After the goddamn bathroom escapades and kicking the Duke in the fucking nuts, the Dutchess was in a foul mood. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you are a douche. Go read HERE first.
Ok dicklick, all caught up now? Good.
The Dutchess loves her shoes almost as she loves alcohol. Come between me and a pair of shoes I have my eye on, and I will cut cut your skanky ass. So, when I saw these lovelies last week..
(I know, right?!) I had to have them for the concert. If I was going to be asked to go on the road with the band, these were going to be the shoes that got me in. I decided that these would be my new lucky shoes.
I paired them with black jeans, pink shirt and a cowboy hat with a pink leopard band, and Shhhyea!!! I'm ready to sway to the music and make fuck me eyes with the middle age roadie, or the old fuck running the sound board. (Yes, middle age roadie and an old fuck. I know my limits. Not every one can appreciate a Dutchess with hammy arms, saggy boobs and kick ass shoes, asshats)
And, if pink leopard doesn't scream
So I'm rocking my kick ass shoes. I'm also feeling pretty good about my chances of becoming the band's newest road groupie....Until we have to park 2.5 goddamn miles away.
At mile one, I can feel the blisters starting to form. At mile two, I am beginning to realize there is something wrong with my "lucky shoes". My feet were pissed off my friends. As pissed off as a one legged man at an ass kicking contest.
I limp my way though the crowd, to the beer stand, and down to my seat. I sit down, slam 2 beers and decide it's time to be brave and take my shoes off to survey the damage.
Oh fuuuuuck me. As I pull off my shoes, I see two large blisters, the size of mother fucking goose eggs. Even the Duke threw up in his mouth a little.
My fucking lucky shoes had turned on me. The only goddamn way I was going to be able to nab that groupie job was to pop these gi-normous blisters, get the shoes back on, plaster a smile on my face, and get up and sway seductively.
Jesus christ on a fucking cupcake. These monstrosities would not pop, rip, or puncture. With no pocket knife available, the best I could find was a plastic fork. It was no match for the blisters from hell. There were broken plastic prongs everyfuckingwhere.
I had no choice but to wipe my tears, shove the shoes from hell back on my ever swelling feet and act cool. I'm pretty sure my "hey I'm cool and fuckable" face looked alot like the maniacal Joker's face from Batman, because even the Duke looked freaked out.
Needless to say, I didn't get the groupie job, and by the time I got home there were 2 bloody fucking stumps where my goddamn feet use to be.
Go do it NOW...but read the rules because we don't want to piss off the niece. She's a crazy bitch, ya know.