Heelys; Sole Wears Thin, Novelty Don’t

After three solid years of near daily use, my faithful novelty shoes, bought on a whim, must now be unfortunately retired. And why? What an insult to modern value that shoes eventually wear out.

When I first bought them, I had money to throw around. I was assured by all that, though a great novelty, it would soon wear thin and they’d be buried in my closet next to the pogo-ball and my springy boots. Still, it seemed like a wise investment. $110 for a pair of snappy sneakers, why not?

Ever since I was a kid I hated being stuck walking around all kinds of willy-nilly. I always thought, “Man, if only these damn things had wheels that I could use at the mere thought of it, I’d be set!” Actually, back then I thought I’d be a superhero, but that’s not the point. Little did I realize that someday wild fantasy (which we’ve all had I’d like to point out,) would eventually be realized by the mad scientists at Heelys.

Fantastic novelty, yes. Conversation starter, for sure. Those things do wear thin, what I hadn’t figured on is just how addicted I would become. Maybe not addicted so much as dependent. Now, the idea of walking without them seems so civilian and time consuming. Pedestrian, if you will.

I’ve rolled on the Great Wall of China (perhaps you’ve heard of it?) I’ve freaked people out by my glide-acious scurrysome levitation in stores, at concerts, even rolling back to the aft bathroom on airplanes (that really freaks ’em out,) but now my faithful companions are aging, nearing death.

It took a good two and a half years before the first bit of real wear began to tear. The heel fabric started ripping out as you can barely see in picture. What the hell man, what gives? I mean, yeah, I’d worn them pretty much every day for 30 months and used them to shimmy cool on three continents, but for some unraveling to occur? Well that was just disheartening. My previous record for wearing a shoe without total failure was nine months, but still. Perhaps they’d have aged better if I had untied them once in a while, but I can’t be expected to look cool, get around town in record time AND know how to tie my shoes!

Beginners brake by grinding the front heel. I wore down that heel in the first year. Besides, any seasoned pro knows the best way is to drag your back foot. Not only is way more controlled, it also leads to all kinds of new tricks you can do.

Since the leading heel was long since ground down, I had been working on likewise grinding down the back sole. As you can see at right, photographed conveniently in my son’s bassinet, the left heel is quite gone and the other sole is well on its way. Still, no problem stopping.

Why didn’t that kill them, I wondered? Now that I think about it, these shoes have some real balls trying to outlive my waning youth! (Shoes with balls, don’t try to picture it.)

The next bummer came with the following rainfall. I live in Seattle and people thinks it rains like every day. It doesn’t, it’s just gloomy as hell. At the winter solstice we get less than eight hours of “sun” and I use quotation fingers because the few hours we do get are overcast, so it sucks. With the rain finally back around I found that I had a crack in the sole of my companion, which allowed water to soak my little toes. A crack? Oh come on, if your shoe cracks for sure the thing is dead, right? It’s gotta just come asunder at that point, disintegrating like a well lanced vampire, but no. Not the case.

The end was definitely drawing near, I knew that, but how near? These stellar accessories of fashion and portability have a tall sole, as to accommodate the hidden wheel. Without these shoes would I be reduced from 5’7″ to 5’6″. I would have to come clean to so many I’ve lied to. At my height, I haven’t much room to be giving away an inch, and please, withhold your “giving her an inch” jokes… no seriously.

When the barring finally blew I knew it was over. I had upgraded to speed wheels along the way and really enjoyed the premium performance, but do I put a new pair of wheels into shoes haggard? I mean, come on, these shoes got like a hundred million miles on ’em, man.

I decided instead to replace them. I was scared that as “novelty” shoes the company would be gone, but it turns out they are now available in 50 countries. Not just that, but when I bought mine they only had three styles, now there are dozens. They even have trick competitions. And the best part is that Sketchers, one of the first companies to make their own half-assed knock off, was forced to stop making them because it was clear they were infringing on their patent. Ha! Take that corporate raiders!

So I guess I’m back off the Journeys. They sell them, but so do a lot of people. Of course, there are also ways you can get them for free, but that’s a different matter.

And once again, I’m going for the real deal. There’s a lot of imitators out there, but most of them are ridiculously dangerous and not one of them out there can assure me I’m going to get a quality shoe.

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Heelys; Sole Wears Thin, Novelty Don’t

Heelys; Sole Wears Thin, Novelty Don'tAfter three solid years of near daily use, my faithful novelty shoes, bought on a whim, must now be unfortunately retired. And why? What an insult to modern value that shoes eventually wear out.

