How To Play Footsie

This informative article is written from a male perspective, so please be understanding that my knowledge to this fanciful game is limited, at best.

Footsie: A game in which male and female feet exchange subtle swipes. It sometimes involves awkward ‘step ons’, which are most commonly treated by blantant ignorance from both parties. Also considered footsie, excess-trim jean flips, as well as bouncing toe boot-lifts, and the oh-so sensual, shin-caress foot smears.

Now, the game of footsie is no easy game, by any means. There are many steps to be undertaken, the first of which is known as ‘getting yourself out there’. Getting yourself out there involves scooting your chair in, in order to bring your feet closer to your partner’s. This move is strongly encouraged to be done casually, typically with a couple of fingers dangling slyly over-mouth.

The next step, be you received, is too behave as though you don’t even notice another person’s feet have made contact with yours. Again, act casually, please.

From here on out, the real game begins. It is only as of late I’ve begin to feel I am understanding the concept from the female point-of-view. Yet first, I must digress.

Men are taught to feel practically nothing, so when the occasion comes along and they see a wounded doe, and none of their mates are beside them, they typically jump at the opportunity to do something heartfelt, and will go on to hug and caress that poor wounded bay-bay, for as long as it will allow them to.

I don’t think that is what the female wants. Yes, yes, I said it. I believe the object of the game may not be to simply let your foot sit out there idly, I’m beginning to think it is much more complex than that. I have found more footsie victories come by a well-timed ‘grab back’, which is also known as a ‘swift reverse foot-slide’.

Shuffling through papers and pretending to leave is also helpful, and more than promising to receive a longing glance of watery eyes.

To put it simply, the key to winning a game of footsie is not to leave your foot out there as a pathetic ‘Eeyore’ type effort, but instead to play a little game of touch and feel. Well played side swipes and ankle pokes could score you some points, but no move is more powerful or game-changing than the ‘random-take backs’, of which cannot be properly examined in a single post. Luckily for you, eager-foot-swagger, I will be releasing a full-volume instructional series, coming shortly to a blog near you.

In summary, don’t play glumly, seek out no sympathy swipes, and always ‘strike’ confidently. Good luck ladies and gentlemen, may another person’s feet be with you.

Did you know? Reckless games of Footsie have led to a hundred or more lower limb amputations annually since the year two-thousand, when a new line of strapless sandals first emerged.

When Men act as Men

The tree stump was rooted deep in the soil. It was time for a new tree to be planted, but before it could, the old stump needed to be uprooted.

The father and son stood at odds on many things. Career choices, personal views, political views, even thoughts on what was right and what was wrong. But the tree stump needed to go, and they were the only two willing to do it.

So they chopped. They took the axe and chopped, again and again, for hours. Still, the tree wouldn’t budge. Their hands were blistered, their bodies were tired, but the tree stump still remained.

So they pushed on. They pushed on and chopped at that damn tree like it was the scum of the earth, like it was the true root of all the world’s problems.

More time passed, but the stump still hadn’t budged. Their hands were bloody, their faces were red and sweaty, and every and all intellectual thought told them it was time to quit, and wait for another day to uproot the old tree stump.

But the father looked at the son, and smiled as he said, “Boy, I don’t know ’bout you, but I want this sucker out soon.”

The boy looked at his pop and returned. “Dad, I don’t know about you, but I won’t sleep if this stump still has roots.”

So they returned to the axing. Swinging and chopping, grunting and heaving. Gradually, the stump began to break loose from the soil, and, pretty soon, after a strenuous effort of tugging and pushing, they finally managed to pull the old tree stump out from the ground.

The father and son shared a brief grin, before simultaneously struggling to catch their breaths as they panted heavily. Eventually, the father stood up straight, put his hand on his son’s shoulder, then said to him, “Boy, we may disagree on things, and we may dispute a time or two. But when it comes down to it, I’m the same man as you.”

The son crossed his arms. “I don’t see that dad, I’m sorry pa, I think I disagree with you on more than all.”

The father laughed, then picked up a cold beer from the outside fridge, popped it open, then took a swig. “When I was your age my papa done raised me to see just as he, to see what he sees. But time done unfold and as I grow old, I realize that things ain’t all which they seem. For in relaxed state all men tend to hate, despise one another, make enemies outta brothers. But when it comes down to it and problems arise, difficult tasks which some folk despise, their must be a force to tackle the issue, there must be some men who don’t need a tissue. So when it comes down to it and it’s time to face woes, men act as men and fuck up their foes.”

The son smiled, opened the fridge, then took a beer for himself. He clanked the beer with his dad, and the two men enjoyed a swig together.

– Thomas M. Watt

Good Night to Troubles

Good night to you it’s time to sleep,

Let it go the night is weak,

And in tomorrow morning’s wake,

Consult your troubles and let them take,

You around just for a spin,

For from searching answers will brim.

Let it rest your weary head,

Take some sleep and let dread bed.

Do not worry any longer, do not cry to trouble’s squander.

Let it go just lay to rest, let the breaths all soothe your chest.

All past troubles are behind us, for the future let these remind us.

That in all of struggle’s plight, we seek what’s good and do what’s right.

Do not fear the mess you have gotten, do not stray from good paths trodden.

Let no fight be in dismay, fear no evil it’s soul’s decay.

Believe in God and you shall see,

Trouble’s die when you live with He.

