Loyal reader Straight Shooter follows-up on the question of whether flip-flop sandals are gay or straight:
I submit the following sandal that is probably safely in the straight category...it has a beer bottle opener in the sole [see above]. http://www.zappos.com/n/p/dp/
I imagine myself rafting down a river of brown gravy deep in the canyons of beef tenderloin from your most recent post, cracking open a bottle of Warsteiner with my MacGyver-like sandal. Mmm mmm good!
First of all, Straight Shooter, thank you for creating a new, nasty metaphor in "rafting the tenderloin canyon." Well done.
Second, this is quite a discovery you've made. I will readily admit that any item suitable for footwear AND food prep probably originated with a straight guy. Any way to get a TV remote embedded in the other sole?
One caveat though: Are we sure it's a great idea to force those who drink many beers (face it, these shoes are not for casual drinkers) to stand on one leg between each round? I predict many dangerous/hilarious scenarios as the evenings grow long.
Flip flops themselves are not gay. They are low-maintenance footwear for low-maintenance people. But straight guys should think twice before wearing them, for two reasons.
(1) Of any gender/orientation, straight guys have the foulest, funkiest feet. (It's a known fact. Do not attempt to disprove this through independent research! You have been warned.) Closed-toe sandals do a much better job of keeping our monster piggies breathing, but safely behind bars.
(2) Flip flops change the way you walk. My normal gait causes these flimsy toe thongs to fly off my feet. When I counter correct, I end up in a shuffly sashay that is... questionable.
I predict that Gay Guy will propose a sandal with a Purell dispenser in the sole, neat freak and germaphobe that he is, giving him the ability to disinfect this city, one step at a time. What say you, GG?
I think this is a GREAT product. Just include a corkscrew.
I was away last weekend, hiking in the woods. My friend and I were enjoying our tired legs, feeling of accomplishment, and the thought of a nice bottle of wine waiting for us. Then, the sinking feeling caused by the question: Do we have a corkscrew?
Even on a good day, I'm not that talented with a corkscrew, so I probably would had shelled out real bucks for some ergonomically correct keeper, but we were lucky to find a $1.50 plastic cheapy at the mountain-side pullover store that sells gas, beer, and cigarettes. The pressure was on ... but I twisted the metal spiral into the cork, pulled gently but assertively, and 'pop' out it came.
It felt so manly to save the day, get it right, do the impressive thing.