Dead Man’s Feet (formerly: Feet Like A Dead Vietcong Soldier)

feetNote to self:  refrain from scrubbing tubs, tables, walls, floors, sinks and buckets over the course of two to three days of delirious stopping and starting under the red hot sun while wearing cotton socks and Nike Running Shoes unless you want to be forcibly and very involuntarily awakened from said delirium purely due to the shock both visual and olfactory of your feet when you finally do have to remove the socks and shoes in order to make it to a prearranged appointment.

I’m sitting in the bathroom on my laptop typing this and I’m still trying to come to grips with how closely the smell inside this small enclosed bathroom matches  the terrifying stench that burned my nasal passages that Thursday morning in September, 2002 at my penthouse in Downtown Long Beach. I allowed a homeless African American drug addict named Kevin to get cleaned up in my bathroom.  I really have no idea what he got up to in my bathroom but I do know the pad smelled like death for days after.

And now I’m starting to panic, hoping that nobody else gets a whiff of the sour, C02 poisoned air  and realizes that I, Anthony X Mandich, am responsible for their discomfort and possible death.  It just would go down like a shit shake and definitely serve to hasten my already imminent “invitation to get the fuck out.”

My feet smelled like rained on rotten trash when I peeled off my shoes and socks a few hours ago.  I washed my feet diligently however the shoes themselves  are still sitting on the tiled floor not three feet from where I hurriedly banging away at this story.

I’m afraid that it will be impossible to wear those shoes again without subjecting myself to an indescribably heinous experience forged in Hell by Satan’s demons especially for my enjoyment.

Fucking gross.

No matter how engrossed  in my work I am, in the future, once the feet get wet and I am wearing socks and Nikes, they need to be taken off and disinfected immediately.  The alternative is bad enough that if John Monceaux, my cousin and the man who owns this house that I call home, happens to walk anywhere near this bathroom before I remove the offending shoes from  the house, I will be homeless once again.

With that being said, I am going to sign off of this post and hopefully rectify the situation voluntarily.  Thanks for reading and stay tuned for stank updates.