– Thomas M. Watt

El Watto News Alert – Aug. 19th

El Guapo – Hola amigos, buenos dias. We have just been informed, that mister McWatty9 is very sad, he is very depressed, his blog is doing very very poorly. We have live footage of heem, and he is not looking very good. Not good at all. We turn now to Carmen, who is a very nice lady, and she is live at the scene. Carmen? Can you hear me?

(Camera cuts to Carmen, who is holding an ear piece in her ear. Behind her, there is a man lying on the sidewalk, his back to the ground. There is a beer in his hand and he is staring somberly into the sky straight above)

Carmen – Thanks El Guapo. If you look behind me, you might think you are staring at a homeless person, or some sort of pathetic life form trying to garner attention. It is, in fact neither. Let’s take a closer look.

(Carmen waves inwardly, and the camera zooms in for a close up. It is a Fosters brew in the sad man’s hand. Camera pans out, returns to Carmen.)

Carmen – It is this evidence which leads us to believe this piece of garbage behind me is actually once rising star blogger McWatty9. In some of his earlier news briefings, he discussed his disdain for Fosters beer. For this reason, we can only assume he has plunged into such a dismal depression he could think himself to be so low as to stoop to the worst most distasteful brew distributed throughout the modern world. Now, zoom in for another look, and this time take notice of his face.

(Camera zooms in, the trashy man’s eyes are blood red. Camera zooms out)

Carmen – That’s right folks, did you see his eyes? Clearly the result of either heavy drinking, or pussy tears.

(The live feed switches back to El Guapo at the main station)

El Guapo – Carmen? You alluded to ‘pussy tears’? Could you please describe that for our viewers at home please?

(Camera shifts back to Carmen, who is smiling pleasantly as she nods)

Carmen – Certainly. Here in the real world, when a grown man cries it’s typically considered what’s known as, ‘being a pussy’. The common remedies include…

(Carmen pauses as she lifts a piece of paper up into the camera shot, then reads from it)

Carmen – Okay, typical remedies include such events as ‘having real problems’ and ‘dealing with it’. Also highly suggested, is what’s known on the streets here as, and I quote,  ‘growing the fuck up’, as well as ‘grow a fuckin’ sack’.

(View shifts back to El Guapo, who is shuffling through papers and smiling politely.)

El Guappo – Very good stuff Carmen, thank you for reporting.

(View returns to Carmen)

Carmen – Certainly. Back to you, El Guapo.

(Feed ends)

McWatt News Alert – Aug. 19th

At this hour – Wattie nation is in serious peril. McWatty9 is struggling for views, lacking visitors, and many are wondering if their once great leader can possibly come out of his ever plunging decline at the world polls. He’s left many friendly comments, read a great many articles, and received practically no feedback, likes or visits for all his strenuous efforts.

On a single positive note, McWatt news team has confirmed that Matt Mullenweg indeed liked one of McWatty9’s earlier postings. Matt Mullenweg, of course, is a surfing legend and timezone operator in the universe that is WordPress. We will bring you more updates as soon as we have them, but as for now, McWatty9 is heading towards catastrophe. The streets outside our news tower are filled with bloggers chanting for his impeachment, and several Watties have even politely requested an early resignation. To keep up with the latest, stay tuned to McWatt News, where the post are always bold.

The Scary Man

The scary man walked through the desert. All alone. His clothes were ragged and torn, and his headphone buds pounded heavy metal music into his ears. He took another sip of his Mountain Dew, then released.

“Ahh.” He crumpled the can in his hand then it aside. He kept walking.

A tumble weed passed by, and the scary man raised his arms up in the air, then creaked his neck, tossing his head from shoulder to shoulder. He pulled his black hoodie over head, then grinned.

He had yellow teeth, chipped throughout, and the bottom rack was bent inwardly. He spit on the ground.

A rabbit hopped along, chewing on whatever it held in its furry hands, then stopped right in front of him. The scary man unzipped his pants, then urinated on it. The rabbit hopped away.

As it did, the scary man turned, raised up his arm, than aimed his palm to the rabbit. He began to laugh hideously, before suddenly slamming his eyes to a close. The music in his headphones stopped playing, the ground shook slightly, and the rabbit rose up off the ground.

The scary man opened his eyes, then watched as it squirmed in mid-air. He clenched his fist to a close, and the rabbit exploded. Blood and tissue and tiny fur feet scattered everywhere. He picked a foot up, then started chewing the muscle from the bone. He took his hoodie back off, then returned to his stroll.

The heavy metal music started playing again.

– Thomas M. Watt

The Man who Tried

There was once a man who didn’t give a damn,

Who tried and he tried and he tried.

The pain brought on tears and oh so many fears,

Of hopes to make his dreams come alive.

The nights all grew dark at that cold winter park,

The swing just always kept swingin’.

But he held on until blue skies at dawn,

The clouds and dreary winds all stopped sweeping.

He had no more fear about losing his years,

Didn’t give a damn about drinkin’,

Tried with his might on those lonely nights,

No time for a lesson on sleeping.

He chose the pain of hope not gone astray,

Chose to believe in the line.

Of sights less known and hopes fully grown,

Of mastering what he was thinkin’.

This man came through and found morning dew,

And summer’s sun started peakin’.

And wouldn’t you know it, the man didn’t show it,

But boy there were tears deep inside.

For his hope came to be and his dream’s destiny,

Was for his life to finally shine.

Boy yes it did, his vacated fear, his years lost to those lonely drives.

Because he fuckin’ did it, yes that man he did it, because he tried and he tried and he tried.

– Thomas M. Watt