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Brogues are best (Free verse) by Stephen Robins The attire for feet of aspiring rogues,
The inimitable comfort of Church's brogues,
Perfectly designed for pleasurable walking,
What else would you choose to stalk in?
Best worn with tweed and never morning dress,
Take them off last when you undress,
Brown at the weekend, black in the club,
A verucca brogue to be worn, alone, in the tub.
Treat your brogues as you would a young lady,
Use a shoe horne and slide in them gently,
Pay particular care to the state of the heel,
Lest you come undone in Church when you kneel.
No loafers for me, nay, nor your boots,
For only a true gentleman knows when one shoots,
One will appear as a parvenu,
Unless one has a pattern 'pon the front of one's shoe.
Up the ladder:
Wasted Life
Down the ladder:
crossroad
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 6.3333335
Posted: October 4, 2004 2:36 AM PDT; Last modified: January 12, 2006 9:18 AM PSTWeighted score: 5.1589375 Overall Rank: 5117 Comments:
Yet you bare not a though for the slipper.
With all your pontificating and mindless titter Minor shod fools mark my words Avoid following your vulgar herds For with its exquisite fume A gentleman neâer leaves the smoking room Your exterior footwear laments For whence you can afford the expense Of a man who will supply Anything that catch your eye Any item with which you have not yet For when within your palace you can stay And neâer see the light of the day Let the plebs worry about there dress Whilst your feet are all warm and caressed A true Gent be shod in none other Save the mighty slipper
A similar style to Dark Angel and pretty amusing.
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That can truly be said to suit
The feet of an English gentleman:
The sturdy "Welly" boot.
Named after the intrepid Duke
Whose hobby was to shoot
The naughty, dirty Frenchmen:
A toast to the "Welly" boot!
The boot is made of rubber
And stands in high repute
With the King and all his serving-men:
Give praise to the "Welly" boot!
The wearer of the Oxford brogue
Looks like a common brute
When stood beside the wearer
Of the English "Welly" boot!
A sign of a valiant hero
Whom all the world salute:
Give praise to God and England;
Shout "Huzzah!" for the "Welly" boot.
Making clear your lowly station,
And upon further investigation,
It appears your overly fond of masturbation,
And of homsexual orientation,
The National Aeronautics and Space Administration,
Do not from the Wellington boot draw inspiration,
No, Nay, Nor for education,
Unless bearing brogued decoration.
On account of sporting a brand new brogue;
But the gentleman cares not for fashion.
In fact, he hates it with a passion;
For he knows 'tis just for gays
Who skip around the town for days
Whilst wearing brogues and pink carnations
And suffering from rectal complications.
The gentleman likes to wear a "Welly"
Whether in Singapore or fair New Delhi.
There's nothing that him more perplexes
Than the fashion for brogues 'mongst hemasexes.
Would not the Wellington exalt,
Knowing they're for the tenant farmer,
To act as gumboot, pigshit armour.
His lordship does not condescend,
To wear boots you can bend,
Prefering the stiffness of a brown shoe,
Coated in a patterned tatoo.
Ne'er ever have I heard such bow'ls!
An Gentleman, of sound descent,
Would ne'er his poor sole torment
With brogueish cloggs of sullied leather,
Nor Wellingtons (save, in wet weather).
Sturdy shoes, though they may be,
An Gentleman's foot gets no reprieve:
So long as blood runs through his veins
He'll wear a brace of exquisite poulaines!
With an gentleman so above your station,
This is not a meritocracy,
I am from better stock you see.
Poulaines are ace, for a court jester,
Or indeed the Earl of Leicester,
But not for me those pointy jokes,
Commonly worn by poorer folks,
Best left for the poorer squires,
Who own not half the shires,
Wear them please, you lowly clerks,
For those in the pages of Burkes,
Kniow to wear a shoe of such decor,
That people like you will fall to the floor,
And kiss the brogue of a Lord and Knight,
Know thee now, the patterns might.
But the brogue's fetid leather is far more smelly.
As for the cad in red poulaines?
Cast him to the gaol in chains!
He's a silly apish jester
Whose shoes allow his corns to fester.
He knows well no man of brains
Would ever wear his foul poulaines
Except perhaps the mummified remains
Of the foppish Maynard Keyes:
http://tinyurl.com/4zf4j
Of how my loins became so frail.
'twas long ago, when just like you,
I was young, and foolish too.
My misspent youth was Poulaine-free:
I'm not the man I used to be!
How spritely I did pounce in shame!
Unburden'd by the great poulaine!
Leaping gaily through the town,
O'er pointed rail and skulking browne*,
'till one morn my footing failed
And 'pon an fence I was impaled!
Ne'er again the brogueish sheath
To cling upon my underneath:
A pointed shoe now does protrude
From my mangled, dangled lewd.
*browne n. An ethnic hobo or street urchin; a stain.
But yet t'would never have occurred,
Had thou heeded the cobbler's word:
"Listen now Master and thy feet gird,
Not with shoes so plainly absurd,
As Poulainnes or it will be inferred,
That you are a huge festering turd"