Consumption

Skechers' TEC-9 Mary Janes

That's not the real name of these shoes.  They're called "Bikers", which is ridiculous, as they're completely unsuitable for any sort of two-wheeled activity, but they're f'ing gangbusters for absolutely everything else. 

I bought my first pair in 2006 when I wanted some stage combat shoes that I could flit around in with some support without feeling like my twinkle toes were encased in concrete blocks.  They've been everywhere with me since.  There's sand nestled in that first pair from every beach on the West Coast, Seattle to San Diego.   

I'm firmly convinced that all girls of sufficient badassery should own multiple pairs of these.  At casual glance, they're demure as can be, right up until they kick your ass...sound like anyone you know?  I have to be on about my third pair of these suckers in three years, and that's just counting the black ones.  They don't fall apart, it's just that I wear them all the time. 

My chosen model is a little different from the ones pictured at left--they've got the same sneaker base, but a mesh, fishnet-looking top and two zigzag straps across the middle of each foot.  They're go-anywhere, do-anything kicks. Slip them on with your swingy cocktail dress when you're planning a bender and worried about walking as far as the train station.  Strap in after sliding into your favorite jeans and hit the ballpark.  And yes, they're good for rapier-dagger work, too.

SKECHERS.com | Bikers-Capper | $55

I, Too, Sing ARE YOU READY FOR SOME FOOTBAW

I've gone extremely girly for the last two weeks, and that's fine. I am in fact a female, and therefore enjoy all the privileges of dousing myself in liquid honeysuckle and behaving like Belle Watling on a bender. However, the siren song of Footbaw is beginning to echo in my ears, and it must be obeyed.

Although Brett Favre is giving his all for ruining the preseason today, there is a ray of hope. A ray with piercing cornflower eyes, tumbling locks of purest gold, and a demented, godless smile on his Viking face. A ray named Jeremy Shockey.

Shockey (28; I had no idea! He's timeless) is a four-time Pro Bowler and is the sole reason the New York Giants made it to the playoffs. His off-field activities include drinking, whoring, Americaning (it's a word! He went to the U, BABY!), and poking Tom Coughlin with a stick until he cries. He used to shoot his older friends with a BB gun to make them pay attention to him (FACT!). Under normal circumstances, the utilization of a gay slur would make my eyes swell with furious tears; when Shockey calls Bill Parcells a homo, the tears are of unmitigated adoration. Does this make me a bad person? Yes. Do I care? No. I AM WOMAN.

The point of all this is to say that Jeremy Shockey--volatile, mentally unbalanced, gleefully anarchic Jeremy Shockey--has been traded to the New Orleans Saints. He is now playing football in the most corrupt city in the world, where he can rampage through the French Quarter with hand grenades and hurricanes in his clenched fists, demanding that every woman he sees immediately disrobes before him, snorting uncontrollably while he shovels fried dough into his gaping maw. If you can think of a better scenario for the National Football League or humanity, please let me know immediately.

Buy this jersey, belt it, and wear it with some gold lame underwear. Then take a casual stroll through the Quarter at three in the morning. If you feel you must, spritz yourself lightly with HGH and tiger musk. The pieces should fall into place from there.

FREEDOM ISN'T FREE WHERE'S MY DRINK

Custom Vans Slip-Ons

I know what you're thinking. Well, yeah, technically, these are kinda hideous. But let's get this straight: college football season begins in three weeks, a girl needs to sport her colors, and just anyone can buy some college-specific Nike IDs (those are for banner ad-susceptible commoners; also, Nike offers a pink version of your college logo for girls which is just insulting and I refuse to support that as well as pink hammers and screwdrivers and toolboxes).  These Vans slip-ons are both old school and completely customizable, thereby allowing you such whimsy as adding a camo heel counter to remind everyone looking at your ass that you're a soldier reporting for duty here and not to be trifled with - unless it's half time and I'm in the beer line, in which case: [bats eyelashes].  Are they made for people born deformed and archless?  Yes.  Will you have to cut a slit in the elastic gore just to get them on?  Yes. Will you get a weird tan line because the vamp comes up high?  Yes, because your team plays in a stadium approximately 300 yards from the sun.  Are these minor obstacles you should ignore in favor of looking like a street-wise sexpot while cheering your boys this fall like a champ?  Absolutely, and you're just 3-5 weeks away.

Vans | $50