Spiked Heels Look Good And Could Kill Someone

Having an interest in heels doesn’t have to scare a man away. While (I hear) heels aren’t the most comfortable shoe to wear 16 hours a day, they do add to the sensuality of a woman. It’s hard to be slump shouldered in a pair of heels meaning they force her to stick her chest out and walk with a little zip in her do-da.

Why wouldn’t we, as men, take an interest in our women’s interest in high heel shoes? While they aren’t something that affect the way we look, it does affect the way our wife/girlfriend/robot wife feels about themselves which in turn makes them happy. Aaaaand if there’s one thing I know to be absolutely true, it’s “if mama ain’t happy… ain’t nobody happy.”

I ain’t no fashion expert. I certainly didn’t know how to dress the better part of my life before Bunny stepped into it and showed me that dressing like the Salvation Army had thrown up on me wasn’t going to make her swoon over me too much longer. Regardless of the fact I used to dress like Billy Madison, I have been able to pick out shoes for her since we’ve been together.

Call it… a gift.

So the other day when we were walking through Dillards I stopped at the sight of some shoes that looked like this:

What appears to be a medieval torture device is actually a shoe

“Ooooooo honey you’d look great in these naked with that new outfit you bought!” I said.

She actually rolled her eyes at me! ME! The shoe aficionado!!

Ever since that moment, I’ve tried to talk her in to buying a pair because I think that they’ll grow on her! I’ve also come to find out that wearing this spiked footwear is quite the rage with the famous folk and cause some fairly significant damage to someones ass should you choose to kick it.

I don't know who this person is but they appear to be famous and are wearing spiked shoes. Isn't that enough of a reason?

I mean, c’mon… at least I’m not asking her to wear this:

These shoes were made for GWAR

While I certainly don’t suggest that my wife wear high-heeled shoes without any clothes on all the time, I do think she could make a pair of these look EXTREMELY sexy.

 Your thoughts on this spiked footwear? Perhaps if I get enough positive feedback than I can get Bunny convinced that this is really the coolest thing since rat-tails.

 

==================================================

 

For those of you interested in reading some more of my stuff, I’ve got a guest spot on a new entertainment website called Joe Crazy! It’s so crazy… I can hardly contain myself. Anyway, I wrote about the 10 Celebrities Who’ve Cheated Death (So Far). I think you’ll find it both entertaining and emotionally stimulating.

 

Seriously… go there. Make a comment! NOW!!

Me Grog. Me Can Buy Shoes Good.

Several months ago, I wrote this really fantastic post for Gucci Mama.  I’m now choosing to post it on my blog because at the moment it feels as though I have a giant Cinnabon stuck between my brain and the back of my left eyeball.  Needless to say I don’t feel like thinking very hard lest I put too much pressure on the Cinnabon causing it to spread potentially fatal doses of cinnamon and sugar coursing throughout the circuitry of brain.  I hope Gucci Mama doesn’t mind me stealing my post back and posting it here… she is such a dear for letting me post on her blog.

Anywayz… enjoy.

——————————————————————————

I am a Neanderthal man. I communicate with my wife through a series of grunts, hand motions and one or two-word sentences that only she can understand. I mostly dress in tattered clothes I stole from other Neanderthal men after I’d collapsed their skulls under the enormous force of my caveman club. When I’m ready to make babies I give her a look under my protruding, furrowed brow and unkempt eyebrows that says, “You! Me! Make Baby! Now!”

Papa K’s true Neanderthal identity

But there is one skill I possess that other men do not that has proved to be beneficial to me on more than one occasion: I’m really good at picking out heels for my wife!

Perhaps I’m evolving at a faster rate than most Neanderthals like me. At certain times during the year when gift giving is at hand and I’m galumphing through the shoe department, I look up and see other of my male counterparts scratching their butts, digging for nose food or staring into a vast expanse of nothingness.

While I am able to complete the task of visualizing what my wife would look like in heels (naked), my male counterparts seem to revert to the evolutionary stage that preceded them rather than making the leap forward. Strange… yet slightly empowering I must say!

Does this alarm you?

It obviously alarms the entire department as I meander up to the cash register, shoe box in hand, because all male and female eyes are on me. When I slap down my payment consisting of wild boar teeth and raccoon skin the lady behind the register becomes awash with what appears to be complete and total despair.

“I wish my husband picked out shoes for me!” she says.

“ME PAY! NOW GIVE TO ME!” I will usually scream at her while simultaneously snatching the box of shoes away from her and entangling my arms around them in a vice-like bear hug. A few of the other Neanderthals start to holler and bang their open hands at my expense on the glass display tables adorned with Jessica Simpsons new 3-inch heels. I have evolved beyond that point. All I want to do is run away and show what I’ve captured to my beloved who might show me her boobs as a reward for capturing something so rare and beautiful.

A funny thing happens upon my presentation.

Incredibly, when presenting my newly acquired prize to my beloved, she doesn’t see my hunched shoulders, hairy back and lower jaw protruding well beyond my upper lip. She sees beyond that simply because I tried. I tried far beyond what most Neanderthals would do… and that’s simply making an effort.

Me Grog. Me pick out shoe. Polka dots pretty!

Not to sound like I’m dogging my own species too much… but isn’t that the least that Neanderthals should do? Just making an effort is all it takes to turn yourself from a slobbering, hairy, animal-pelt-wearing, club-carrying caveman into a debonair, suave, black-suit-and-tie-wearing Romeo capable of doing just about anything once the woman in your life is happy.

I’m no relationship therapist… but I’m just sayin’…