When I first bought them, I had money to throw around. I was assured by all that, though a great novelty, it would soon wear thin and they’d be buried in my closet next to the pogo-ball and my springy boots. Still, it seemed like a wise investment. $110 for a pair of snappy sneakers, why not?

Ever since I was a kid I hated being stuck walking around all kinds of willy-nilly. I always thought, “Man, if only these damn things had wheels that I could use at the mere thought of it, I’d be set!” Actually, back then I thought I’d be a superhero, but that’s not the point. Little did I realize that someday wild fantasy (which we’ve all had I’d like to point out,) would eventually be realized by the mad scientists at Heelys.

Fantastic novelty, yes. Conversation starter, for sure. Those things do wear thin, what I hadn’t figured on is just how addicted I would become. Maybe not addicted so much as dependent. Now, the idea of walking without them seems so civilian and time consuming. Pedestrian, if you will.

I’ve rolled on the Great Wall of China (perhaps you’ve heard of it?) I’ve freaked people out by my glide-acious scurrysome levitation in stores, at concerts, even rolling back to the aft bathroom on airplanes (that really freaks ’em out,) but now my faithful companions are aging, nearing death.

It took a good two and a half years before the first bit of real wear began to tear. The heel fabric started ripping out as you can barely see in picture. What the hell man, what gives? I mean, yeah, I’d worn them pretty much every day for 30 months and used them to shimmy cool on three continents, but for some unraveling to occur? Well that was just disheartening. My previous record for wearing a shoe without total failure was nine months, but still. Perhaps they’d have aged better if I had untied them once in a while, but I can’t be expected to look cool, get around town in record time AND know how to tie my shoes!

Beginners brake by grinding the front heel. I wore down that heel in the first year. Besides, any seasoned pro knows the best way is to drag your back foot. Not only is way more controlled, it also leads to all kinds of new tricks you can do.

Since the leading heel was long since ground down, I had been working on likewise grinding down the back sole. As you can see at right, photographed conveniently in my son’s bassinet, the left heel is quite gone and the other sole is well on its way. Still, no problem stopping.

Why didn’t that kill them, I wondered? Now that I think about it, these shoes have some real balls trying to outlive my waning youth! (these shoes for neuropathy with balls, don’t try to picture it.)

The next bummer came with the following rainfall. I live in Seattle and people thinks it rains like every day. It doesn’t, it’s just gloomy as hell. At the winter solstice we get less than eight hours of “sun” and I use quotation fingers because the few hours we do get are overcast, so it sucks. With the rain finally back around I found that I had a crack in the sole of my companion, which allowed water to soak my little toes. A crack? Oh come on, if your shoe cracks for sure the thing is dead, right? It’s gotta just come asunder at that point, disintegrating like a well lanced vampire, but no. Not the case.

The end was definitely drawing near, I knew that, but how near? These stellar accessories of fashion and portability have a tall sole, as to accommodate the hidden wheel. Without these shoes would I be reduced from 5’7″ to 5’6″. I would have to come clean to so many I’ve lied to. At my height, I haven’t much room to be giving away an inch, and please, withhold your “giving her an inch” jokes… no seriously.

When the barring finally blew I knew it was over. I had upgraded to speed wheels along the way and really enjoyed the premium performance, but do I put a new pair of wheels into shoes haggard? I mean, come on, these shoes got like a hundred million miles on ’em, man.

I decided instead to replace them. I was scared that as “novelty” shoes the company would be gone, but it turns out they are now available in 50 countries. Not just that, but when I bought mine they only had three styles, now there are dozens. They even have trick competitions. And the best part is that Sketchers, one of the first companies to make their own half-assed knock off, was forced to stop making them because it was clear they were infringing on their patent. Ha! Take that corporate raiders!

So I guess I’m back off the Journeys. They sell them, but so do a lot of people. Of course, there are also ways you can get them for free, but that’s a different matter.

And once again, I’m going for the real deal. There’s a lot of imitators out there, but most of them are ridiculously dangerous and not one of them out there can assure me I’m going to get a quality shoe.

 

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Brewing Up Candied Malt Liquor; 211 Skeel Reserve

Brewing Up Candied Malt Liquor; 211 Skeel Reserve-God no, what on earth was I thinking? I feel like a Lucy tripper who has just realized he triple-dosed. Alas, I will (or may,) prevail.

211 is best served very, very cold. So cold in fact that one could argue it numbs the taste buds. I was afforded no such luxury going into venture. Though chilled, it lacked any numbing quality. I had to settle for the anesthetizing quality, though pity, that is so very slow.

