After much debate, friendly advice, visits to various stores running clearance sales, and an ill-fated purchase of a pair of too-small running shoes that tore my heels to shreds, I have purchased the latest in shoe technology for hiking the urban jungle of Manhattan, the fetid streets of New York, something to stabilize my dawgs as I trek the six-miles a day from bed to desk, the hour-long treadmill speed-walk of here to there, the clomp and stomp and trundle that is my morning and evening. You may ask, why not Puma, Converse, Adidas, etc.? And I answer, you mean the flat-bottomed sneakers I've worn since I was fourteen? The cool-kid shoes? Well, I have been very cool, or thought I was cool, for so very long, it is impossible for me to be very cool anymore. Plus, gravity is slowly pulling me into the earth from whence I came, the fibrous tissue that separates the bones of my spinal column gradually compressing into dust, the joints and ligaments and tendons growing brittle and frail, so people, I need a special shoe. One that says, I don't care what you think, and you know what? I never did, which is why I wore Chucks for twenty years, not because I thought they were cool, but because they were under twenty dollars, and not awful looking, but now they're forty bucks for 80 cents worth or canvas and rubber, and owned by Nike. Yes, I live in Manhattan. I know people look at your feet here and size up your entire life, so behold, you iPodian city-dwellers, my goofy-Martian footwear, and tremble!
The Continuum Odyssey Ventilator. Why it needs three names like it's a playwright or something I don't know. The ribbed nose is for hunting termites in the wild.