Klingons Conquer Shoe Industry

-- by Micheal

If my old tennis shoes hadn't finally fallen apart, I wouldn't have suspected about the invasion.

My old shoes had been coming apart for months, but I was in denial. If they failed, I knew I'd have to go shopping. I loathe shopping. If I have a "feminine side," as pop culture likes to say, I'm pretty sure it loathes shopping too.

"Don't I have a dental appointment?" I asked my wife. "No," she smiled. "We're going shopping." I slumped in resignation.

All I wanted was a plain pair of white sneakers. No extra colorful stripes, no logos. Granted, it had been a few years since I'd shopped for shoes, but I honestly held onto a slim hope that plain white shoes could be found. Not the case. I might as well have been looking for a left-handed monkey wrench. No simple white shoes.

I did, however, discover that the Klingons have begun their conquest of Earth. They started with the shoe industry, probably because shoe makers had the poorest security. Proof of Klingon victory is on display on the shoe stores.

In case you didn't waste your youth watching Star Trek on TV like I did, the Klingons are an over-the-top warrior race who totally dress the part. Klingon costumes always sported spikes, lumps of metal and jaggedy bits sticking out everywhere. To make Klingon shoes, NBC's wardrobe people would add a rhino horn to the toe and miscellaneous spikes elsewhere. Klingons liked pain, you see.

As I stood before the tennis shoe aisle, it was obvious to me that the Klingons had taken over. There wasn't a plain simple shoe anywhere. They all had stripes, lumps and bulges. They had more ridges than a Klingon's forehead. They had fake cylindrical thingies to resemble the underside of an "air ride" moving van or fake tubes and bulges, as if to barely conceal marvelous hi-tech machinery. All that was missing was the rhino horn.

They're shoes! For crying out loud. Rubber soled tennis shoes! They're not space ships. Do I have to buy into this fake cyborg look? Can't a guy just buy a plain simple pair of white sneakers, I shouted. The clerks just look at me suspiciously. Obviously, they've been assimilated. I whistled a nonchalant tune as I walked out of the store, pretending not to know about the invasion.

For now, duct tape is keeping the soles attached to the uppers on my old shoes. My quest for simple earthling shoes will have to resume later, when the heat dies down. The Klingons won't get ME.