Ok, so I’m gathering that no one really wants to just GIVE me a dollar so I can save up for a new retainer. And that’s cool. I got over it. It took a few days, but I think I’m fully recovered. Booze helps. But booze costs money. You see my dilemma? Anyway, I was thinking about the time I called all of you Communists and how that wasn’t very nice. I shouldn’t have offended the Communist party like that. If you were actually Communists, you would have donated a communal dollar. But you didn’t. (Again, some of you have. When I begin my nudist camp, you’re all on the A list—[at this time we will not disclose what the “A” stands for]).
Last night, while dodging baby strollers, tossing back my skim caramel macchiato, and trying desperately to make it for my 6 p.m. manicure performed by the smallest asian fingers in Noe Valley, it occurred to me what you all really are. You’re capitalists, greedy capitalists.
I was way off. You don’t speak the language of Indie Rock, you don’t understand the meaningful words making up my orange rhyming dictionary, you speak the language of green. You see a bargain, and you take it. And giving a gal a buck to buy a replacement mouthpiece is not a top priority.
I get it now.
So buy my shoe.
The shoe above was created by yours truly when she was a mere sophomore at Penn State University. It was a hard task to accomplish. First, I sculpted my Doc Martin in clay. And that took hours, because I’m anal retentive and totally weird about proportion and size (even my boobs are different sizes, and every day I contemplate cutting them off). This damn shoe took me hours to sculpt (sadly, the clay version [which is sacrificed during the process] was much better that the end result, but you didn’t hear that from me). After creating the clay structure, I covered it in a mesh, wire-like stuff and then covered that in plaster. Now, please understand that this was a long time ago and I’m forgetting every step in this tedious process, but maybe some of you arty people (who I am sure can absolutely NOT spare a dollar) can help me with your knowledge. I know the mesh was put there to eventually help peel off the plaster, but I have no idea why or how we did this. Either way, it worked. I pealed. It split. I put it back together again using more plaster. Eventually, it took on the form of a white, plaster pod. On the outside, it looked like an igloo or like Luke Skywalker’s family hut (before the evil people burned his family and he fled for a life full of following The Force; the force of non-capitalism). We then took this white thing, and we filled it with concrete. Days later, born unto me was a concrete shoe. (Buyer pays for shipping.) My Dr. Martin – the one that took me to England, and walked me all the way across Europe – would now out live me, my ashes, and the Pope.
So buy this shoe. It holds my blood, sweat, and tears. Plus, both my father AND Toby hate it, so you’d be doing them a favor. In fact, I think Toby might buy it so he can throw it out. (Toby can’t buy my shoe.)
Buy my god damn shoe, capitalist monkeys.