Public footslaves really can’t be choosers. I must serve whosoever
comes my way, and so with all due slavish humility and respect!
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| A mountain of a master-sir heads my way |
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‘You’re gonna kiss my feet, boy!’ |
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‘Yes, master sir. At once, master sir. It will be my
honour, most magnificent master sir.’ |
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| I get down to work - kiss-respecting the magnificent master-sir's feet... |
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| ...observing his SOCKS... |
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| ...and tasting his SHOES! |
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| The SHOES and SOCKS of a REAL man |
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| A much BETTER man than me! |
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‘That’s right, boy. Kiss them feet. Taste those shoes an’
look at those socks! Hja! Hja! What a loser!’ |
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‘Yes, master sir. God bless you, master sir. Pray forgive
my patheticness, most magnificent and manly master-sir?’ |
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| 'Hja! Hja! Hja!' |
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| As the master-sir chucklingly walks away from me... |
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| ...my eyes remain respectfully focused on his SHOES and SOCKS... |
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| ...as befits a down-in-the-dirt, pathetic footslave who must serve whosoever comes his way! |