Crocs are not clothing. Crocs are not attractive. Crocs are neither fashionable nor natural. Crocs are made of plastic, as are bed pans, douches and Donald Trump's hair.
Crocs are not for anyone over the age of nine and adults who wear Crocs deserve merciless public ridicule if not flogging. The only thing worse than wearing Crocs is wearing Crocks with socks. And rhyming.
Croc-o-philes who are able to form coherent sentences frequently swear that they only wear them because Crocs are so damned comfortable. But so are water shoes and pink fuzzy slippers yet most of us still somehow manage to refrain from wearing them to the grocery store or beyond the confines of the trailer park.
Perhaps most unforgivable and aesthetically offensive of all is when grown men wear Crocs. It's no coincidence that these tend to be the same guys who 1) adorn their pick-ups with truck nuts 2) can't recite the alphabet without singing and 3) consider Chris Farley to have been a comic genius. These men are hopelessly out of touch with reality and constitute the most compelling argument to date in favor of euthanasia.
In short, I hate Crocs. A lot.
Thank you.
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| Crocs: A curse upon civilized humanity vomited forth from the fiery bowels of Hell |
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