About Me
Yes, I know what you're thinking: Damn those are some good looking feet! Believe you me, you're not the first one to utter those words. Beginning the moment the doctor yanked me headfirst from my mother's anesthetized loins nearly twenty long years ago, my sexylicious tootsie toes have more than turned heads. My public exposure began at the tender age of eleven months when my mother, hoping to cash in on her progeny's golden feet, entered me into the local Beautiful Baby contest in Sacramento. Of course the judges took one look at my heavenly feet and declared me the winner, all without even having seen the other thirty-two contestants. Honestly, I'd have to say that that first bit of recognition helped to mold my view of my role in the world moreso than any other event in my life. The moment the judges placed that rhinestone-encrusted tiara on my tiny skull (tactfully avoiding the soft spots, thank Vishnu!), I realized just how far these feet could take me. To this very day, whenever life kicks me in the face, I put that miniature crown on, park myself in front of the mirror and bask in my own greatness. Don't get me wrong, I don't mean to sound conceited. The thing is, I look at my feet as a gift from God. They're an ethereal, divine bit of perfection and who am I to go against the wishes of God? I'm just a boy with beautiful feet doing the best I can. But anywho, getting back to me, my career really took off after the Beautiful Baby Contest. I had offers pouring in from Milan and Paris to model the season's latest baby footwear. I admit, I was a little niave back in those early days and I wasted my fine flavor on designers like Hilfiger and Mossimo, but hey, money's money, right? And speaking of the money, egad, I had it coming out my little baby ass. After six months of hawking shoes and nail polish, I had enough to set my parents up with a swank apartment overlooking the Seine and a private plane so they could jet out every other weekend to New York to visit me at my fifth avenue bachelor pad. Since I still hadn't quite mastered the art of speaking, or walking for that matter, mom and pop took care of all the legal stuff like contracts and salaries and so on and so forth. All I had to do was arrive at the photo shoots and look fabulous, and that's exactly what I did. Basically my life was a whirlwind of parties and fashion shows and other social events that only famous foot models like myself are invited to. Except for a short stint at the Betty Ford Clinic, mine was a pretty normal childhood. I decided to declare legal emancipation from my parents at the age of twelve when the National Enquirer quoted mom and pop saying that my feet's career "was as stale as ten month old saltines." Turns out later they didn't even say it, but oh well. I was getting tired of supporting their wrinkled hides anyway. I moved to Paris full time when I was fifteen and have lived here ever since. The people here are so much more couth and hold a much greater appreciation for my physical beauty, plus they have damn good alkeehol. And it's sooo much more practical to live in Paris, as it's the absolute mecca for fashion. I'm just a hop, skip and a jump away from Chloe and Yves Saint Laurent, which is absolutely lovely because all those overseas flights were really taking a toll on my feet. I think it was the humidity or pressure or something. I don't know, either way, my nails were getting dry and god knows you can't have that in this industry. But that's pretty much it. Please rest assured that not one day goes by that I don't thank God for giving me my little money makers. Unlike most terribly famous and wealthy models, I've managed to remain modest throughout it all. I thank Yaweh every other Wednesday and every third Friday of the month for my feet and my career and don't think I've forgotten all those who haven't been blessed with my luscious endowments. I always remember to pray that God sends all you less-than-beautiful people someone to love and a subscription to Vogue so you all can keep up to date on my career. Ta ta for now and God Bless. **Butch McNasty, Esq.** (In case any of you were wanting to see some pictures of me, check out the Sears Christmas catalog for 1988. My grandma agrees that it's some of my best work.)
