28
Feb
TEXTS FROM MY PUMA KICKS
by PUMA
03H 00, Thursday 28 February, 2013
by PUMA
03
Sitting here in Puma HQ, one’s creativity is always being poked at like a dying fire at a braai. Whilst bantering about what to write about for this piece some poor old sod walked in with wet sneakers - a puddle accident. That got us thinking, what would your sneakers say if you could talk? And, what if it had your number and could text you? We imagine it would be something like this:
Friday morning
Kicks: Dude, why did you leave me at home again?
Me: I can't wear sneakers to work.
Kicks: You don’t care about me. I'm starting to think you're racist.
Me: Do you even know what racist means?
Kicks: Flip-flop said that you didn't wear him because he's red.
Me: My flip-flops can talk?!
Kicks: I just want you to love me…
Friday afternoon
Kicks: Did I just hear you come through the door?
Me: Yes, what do you want?
Kicks: Your feet.
Me: That's weird.
Kicks: You're weird.
Me: You're a shoe.
Kicks: You have a talent for stating the obvious.
Friday night
Kicks: Ooh, are #we #going to #PUMASocialJozi?
Me: Yip. I see you discovered Twitter.
Kicks: #That #I #did #.
Me: You don't have to hashtag every word. Plus, this isn't Twitter.
Kicks: #Fine. I think it’s time we get a girlfriend though.
Me: Us?! No. Don't get involved. Sneakers that can talk is a lil' weird.
Kicks: Lil' Weird- potential rapper name, #shotgun.
Me: SERIOUSLY, don't get involved.
Saturday morning
Kicks: Dude, why am I in the oven?
Saturday afternoon
Me: I don't have an oven! WHERE ARE YOU?!
Kicks: I don’t know. I drank way too much.
Me: You're a shoe. You can't get drunk.
Kicks: My lace is still tied and I slept in an oven. I think I can.
Me: Touché.
Friday morning
Kicks: Dude, why did you leave me at home again?
Me: I can't wear sneakers to work.
Kicks: You don’t care about me. I'm starting to think you're racist.
Me: Do you even know what racist means?
Kicks: Flip-flop said that you didn't wear him because he's red.
Me: My flip-flops can talk?!
Kicks: I just want you to love me…
Friday afternoon
Kicks: Did I just hear you come through the door?
Me: Yes, what do you want?
Kicks: Your feet.
Me: That's weird.
Kicks: You're weird.
Me: You're a shoe.
Kicks: You have a talent for stating the obvious.
Friday night
Kicks: Ooh, are #we #going to #PUMASocialJozi?
Me: Yip. I see you discovered Twitter.
Kicks: #That #I #did #.
Me: You don't have to hashtag every word. Plus, this isn't Twitter.
Kicks: #Fine. I think it’s time we get a girlfriend though.
Me: Us?! No. Don't get involved. Sneakers that can talk is a lil' weird.
Kicks: Lil' Weird- potential rapper name, #shotgun.
Me: SERIOUSLY, don't get involved.
Saturday morning
Kicks: Dude, why am I in the oven?
Saturday afternoon
Me: I don't have an oven! WHERE ARE YOU?!
Kicks: I don’t know. I drank way too much.
Me: You're a shoe. You can't get drunk.
Kicks: My lace is still tied and I slept in an oven. I think I can.
Me: Touché.
