Drinking my drink, I think it’s funny that I’m using my latest textbook as a drink coaster. It’s not as though the floor is so immaculate that I couldn’t put my drink there. But we are taught to keep floors clean. Cleanliness is next to Godliness. It’s what separates us from the animals. A clean floor will keep you healthy.
But, if you should place a drink on the floor, with nothing between it and the floor, well, you might as well just sell this country to the Nazis, because somewhere in the deep recesses of your brain you must really have wanted Hitler to win if you’re going to do a thing like that to your carpeted floor that isn’t even a hardwood floor that wouldn’t even be a thing if people in the seventies hadn’t decided that they liked everything super hairy whether it’s a black lady’s vagina or the carpet you put your drink on.
What makes a floor a floor, I wonder? What are the inherent properties of a floor? How much does a floor displace when placed in water? How many floors does it take to “floor” someone? How can I get you into a new floor today?
Who made this floor? Why have I never met them? Was it because we moved into this house long after it had been built? Do you ever find it strange that we live in places that strangers built, that strangers lived in, that now we live in, and after we die, some stranger will live in this room, and masturbate in this room, and get sick in this room, and slouch over and watch TV in this room. And they will drink drinks in this room, and when they are tired, they will leave drinks on the floor in this room, but when they do that, they will first look around for something to rest the drink on, so the drink will not make contact with the floor, which must be clean, at all times.
God is not God. Our floor is our God. And our stinky feet its disciples. Therefore, a foot fetish makes you an extremist, or at least very pious. It all makes so much sense when you think about it.