You can’t go on vacation without shoes. (Or can you?)

Recently I had to throw out the Sperry slip-ons that, as faithful reader(s) will recall, were a gift of fate. For the third time while wearing them without socks I was visited by a nasty heat rash.

(Read on …)

I don’t know who our web guy frisked fondly, but we get some of the best junk mail in the www. To be more accurate, we get some of the best junk mail subject lines; I don’t read the cow poo inside. Take a gander, it sounds like a poetry slam:

(Read on …)

Horses don’t give two round shits about soccer, but the Gilded Gelding and I still thought it would be fun to try and watch the two halves of the USA v. Italy game in separate, team-appropriate venues.
Thusly, we started at the ESPN Zone in downtown Chicago. This place reps American-style excess so hard that we expected to find swirls of red white and blue liquid in the urinals.

(Read on …)

Wheelie across Chicago’s gnarrest pad (click Read on… for sequence)

(Read on …)

A Shoewhorse Photo-Odyssey

New York is dirtier than a dead Clydesdale’s bloated colon. It’s gross. If your hands aren’t under a faucet trying to wick away the grime of 8 million farts then your finger is up your nose dislodging cakes of grime-infused mucous.

(Read on …)

I like Adidas Sambas. They are very nearly the most comfortable shoes in the world for walking around and probably for kicking soccer balls on Astroturf, but I’ve long wondered what the long tongue was for. (Read on …)

(Read on …)