Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Librarian Foot Fetish 

Image hosted by Photobucket.comI don’t obsessively monitor my statistics counter like I used to, but it’s still great fun when I do check it. The information I get is crude and basic since I’m using the free version, but I can tell from which ISP a visitor (shout out to P.T. at M&H) is accessing my site and what Google searches were used. Having the word foxy in this blog gets a lot of hits from porn seekers:

Here's how some randy Qatarian found me:
sexey foxy
foxy wemon
foxy and sexy ladey

foxy vixens

Desperate and dumb:
buying methadone on the internet - HAH! Good luck

zoo p@ssy

Even more disturbing:
Oprah booty (as in her buttocks, or her extravagant audience giveaways?)

Librarian foot fetish

Although imagining the deep disappointment porn seekers must feel when they reach my site brings me great joy, I do have to feel sorry for the person burdened with this impossibly specific and, I imagine, lonely, fixation. So, just for him, here’s a picture of some librarian feet. Yes, in this circle of feet is a librarian’s, mine! Pretty damn hot, huh? Actually, it was pretty damn hot. This picture was taken at the Dead Elvis Ultimate Frisbee tournament in Memphis, Tennessee, an annual event that takes place the weekend around the date of the King’s death, which as every schoolchild knows is August 16. When I played, the tournament was held out on a shadeless sod farm next to a power plant which would periodically spew black clouds of toxic filth, which you can see coating our legs. (I really don’t miss that laissez faire approach to environmental matters down in Dixie.) Usually the temperature exceeds 100 and the tournament is not complete until 2 or 3 players are hospitalized for heat and/or sun stroke.

I myself got a touch of heat poisoning there, which I have to say is one of the worst possible feelings in the world. I felt like I literally had  been poisoned, and had to stagger off the field in the middle of a point to throw up, which I did behind a trashcan, like an elegant and well-bred young lady. When I read Dennis Covington’s book Salvation on Sand Mountain, a memoir about his time among the fundamentalist snake handlers of Sand Mountain, Alabama, I found that the vivid descriptions of what it feels after you’ve been bitten by a rattlesnake matched this feeling, although I didn’t see the terrifyingly psychedelic auras and halos around objects that these snakebite victims report. After my touch of heat stroke I couldn’t even muster strength to go to the party, and I felt rotten for days, and for a long while afterward couldn’t get in a hot tub or play too long in the sun or I would I could feel that whole mechanism start up and get that wretched feeling again. Supposedly this is the case for multiple snakebite victims as well. Contrary to what I had always heard, you don’t develop any sort of immunity to snakebites from repeated exposure to the venom. Instead, the poison has a cumulative effects, making you sicker with each bite.

I recommend this book, by the way, if you’re into freaky religious Appalachian cults. The book is about how this strychnine drinkin’, rattlesnake handling, speaking in tongues congregation was torn apart after the preacher was accused of trying to kill his wife by thrusting her arm into cage that housed the rattlesnakes the church would handle during the services. Even after suffering multiple bites, she managed to escape and crawl through the woods to her neighbor’s. The preacher claimed that she had asked him to put her arm in the cage to test her faith, and the congregation was split down the middle in opinion of his guilt. Dennis Covington, a New York Times reporter, goes on location to Sand Mountain and eventually becomes swept up in the religious fervor, and at one point even takes up a snake himself. His wife finally catches wind of what he’s up to and shows up and tells him to cut that shit out and come home.

thanks. i actually am interested in freaky, religious, middle-of-nowhere cults.... no, really. i am.

thanks for the recommend, foxy vixens.
Is there a prize for identifying the Foxy feet?
I ended up here through a google image search (it was the gollum image in an old post - don't recall what exactly I was looking for) months ago and can't keep away. Your posts are interesting and amusing for an outsider-looking-in and it makes me wonder what mysteries librarians I've met are hiding under their professional façades.
I'm guessing bottom, second from the left for the Foxy feet.

Oh - so close. Actually, my feet, flat and shaped like those of a hobbit, are the ones right next to that, ruining the symmetry of the circle. I conceived of and took the picture, so maybe the angle I had to take inadvertantly made me brace my feet like that. Or, perhaps I suffered some calf cramp which made my feet thrust forward at the moment the picture was snapped. I can't remember. Oh, and for added sexiness for the foot fetish guy, I think one of my toenails turned black and dropped off soon after that tournament.
Oh, I thought all the other feet were worshipping the pair in the middle.
I remember that photo! But don't think my feet are in it -- slacker, thy name is Neon.

_Salvation on Sand Mountain_ is a fascinating book. Have you read _Jesus Land_ yet?
oh lord. i need to do a post like this.

my best "hot sweaty co-ed librarians"

Gotta love alt tags in HTML. I admit, I encourage it with my sassy tags (none are dirty though!). Besides, they were librarians in a basement standing next to a furnace pipe. In 1946.

They were hot sweaty librarians.

xo, & happy new year Foxy

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