Tuesday, April 22, 2008

An Open Letter to Brach from The Agent's New Flip Flops

Dearest Teeth-Like-Mother-Effing-Razors,

I'm sure you recognize me. I'm Right, one half of a pair of flip-flops that has, apparently, found its way to the top of your ass-kicking list. Where is my partner? Suffice to say, Left is shaken to his core and quakes at the mere mention of your name. He has declined to participate in this confrontation.

Why, Brach? Why us?

We're not the first pair of sandals that have found their way into your home! Our immediate predecessors (shown, on duty, to the right), though old and worn, tell us painfully long-winded stories of the good ol' days when flip-flops could peacefully nap in the middle of the living room floor, in the corner of the bathroom, under the bed, in the center of the kitchen, by the door...anywhere they were kicked-off.

Based on our 4:13am interaction this morning, it's clear those days are gone.

I do NOT appreciate waking to the shrieks of Left as you sink your teeth into the backside of his mushy sole with the speed, precision, and repetition of a piston. And, based on the incoherent, yet forceful mumbling of The Agent, I am not alone in my frustration.

It's a shame that, in this day and age, flip-flops are being forced back in the closet! For years, those who came before us fought for our right to walk proudly. They suffered so our beautiful voices would resonate in every quiet aisle in the store, silent hospital corridor, and noiseless office hallway and library. Snip-snap...snip-snap...snip-snap. WE HAVE IMPORTANT THINGS TO SAY!

Currently, we are being temporarily housed under The Agent's pillow. While it's not the most comfortable situation (for any of us), at 4:13am, desperate times called for desperate measures. It was critical we be removed from your path of destruction, but in a way that prevented The Agent from actually getting out of bed.

It is my understanding our permanent shelter will be the bedroom closet, when not on active duty. If you wish to hunt us down there, we'll be packed, like sardines, next to the grumpy winter boots, pretentious 3" stilettos, and stoned-out-of-their-gourd hippy clogs.

Good luck getting the closet door open, ass.

Respectfully,
Right Flip-Flop

7 comments:

The Crew said...

Brach, I must say, I am SHOCKED!!! All this time Kukka has created an image of you as a wim....uh, as a pans....um, I mean, a mild mannered guy who wouldn't hurt a fly. And now the real you...a viscious sandal killer, is revealed.

Congratulations, guy! I'm proud of you!!

George

Renee said...

note to agent: have you considered using a chemical agent? I'm speaking of bitter apple spray or the cat equivalent...spray sandals and kitty won't like the flavor.

The Meezers said...

WAY TO GO BRACH!!!
Dear Right Flip Flop - just be grateful that you did not live in our house with Grandpa Norton the serial pee-er. Oh how he LOVED to pee on flip flops. Life could be worse Right, it could be worse.

Miles

Elvin said...

Left sounds like a real whiner and Right seems to lack the rigidity of character expected in a good flip flop!

Cheysuli and gemini said...

Hmm... are you sure it's Brach and not one of Kukka Maria's wild and crazy male friends?

DaisyMae Maus said...

I completely agree with Miles ... There's a reason why NONE of Mom's footwear are ever left on the floor (or any other place other than inside a plastic shoe box with the lid snuggly affixed) ... Puffy the Piss-pot. It could have been so much worse.
DMM

Dixie said...

I prefer to wear flip flops in summers... And have nice collection of them...