Brian the foot guy.

“I’m sorry, Atreyu. Your father was a rock biter, and your mother was a SNOWBLOWER.”

Years ago – back in 2013 – I read some blog lore written by my girl, RachRiot, about Brian the foot guy. Yeah, feet are like tits to Brian. But to me, they are the way I work through a Zumba class, or walk to the fridge, or hike to the bar, or run to pick up my kids.

You get my drift. My feet are just a means to an end; tacos, a glass of wine, a trip to go potty. And I don’t think that’s the same end that Brian means.

Brian the foot guy likes feet; the way my husband is an ass guy, and I think my brother is a boob guy. This shit isn’t talked about so much between us because my husband and my brother aren’t trolling on the internet asking for pictures of their preferred lady parts from strangers, unlike Brian. He want’s to see your feet. Pictures of your feet to be exact, and he’ll trade those pictures online with his foot fetish buddies. It’s like Garbage Pail kids, but for feet and old dudes.

And if you’re into showing your feet to Brian, he’ll give you 50 smackers in return. 50 bucks is a lot of money and what could a picture of my feet hurt.

Unless you’ve seen my feet.

When I got Brian’s foot text I was astounded.


“Oh Maverick, you big stud, take me to bed or lose me forever.” Or just run away because my feet aren’t my best feature and you’re about to kill Goose. Run, Maverick, run. Shit, wrong flick.

But not every foot has a Pretty Woman ending. Most definitely not mine. My feet are gross. My feet are deplorable. My feet are the constant image behind the wet dreams of orthopedic surgeons.

I felt bad for my newly found friend, Brian the foot guy. I didn’t want him to have buyers remorse. It’s bad enough I wear a padded bra which makes me look buxom, and Spanx to make me look thinner, and, oh yeah, I have 3 kids, everyone knows what’s up with my undergarments. I decided to be honest with Brian and wrote him a response.

Hey Brian,

You know, it’s funny. I read Rach’s post about you awhile back. And although I haven’t been in the blogging business for a very long time, I’ve seen my share of markers that I’ve arrived: Scathing HuffPo comments, trolls, death threats. But still no “Brian the foot guy.”

And now, here you are.

But you have a huge problem.

I have ATROCIOUS FEET. Mine are the other four letter F word. Legitimately. These are the feet that nightmares are made of. Bunions, a blackened big toenail from dropping a suitcase on my foot 2 months ago, cuticles, calloused pinky, hangnails. The list goes on and on. The last time my toenails were painted I was getting married. That was 14 years ago. My oldest kid once referred to my lower digits as ET Feet. And sadly, he was spot on.

So here’s the thing, if you like feet, than I’m pretty sure you like sexy feet. Not the shit that repels Eddie Murphy’s character in Boomerang (over and over again).

I’m flipping the switch on you Brian. You have 24 hours to decide if you actually want pictures of these “toe-up from the flo-up” monstrosities.

If you’re into disgusting Jurassic Park shit, then this is your lucky day. You can have pictures of my ugly ass Piggly wiggly’s for $100. Non-negotiable.

If you’d rather not have to look at my disgusting tootsies, which would probably place your foot fetish in the basement with my interest in 80-year-old men and their 80-year-old balls, you can pay me $50 and I won’t send them to you. EVER. Lucky bastard.

Hope to hear from you soon,


It didn’t take long to receive a reply…


Such a shock. The Ransom of RedFoot didn’t work, again.


Game, Set, Match.

I don’t think he’ll come knockin’ round here no more.

PS. I guess I wasn’t the only blogger Brian the foot guy propositioned on that fateful night. Check out my girl, Bad Sandy, as she deals with Brian’s ministrations.


Photo Credit:
Author: Pedro Ribeiro Simões
Author URL: https://www.flickr.com/people/pedrosimoes7/



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