My horse is a rubbish dancer. He’s got two left feet.
The farrier, a guy named Ed, took a look at my Clydesdale, and said, “I’ve got a really big shoe…”
Normally I’d have something to say about the way some people put on their gym shoes, but I think I’ll just hold my tongue.
If you drew conclusions from the way they wore old-time basketball shoes, you’d be reasoning from the converse.
Since basketball shoes have tongues, can they dribble?
I was looking all over for my footwear until my mother said “SHOO”.
In a shoe lacing competition, everyone ties.
So nobody can win? That must be sole-destroying.
Destroying soles is what bottom feeders do.
Those heels!
Don’t be too hard on heels. They’re just wounded people who aren’t bread proper.
Nah, I got no respect for 'em; they’re just a bunch of loafers. (Wait, is that a bread joke or a shoe joke?)
I’m just saying, heels need to be healed so they will heel. (A nice gesture might be to give them flours to boot.)
I taught my dog to heel. Now he won’t toe the line.
I hear that the dogs are out to get us – conspiring, talkin’ about us in bark codes.
My WAG is that they’re just telling tails.
Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read
—Groucho Marks
ALL HAIL MARX AND LENNON!
Groucho and John, respectively, of course.
Hail Storms! Long may they rain!
For some reason it was raining coins last night. I never prepared for the change in the weather.