How is it that old men just have the most torn up and discolored toe nails? You
know the toe nails I’m talking about; they are ingrown, brown yet yellow,
scratched up, and more toe than nail. Before they are able to cut it, when they
walk barefoot you hear the nails clacking on the floor. The kind of sushi
that’s been a two week leftover and is revolting to taste but are toes instead.
I’ve seen these types of toe nails more often than I’ve seen my own grandmother.
Whenever I think of people having a foot fetish, the only thing that comes to
mind is people sucking on these old man toes.
The reason I bring this up is due to the Amtrak ride I was on, my seat buddy
was an old man that took off his left foot boot and showed his crusty toe. When
I mean “showed his crusty toe”, I mean this old man had one hole in his sock for
his big toe to stick out of. Imagine the snuggie where the only skin shown is
the head but on your foot, the only skin shown on the foot snuggie is the big
toe. And it is pointed right at me.
What was a leisure read on the Amtrak turned into a nightmare. The book I was
reading was about the brain with PTSD, seeing this toe was honestly something
that has given me nightmares and has caused my logical part of my brain to shut
down and my emotional part of my brain to full on imagine what that toe taste
like in my mouth.
Obviously this is something I didn’t want to keep seeing so I said “excuse me”
to the sleeping toe, jump over his seat, and took my non-dirty toe feet to the
observation cart.
That’s what I wished happened though. What actually happened was that I said
“excuse me”, the sleeping old toe tried to move his feet while I tried to jump
over his feet then ended up having his leaf rake toe rub my leg. At that
moment, I was vomit free since 2013, having that rub on my leg came so close to
ruining my vomit free streak. Like any respectful human, I swallowed what was
coming up down. No old man toe was going to ruin this streak for me, no matter
how much it made me want to burn my only nice pair of jeans.
I apologized for him ruining my jeans and marched my way to the observation
cart with shame.
I tried to continue to read my book but the PTSD was already engraved to my
head and I was not able to get the feeling out of my body. I had outside and
inside wounds that needed to be healed. And to heal these wounds, a hotdog was
used.
Not world class hotdogs nor baseball type hotdogs, these are microwave hotdogs.
A already cooked hotdog that was microwaved with the bun causing the bun to be
more rubbery than gluten. A hotdog nonetheless that helped me forget about the
toe situation.
Not in a good way though. I forgot about the toe because all I could think
about was how difficult this hotdog was to eat. You know when you bite into a
bun and it goes clean through, this was not like that at all. It was like
biting into a rubber wristband; chew on it but it won’t separate unless you use
a fork and knife.
I would eat it again in a heart beat though.
If there was a quote to put this hotdog review together, I would believe it would be
We got a certified chode on our hands.