Bought some Birkenstocks today; does that make me a damned dirty hippie?

[Placebo]

They're clogs, and so damn comfy.

[Misunderestimator]

1. No, it makes you a lesbian.

:P

[jonnyblitz]

2. only if he grows a mullet also.

((ducks)))

[Misunderestimator]

4. And gets a few really big plaid shirts.

:spank:

[Placebo]

3. That means I'm a hetero after all!

Who'd a thunk it. :wow:

[Misunderestimator]

6. No, it means you're a man trapped in a woman's body... who should

be a lesbian... you just thought you were a gay man...

[Placebo]

10. *stares off into space blinking*

umm...yay!......lesbian! :party:

[trof]

5. Pretty much. Do they fart?

I had a pair that fit the bottom contours of my feet so well they made farting sounds when I walked.

[Placebo]

7. Not yet...

but I'll keep you posted on my footwear's digestive unpleasantness.

[LeftPeopleFinishFirst]

8. NO MAN

it's all about the lifestyle man, birks, yeah, they're cool, but man, it's all the lifestyle, man, you gotta be like, man, you gotta be with the cause man

the cause of people, man

yeah, man

[Placebo]

12. the doggy in your signature looks like a hippie...

may i poke it with a stick while feeding it granola?

...

please? *readies stick*

[LeftPeopleFinishFirst]

13. the dog's a hippie

but as a hippie, man, you gotta respect the animals... they are like, our earthly comrades man

man, ask it if it *wants* the granola...

don't poke it, man...

[last_texas_dem]

9. Nah

Not that there's anything wrong with damned dirty hippies... but just the sandals do not a hippie make.

I'm a wannabe hippie, but never do the sandals thing 'cause I'm too paranoid. I'm always worried I'll have overbearing foot odor with them all out in the open like that and someone will accidentally catch a whiff. How neurotic is that?

[Placebo]

11. Just a tad...

But I know so many guys who wouldn't be caught dead in sandals even if it was 120 degrees outside, and never leave the house without shoes and socks...so there ya go. :)

[Webster Green]

14. Watch it with that "dirty hippie" stuff, man!

:hippie:

[Kellanved]

15. Well, Birkenstock is a RW company.

Extremely Anti-Union.

[cally]

16. Seriously???

They have a factory close by. I buy my supply when they have their outlet sales every few years. I love Birks. They're RW??? No!!!

[Kellanved]

18. I didn't know that they have plants stateside

Anyway, the German company is extremely RW. Several famous attempts to fire all unionized workers and nasty stories galore.

IIRC it has gotten better, since the son took over the company a few years ago.

[cally]

22. I don't know if it's a distribution or manufacturing center

but it's in Novato, California. I met a person who worked there and it's a center for US product.

[mcscajun]

17. No; not unless you wear them without socks all the time and stop bathing.

:P

:hippie:

[Bok_Tukalo]

19. What's a Birkenstock?

<eom>

[uppityperson]

21. dirty damned hippie sandals

rubber bottom, cork sole, fit your feet like snuggy after a while, used to be cheap but not any more.

[Bok_Tukalo]

23. Sounds like strategic niche marketing

American political consumerism.

[uppityperson]

20. Only if you wear socks with them.

[CubsFan1982]

24. Only if you wear them while hugging trees.

:D

[ralps]

25. No, it makes you someone that likes shoes that are comfortable.

I wear Birkenstock clogs most of the year and like you wrote they are so damn comfy.
:hi:

[Kathy in Cambridge]

26. Birks are fugly-how can you do that to your feet?

Yes, they're comfortable and practical, but they are hideous. Do you wear them with white socks?

[DemBones DemBones]

27. No, it means your feet are happy. nt

[Skittles]

28. if you are female and go to Italy, yes

As described by an Italian male:


I'm a 25-year-old carpenter living in Rome, and I don't mind telling you that I get all the action I can handle. I'm not all that handsome or well-dressed, and I'm certainly not rich. In fact, my Italian countrywomen could take me or leave me. But that's just fine, because Rome gets loads of tourist traffic, and American co-eds traveling through Europe are without a doubt the easiest lays in the world.

Being European gives me a hell of an advantage. I'm not sure why, but there's something about the accent that opens a lot of doors. All you have to do is go up to them, act a little shy and say, "Whould hyou like to go with me, Signorina, for a café?" I actually have to thicken up my accent a little, but they never, ever catch on.

After a cheap coffee, which to them always tastes better than anything they've ever had, because they're in Europe, it's time to walk them. Now, all they know about Rome is what they've read in Let's Go, so you can pretty much just make up a whole bunch of shit. It's fun to see how much they'll swallow: As long as I refer to Italy as "my homeland" and other Italians as "my people," they'll believe pretty much anything. I don't know who most of the local statues are, so I tell the muffins they're all great artists and poets and lovers. Once, just for the hell of it, I told a psychology major from the University of Maryland that a public staircase was part of the Spanish Steps, which she'd never even heard of. Another time, I told this blonde from Michigan State that the public library was the Parthenon, and she cooed like I'd just given her a diamond.

For dinner, I usually take them to some cheap little hole in the wall, someplace deserted where not even the cops eat. American girls think candlelight means "romance," not "deteriorating public utilities," so they just poke their nipples through their J. Crew sweaters and never notice that there's no electricity. Just as well, because Roman restaurants aren't exactly the cleanest. After a bunch of fast-talk about the menu, I get them the special, which is usually some anonymous pasta with spinach and day-old shrimp, and whatever cheap, generic, Pope's-blood chianti's at the bottom of the list.

By this time, they're usually standing in a slippery little puddle. Going in for the kill, I walk them past one of Rome's famous 2,000-year-old open cesspools. Then, as we open the door to my shitty efficiency, I kiss them on the eyelids so they don't see the roaches, making sure the first thing they see is the strategically positioned artist's easel I bought at some church sale. That's usually all they need to see and, like clockwork, they fall backwards on my bed with their Birkenstocks in the air.

I mean, they're hardly Italian women, but we have a saying here in Europe: Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?

[Placebo]

29. That's hillarious!

:D