Parrothead Ramblings

Yeah, they're ugly all right. But they can cook.

Guest Blogger Alert! But first, a foreword from The Crime Dog:

Like most pholks, when I saw those ugly-ass rubber clogs Headbeak and some of the other guys were all wearing to Parrothead functions, I laughed and shook my head. Then one day I came across a rack of the hideous bastards, and made the mistake of sticking my foot into one. They're like drugs. The first one's free. Any more than that will cost you. Not only do I now have two pairs, but I bought my big brother a pair for his birthday and shipped 'em off to Dallas. Here's what he had to say:

In July I received a birthday gift from the Crime Dog. It was a pair of
the dumbest looking shoes I’ve ever seen. They look like the boats Mickey,
Donald, and the seven dwarfs wear, except they’re red and have holes in
them. My feet are a petite 11AAAA. Yep, skis. Got ‘em from my mom,
along with skinny legs and no butt. These things the Crime Dog sent are maybe
a size 12EEEE. I put those puppies on and I look like Donald Duck with
red rubber shoes. These things are uglier than a mud fence, but damn they’re comfortable. So what the hell, I thought, I’ll wear them when I work in the yard. Make that the back yard. The back yard with the privacy fence. I don’t want to show off my Donald, Mickey, dwarf things. The neighbors will be jealous.

Stick with me on this, it’s leading somewhere.

I work ten hours a day six days a week. The good new is it gives me one
day a week to spend in any way I see fit, after my honey-do’s. The bad news
is, well, that is the bad news. I’ve got one fucking day a week. The thing
is, I love summer. I mean I really, really love summer. My favorite pastime
has always been golf. I love the sport and the camaraderie. Crap, now I
don’t even have enough time to go to the driving range. My second favorite
pastime, which is now my first, is getting pool drunk. Get the chores
done, put on a few Jimmy CD’s, launch my pool chair, guzzle a couple Coronas,
then set sail with Captain Morgan. That’s not a problem, I know the rule;
beer on whiskey mighty risky, whisky on beer never fear. (And everybody thought
I wasted my time in college.)

Anyway, there’s this thing about water and me. I can’t float. No way, no how. I sink like a fucking rock, feet first, straight to the bottom.

Last Sunday I finished my yard work and was set to start my favorite
pastime. It was hotter than hell. Not as hot as AZ but still hotter
than hell, and there I was wearing nothing but aqua blue swimming trunks and
a pair of stupid looking red shoes. I barreled across the cool-deck, one
hopped it and stuck the landing. Perfect back flop. Then the damndest
thing happened. I popped up like one of those red and white fishing bobbers.
Yep, me floating. First time ever. I looked like, well, Donald Duck in a
pair of aqua blue swimming trunks…and red shoes.

I love those ugly red shoes.

Thanks to Wayners for that unsolicited testimonial! And you can get YOUR Crocs at any of those long-haired hippie freak granola stores across The Valley: Sunflower, Henry's, Wild Oats, Sprouts. These things are better than barefoot. Hell, they're even the official shoe of Parrothead Ramblings.
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