By Quentin Tarantino
Have any of you sick fucks that keep saying that I’m into feet ever made a movie? I didn’t think so.
If you had you’d know that the audience needs a lot of hand-holding. I don’t want to say they’re stupid, but if you don’t show a woman’s feet while she’s running/standing/eating a cold sundae on a hot day they won’t know how she’s doing it. For example, maybe she’s eating that sundae and the ice cream is dripping to the ground, first just around her foot then closer, and closer, and finally a little gets on the big toe on her right foot with a little splash onto the second. Oldest trick in the book, and if we do it without feet down there, people are going to get confused, and rightfully so.
When you show a woman get into a car you have to show her foot being pulled in, otherwise people won’t believe that she’s in a car. And when she gets in that car? Better make sure we see her foot hit the pedal or the audience will wonder how the car is moving. Preferably in an open toed sandal, brown leather, with red nail polish that accents the brown leather. And if possible a splash of ice cream. It’s just how movies are made, alright? The audience won’t take your word for anything anymore. When I was a kid we had imagination. I remember seeing Psycho and even though when she gets stabbed in the shower her feet are obstructed from view by the rim of the tub most of the time, I still knew that they were down there somewhere, keeping her suspended in the air, probably getting a little blood on them. Hell, maybe she brought a big tub of ice cream into the shower with her and it spilled in the scuffle, her heels slipping in it almost as much as her own entrails. I like to think that when she died they buried her in an open-toed sandal. Perhaps brown leather that looked a little worn, but not too worn.
That’s another thing I get flack for; all the open-toed sandals. First of all, they’re open-toed so the audience knows that the women have feet. If we showed them wearing a closed-toe shoe people would assume they had some sort of robot foot or something and be disappointed when there was no robot foot subplot. Secondly, it’s a fact that 95% of women wear open-toed sandals 85% of the time. That’s a fact. Not only that, but, I imagine, they also prefer brown leather. I’m just playing the numbers here, folks. If you ask me, you’re all being sexist. Slut-shaming these girls because they want to walk around with their toes free and eat ice cream while getting into various fights to the death, feet slick with both the innards of her enemies and the sweetest of iced creams. Maybe she gets a cut that’s deep, but not too deep, on one foot. Not enough to disfigure, just to give it a little personality. Now that’s just good film-making.
If I wanna fuck feet so bad, then tell me, why would I be so blas about it? If I was one of those sick fucks that like to rub themselves against a recently worn shoe until my dick gets so raw it starts bleeding until finally my seed dribbled into it like warm ice cream on a hot day, then why wouldn’t I have the good sense to hide it better? Not like it starts and stops with me, mind you, think about the studios for christsake. You think they’re just gonna let me make some creepy foot-fetish movie with their money? Of course not. The have high standards, they aren’t just interested in getting these weirdos with creepy foot hard-ons into the theaters. They don’t want their money. They want the money of good, decent hardworking people that want to go home and fuck their significant others in the same old boring orifices they have been for thousands of years. They don’t want money from creeps that want to cum on Uma Thurman’s sexy little toe ring. Who would?
I know what’s coming next, you’re gonna say that if I gotta show women’s feet, why don’t I ever show men’s? That’s actually a very interesting question that has an equally complicated answer that I can’t really go into right now. I would if I could, believe me, but I’ve got to go to the Lady Footlocker pretty soon to do some research for a new movie I’m making about a woman whose husband was murdered by a shoeless brunette assassin and the only way she can avenge his death is by eating an ice cream sundae with her feet in under a minute. The catch? She has to take her brown leather sandals off with her teeth, her mouth already damaged and bleeding from the previous fight. She slops down that bloody, slippery mess just in time to give a fourteen minute monologue about something that has nothing to do with the movie and kick the brunette to death with her sore, slippery, sweet, blood-coated, scar-having, testament to the grace of God feet. Then she stops the laser by flicking her toe ring at it from across the room.
It’s gonna be a hell of a movie.