There was no immediate reaction, though within a minute they were foaming over, having increased their respective volumes by 5% per Skittle. Sipping the foam back was enough to kick up my gag reflex for the first time in probably eight years� don’t worry, though. I doubt the Skittles had anything to do with it.

ROUND ONE-
Starting with the red/purple I found the taste to be almost entirely unchanged. Gross, but gross as usual.

Yellow/orange tasted like day old keg piss Coors, which is a pretty big compliment coming from me to 211 Steel Reserve.

Green tasted much as I’d imagine the river in Boston does at the St. Paddy’s day parade. It’s green, it’s murky, and heck, it just ain’t right. My fear has returned with reinforcements.

ROUND TWO-
Red/purple was more nasty than before. Still no sweetness to speak of.

Yellow Orange. I paused to savor the aroma. Sweet and delightful. Tasting� Repugnant Christ, did I remember to add the Skittles to unholy concoction? Tummy rumbles grow worse, gagging returns.

Green was the most awful before and time has been a wicked agent against the palatability of these drinks. A shiver, shutter and some squinting ensues.

ROUND THREE-
Red. Only three ounces to go� I can do . A quick sniff says “cherry ass” flavored. Pound it, you bitch! Hhhough! I sound like a vulture. Thought I was intoxicated enough to make a go of polishing it off, but no dice.

Orange. Aroma is still pleasing, or so my drunk ass thinks. Pound it? Why not, it’s tasted about the best of the three. No dice again. Same albatrossy sound escapes me.

Green. Internal Skitallic residue is floating in increasing quantity. Like pond algae I wish to skim it. The scent, me do thinketh, is truly of limey Skittle beer. Is a break though, wishful thinking, irrelevant, or just a malted hallucination? Wow, the sedation of it all has clearly set in, for I’ve tasted not a thing. Kudos to me.

ROUND FOUR-
Red. I only smell corrupt sugar now. It’s so sweet I barely gag, just a bit and it almost remotely was not disgusting.

Orange. My drunkenness has nearly convinced me I’m not stupid, though these pages of documentation speak to the contrary. Ugh! Still a culture. Shiyte howdy, what disgustitude! Still smells okay, though I’m clearly anything but. Tummy rumblins’ have passed, but so has any semblance of judgment. I plug on. Only two ounces to go. Last drink is sweet, but by no means a consolation. F*ck .

Green. is it. Less than three ounces in my entire trial and freedom awaits. God don’t let me vomit now. It smells like a shooter on an assy knoll. I’m procrastinating, which is never good in Skittlebraulogy. Onward� I just drank moss. ain’t right. I wish to tell you how much time has passed thus far from inception to moss drinkery but I’m unsure. Twenty minutes from then to now perhaps?

A WORD ON NAUSEA & Confusion-
4/24 ounces down and my gullet began a rumblin’. It remains to be seen how much I’d be able to complete.

10/24 ounces down. Found that round two did not help as the mixes grew more vomitous. My handwriting grew poorer, my intestines growled a sad melody. My spell check was sure to struggle with text.

16/24 ounces out of the way. By the end of round three the hiccups got the better of me and the confusion had finished moving in with me.

18/24 ounces was the end of round three and the beginning of round four. Yes, there was an unprecedented round four. On the previous experiments two rounds was always sufficient to get through the composition, but due to the nast-tasti-less-ness, I was unable to get very far per round. I still had over six ounces to go. I was no longer scared, just a bit tossed.

21/24 was near the end of round four. I felt an inclination to vandalize my Skittle bag, or even take the individual Skittles and extrapolate those mindless S’s on each piece with Sharpie “ittles”� is madness Skittlebrau induced?

SUMMARY
There is a reason we perform these experiments for you. While some mixtures may prove delightful, others prove unfit for human consumption, nay, toxic even. It is not recommended you try at home. However, should you embark on your own Skittlebrau excursion, it is strongly recommended that you photograph and document it and send it to us for publication.

Overall, mixture was a complete failure. I mean, come on, I started with 211 Steel Reserve and I added Skittles like a total short-bus screw up. Though some parts of the mixture did, in fact, make me gag less than others, it’s still hardly any consolation.

For my finale, I ate the worms� Green was okay, very soft. Yellow and orange had some very unpleasant lingering beer about it, though still soft and tasty (once past the beer). Red/purple had that same bilous beer pre-taste, though the sweetness damn near made up for it.

I cleansed my palate with a fifteen minute choke-load of Skittles and a Djarum clove. Did I mention I did all at work? Oh, well never mind.

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