Fleece-Lined Crocs™

Dear Fuzzy Croc Dude,

I cannot believe you are wearing those shoes. REALLY? I mean, seriously. Let me take a minute and question your manhood here. You’ve seen the shoes, right? I mean, you looked down when you put them on? You’ve seen them on thousands of little girls, right? RIGHT? Anything found on millions of tiny, little feet DOES NOT belong on your feet. And what did you do with the free tiny vagina they gave away with the crocs? Even if I were to look the other way on all of these violations, let’s discuss the fact that you were wearing them with sweats.  Not macho, bro. Quien es mas macho? Someone other than you, Fuzzy Croc Hombre.

You seemed like a perfectly normal human when I saw you stroll into the burrito shop. Until I looked down.  Then I pretty much snorted my burrito and almost had beans come through my nose. What the hell were you thinking when you made this footwear selection before leaving home today? That you’d have the lay-daaaysssss swooning at your effeminate, plasticky feet? Because I almost choked to death, perished from inhaled burrito.

With this out of the way, can we please talk color selection? Did you, like, walk into the fuzzy croc store and just bust out with, “Give me the off-greenest fuzzy crocs you’ve got!… No, not those - too strained pea. Do you have something in a newborn baby shit? Yes, wonderful.  These are perfect!”

While I was careful to give you a wide berth, I can only imagine the 12 stages of odor your feet must be going through in your polyester-lined, recycled whiffle ball footwear.  They’re clearly somewhere between stage 1: “Is someone having a vinaigrette?” and stage 12: “The guy at the dump won’t even take these effing things.”  Luckily, I kept you at a safe enough distance to leave the specific effect on the nose to the imagination.  If only this were the case with my eyes. My eyes. They burn.

Sincerely,

The rest of the world