I had a ninth grade English teacher — a dead ringer for Mr. Feeney — who wore these exceptionally pleated pants, so pleated they gave him a pear shape. And he had an aversion to “boy feet,” so in that 1994 heyday of Tevas and Birks he’d go around doing “shoe safety checks.”
Yeah, it was strange...a whole year of this odd, bitchy commentary about films, his extreme excitement over the “republican revolution,” and calling out kids for having fat feet, flat feet, pontoon feet, toenails “like Excalibur,” you name it
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I don't think he could do that now.
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Well, not unless he was more open about his identity, "owning it" if you will. Certainly couldn't do it as some southern dandy bible thumper, I'd imagine
End of conversation
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