xraytheenforcer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
xraytheenforcer) wrote2007-12-13 01:04 pm
xraytheenforcer) wrote2007-12-13 01:04 pm
Pour One on the Ground: Shoe Edition
To mark the passing of Ike Turner. (excerpted from a post made on Tomato Nation, like, 7 years ago.)
A Kenneth Cole sandal is the Ike Turner of footwear. Okay, it sounds like one of my ill-advised flights of bad-metaphorical non-fancy, but check it out. The sandal comes on real strong, right? Makes your feet look gooooood, showers them with sweet looooove, gets all cute and mad when you flirt with a 9 West model, and girl! You can't believe you got so luuuuucky — at first. But when you've fallen for his line, looked the other way when he bled dye and gave you corns, you've bought a few pairs, boom — he'll start in calling your feet too wide and get on you about letting your arches go, and then when you make noises about maybe switching to Steve Madden he beats your feet bloody, and just when you've made up your mind to leave, the sandal comes around all "baby, I'm so sorry, I lost my head, you know how I get when you go across the street to look in the window at Fluevog, please forgive me, I brought you the new line for spring, and look at the straps, baby, look at the straps, I'm so sorry, baby, I love you" and your feet will sit in a tub of Epsom salts all sullen like "go to hell, no sandal treats me that way, love ain't supposed to hurt, I don't love you no more" and the sandal's all "I can't live without you, baby, don't leave me that way," and those straps would really make your ankles look like Rita Hayworth's, but your feet stay strong, "nuh uh, if you loved me you wouldn't tear me up so bad," and the sandal slinks to the door and says all pitifully, "All right, baby, I'll go…if that's what you really want," and your feet look down, and they start to cry, and they give in all "promise you'll never do it again," and the sandal promises, and he gives your feet tender leather lovin', and the straps make your ankles look great…and then one night the sandal turns on your little toe in a drunken rage and your foot's locking itself in the bathroom screaming "NO! NO!" and girlfriend, you know he ain't no good for you so RUN.
A Kenneth Cole sandal is the Ike Turner of footwear. Okay, it sounds like one of my ill-advised flights of bad-metaphorical non-fancy, but check it out. The sandal comes on real strong, right? Makes your feet look gooooood, showers them with sweet looooove, gets all cute and mad when you flirt with a 9 West model, and girl! You can't believe you got so luuuuucky — at first. But when you've fallen for his line, looked the other way when he bled dye and gave you corns, you've bought a few pairs, boom — he'll start in calling your feet too wide and get on you about letting your arches go, and then when you make noises about maybe switching to Steve Madden he beats your feet bloody, and just when you've made up your mind to leave, the sandal comes around all "baby, I'm so sorry, I lost my head, you know how I get when you go across the street to look in the window at Fluevog, please forgive me, I brought you the new line for spring, and look at the straps, baby, look at the straps, I'm so sorry, baby, I love you" and your feet will sit in a tub of Epsom salts all sullen like "go to hell, no sandal treats me that way, love ain't supposed to hurt, I don't love you no more" and the sandal's all "I can't live without you, baby, don't leave me that way," and those straps would really make your ankles look like Rita Hayworth's, but your feet stay strong, "nuh uh, if you loved me you wouldn't tear me up so bad," and the sandal slinks to the door and says all pitifully, "All right, baby, I'll go…if that's what you really want," and your feet look down, and they start to cry, and they give in all "promise you'll never do it again," and the sandal promises, and he gives your feet tender leather lovin', and the straps make your ankles look great…and then one night the sandal turns on your little toe in a drunken rage and your foot's locking itself in the bathroom screaming "NO! NO!" and girlfriend, you know he ain't no good for you so RUN.
no subject
I met Ike Turner once. His daughter in law and three (cute) grandkids lived downstairs from me in North Hollywood. None to grandly, I might add- that poor woman was barely scraping by. One day a white stretch limo pulled up and Ike Turner got out and took them all off to some event- I don't know what, but they were all excited to be riding in a limo.
According to the daughter in law, Ike's son was the apple that didn't fall far from that tree.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
(I know I shouldn' mock the dead, but that's so perfect.)