I’m not used to talking to big crowds. Not even like medium or smaller ones. The only time I’m comfortable speaking in front of a lot of people is when I’m home and they are all imaginary. Heck, you could be imaginary for all I know. Because I feel pretty comfy in here.

…

Ever seen a girl with that look on her face, like she’s staring at you intently and you look around to see if there is some other guy she’s looking at? Time slows down and for what feels like a couple of really long seconds, you go through a flawed process of trying to convince yourself she’s not really looking at you; but while doing that, at some point the tide turns and you are quite sure she’s actually into you. It’s that intense look that you don’t know what it means but it kind of seems to you she wants you right now. No! It’s her shoes, you idiot! They’re killing her. She is going through hell at that moment. It’s got nothing to do with you. What are you patting yourself on the back for? Go ahead. Just go ahead and see what she’s up to. Go on, I encourage you. So she's been standing there, harnessing all her willpower to push back hell and you think giving it a go is a great idea at that particular moment. At that point you smile and your first word is going to be that final straw that breaks open the gates of hell. This is going to be priceless. And why for the love of god, would she hit on no one else but you? Seriously, of all the guys standing around looking cool…

Well, we're idiots. I admit that. What kind of person takes pissed off for horny?

...

So girls, they are all about shoes, right? Doesn't that ever bother you? What is that? They look at a guy, they see his shoes. And because shoes are so immensely important to them, they actually think shoes say it all about your personality. "Look at his shoes; they are not polished on the back! What kind of person does that? This guy ain't getting’ none." They think we too have a special relationship with our shoes, no matter if we're actually aware of it or not. It's like the way you treat shoes is the way you're gonna be treating them. "Look at that guy, he's a shoe beater. Stay the fuck away from him." Guy looks at them slightly disappointed, like he’s being judged about something but he really likes the ladies… goes “Hello, my eyes are up here”.

And yeah, because they do have that deep connection with their shoes, it's not limited to the feet. It's total, spiritual. It's bonding, they bond. That's how they pick them at the store. That's why they're so choosy about it. And a lot of times their relationship is not all roses, you know. It's all passion though. "How could you hurt me like that?! You promised to be nice to me! What did I ever do to you to deserve what you are putting me through?" And the shoes reply to that: "Well honey I told you right then this wouldn't work out. But you were so hot, standing there, begging me with those eyes to give you another chance, I couldn't resist. Just couldn't. What are you gonna do? We’re made for each other. I'm a shoe!"

...

Sometimes seemingly irrelevant stuff like that bothers me. I know, I know, go ahead and call me names, I don't care. I'm open-minded and you are a shoe discriminator. I mean if you’re a guy and you’re in a relationship, that thing is going to come to your attention at some point. It’s just that thing and it’s there. Maybe I've given this one too many thoughts for my own good and without learning any lessons from it too. “Wacko”. Because actually, me, I’m like “Meh, whatever man. No shine, no crime”. Yeah, I’m one of those blissfully ignorant guys living in their own world where no shoe can be your master. Put them on, tie up, and if they’re pretty messy, throw some water on ‘em. Then go, go, go. No extra time for stuff I’m stepping on. I’m just… no chance for appreciation there. For me it’s probably, if something goes to your feet, I’m not vigilantly aware of that. Most of the time, that is. Maybe feet are not my thing, who knew? I think I'm more of an eyes person. Dare I say to the point that I've got an eyes fetish? What an oxymoron that is. Can you see what I did there? Anyway, makes me vulnerable admitting to something like that but I've already touched on the topic. As chess players would say, you touch, you play it...

So yes, Eyes. And no, I don’t enter pervy mode the moment I meet them. You know, that drooling preoccupation with something, that you cannot help but genuinely admire. Who am I kidding, I totally go pervy mode. I’m a creep. Bat some lashes my way and you’d better check your pepper spray. Well maybe I’m not diggin’ ‘em the way Marilyn Manson does; heard he has a whole different case there (all pun intended).

…

So you're with your girl in a shoe store at the mall wondering what the hell happened, how did it come to this, blah, blah, blah…

And she’s thinking out loud “Ok, what would these go with?” And I’m all “Oh come on, they go with you, now you take them to the cashier and “go with me” anywhere but here!”... And at some point it hits you, you know, the post-desperation type of epiphanies that are surrounded by all that philosophical, existentialist outlook on reality you've been forced into... "Am I a shoe? Do I fit here? What kind of a shoe am I? The world is so cruel. Make love, not shoes!”