Ugg Boots: The Epilogue, Part One

Less than a year ago today, winter ended. With the end of the winter came the end of an era of tyranny, pain, and villainous bad taste. Or so we thought. I remember that day like it was yesterday, or even today but just like a few hours ago. It was a cold day; monkey ass cold, as one might accurately and intuitively describe it. Zac and I had finally cornered our hideous, Australian foe after weeks – dare I say months – of guerrilla warfare, doing anything and everything we could to keep it from harming any more lovely women. We were down in the warehouse district, you know, down in that one place where it’s dark and ominous and there are fires burning everywhere for no reason.

I stood with my boot resting on its neck – a boot formed of leather from hate’s very skin and stitched with the raw sinews of vindication – like some kind of dominatrix Lady Justice forcing this monster into submission, except I am a dude and not a lady. And in this situation, my friends, there was no safe word. I looked down upon our foe as it stared up at us, pridefully unwilling to beg for any mercies which it knew we would never provide.

“It’s time for you to walk away…” I said, pitilessly.

“In Hell!” said Zac as he brought the wiffle bat down upon its head, the sheer power of truth and goodness flowing through him like a freshly consumed Red Bull.

Our enemy was smited. We tossed the body into the river and walked away, the proverbial fire at our backs.

“It’s finally over,” he said to me as we sat on swings in a playground, conveniently poised on a hill overlooking the aforementioned river and fire.

“Can it be… Can it be true?” I asked, choking the words out through tears of joy and redemption.

“Yes, yes it can my brother,” Zac responded triumphantly as he placed his hand victoriously on my shoulder.

“Ugg Boots are dead.”

To Be Continued…

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