the abject fuckery that’s on full display above. In typical Sunday fashion, I navigated my way to the local supermarket to stock up on grub for my weekly (ahem, immediate) consumption.
Standing behind my cart, as I searched the shelves with glassy eyes, this specimen was standing right in my line of sight – a vision of what’s bizarre about living in an area like mine. I’m an advocate of comfortable Sundays. They’re an integral, God-given (and church-mandated) right to relax as you see fit. Well…my perspective’s been skewed a bit by this.
On a scale of 1-10, 10 being a sight that defies common logic and decency, it’d sit comfortably right around 9. Reason being, a bearded dude was braving the supermarket, basket on arm, with what I can only assume are his girl’s UGGs. Those that have any experience with Snapneck Life and/or me as a person, know that I have a burning, consistent, albeit irrational hatred of a boot that’s on foot of most females 13-23, and is just plain fucking horrendous.
As a male, I can’t subscribe to certain fads and items of clothing – jorts, UGGs, anything knockoff, skinny jeans that squeeze you tighter than alimony payments and child support, and dudes that wear clothes designed for their biblical counterparts.
Those UGGs musta been a size 7, at best, meaning this dude’s toes were probably throwing up gang signs in order to successful perch themselves in the presumably sweaty and funky as fuck fuzzbucket boots.
I sat there for a moment, perplexed by the sight, awed by his confidence, yet feared for his well-being when his broad can’t find her boots. Fumbling with my phone (which almost met a painful death via the tiled floor in the Cuisine of the World aisle, I snapped a shot of one of the most ridiculous, confounding, soul-rattling things I’ve seen since the dude with Daisy Dukes and matching denim vest.
My therapist said I’ll probably shake the latter thought eventually. But this UGG shit just topped off my plate. Fuck.