Archive for December, 2013

Shoe: Untied is a WordPress Blog, and at the end of every year I get an Annual Report. It’s actually quite interesting, and it gives you information regarding your most popular posts for the year, where they came from, who made the most comments, stuff like that. Here are a few facts I found to be of interest:

So there you go. I have no idea what any of it means, I just find it somewhat fascinating.

Stay tuned for another year of Shoe: Untied!

Note: I know I touched on this earlier in the month but these are the final results. Chillax.

Another example of horrible, careless parenting. Someone report these people to the authorities! For the love of God, this baby looks like he’s having fun!

The long search for my next tattoo idea is over.


Man, that ginger can ballboy.

This is a real photo. It was discovered after a woman was going through pictures she took of her kid in the ocean. Keep your head on a swivel out there, folks. That’s a “juvenile” Great White Shark.


Was that title a little wordy? I think so.

So most of you have read of my recent misguided missives in which several innocent people were hit by my way-too-friendly fire. Make no mistake, my off-target texts were horrific, and trust me when I say nobody was more appalled than me. I swear, for a minute there I actually considered making that move to Montserrat I’ve been thinking about for so long. You know, just leaving a note, grabbing The Spark and leaving it all behind.

But then, from my blunder sprung an idea!

Here’s the dizzle . . .

I propose every phone have a feature that prevents the dreaded wrong-way text. Before after you hit “send” this alert will pop up:

ALERT! ALERT! Are you sure you want [insert name] to receive this text?  

And then, for guys like me, after you hit “send” again you’d get this:

ALERT! ALERT! HEY DUMBASS! Are you ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN you want [insert name] to receive this text?

See? It’s flawless. Nobody could screw up with those warnings, amirite or amirite? Hell, you could even have a “red flag” feature that shows the alerts when there’s inappropriate language in the text.

In addition, I have my tech guy here at Shoe: Untied working on a feature that will give the text sender a 30-second window to dissolve an offending text. Ingenious I tell ya.

So no worries, folks. I’m on it.

And hey, Apple. Call me.*

*But please don’t text.

Anderson Silva broke his leg against Chris Weidman last night in a UFC title bout last night. Don’t watch it happen. I’m not kidding. Do. Not. Watch.

With the best narrator ever.

I mean REALLY.

Well done sirs. Well. Done.

Credit where credit is due. Dude hopped up like a champ.

Not that kind of manhood, you sick freaks. Here’s the deal. The Marshall football team’s strength coaches apparently have this shtick where they perform some “manly” act before games to fire up the team. In the video below you’ll see their latest act in which they break a board over another coach’s back. Oh, and they light it on fire first. Just watch the video and then read my take . . .

Some observations:

1. I’ve been close to several major college programs, and without fail, all of the strength coaches look alike. Literally every one has a shaved head. I swear this to be a fact. Must be a macho thing or something. And yes, I know I have a shaved head, but I only do it for the ladies because they seem to like it. Oh, and there’s the going bald thing too.

2. I am not impressed with the breaking of the board on the back. It’s a long, thin board for God’s sake. It looked liked balsa wood to me. Big deal. Use a 2 x 4 and I’ll be impressed.

3. Hey strength coaches, it’s not about you. Nobody bought a ticket to see how badass the team’s strength coaches are. Go paddle each other in the privacy of your locker room.

4. Like I said, I’ve been around college athletes. A lot. And I can say with 90% certainty that the players are laughing at you behind your back. Why? Because you’re making fools of yourself. You’re not on the team. You don’t block or tackle. Give it a rest.

Happy New Year to all!

Did you get that Johnny Cash reference? Anybody? Sigh . . .

WARNING: This may be the most boring blog you’ve ever read. Maybe. Then again, maybe not. It seems as if every time I hesitate to write about something it’s well-received. Shows what I know. Anyway, I’ve had this in my drafts box for awhile so what the hell. I’ll throw it out there.

So here’s the dilly. I was sitting around with some friends the other day and we were discussing names we’d been called over the years. Wait. That didn’t sound right. Hell, if I wrote down every name I’d ever been called the internet would explode. What I meant to say was nicknames, not names, that we’d been called. So I figured I’d just list them and make some hilarious comments about each. Or not. God I’m bored.

Before we begin, for those of you around the globe who don’t know my full name, it’s Ralph David Shoemaker. And before you make fun of the name Ralph, understand that I’m named after my father. Got a problem with that? Good. Let us proceed . . .


SHOCKER! I know, I know, but I had to include it. I’ve gone by Dave since I was a kid. I distinctly recall going by the name Ralph until 4th grade, but at the beginning of that year I specifically went to all my teachers and friends and announced that I would henceforth be known as Dave. Not even kidding. Even at 10-years old I knew exactly what I wanted.*

*That’s funny because, at 58, I have no idea what I want.


I’ve been called David by several people over the years, usually women who I’ve pissed off. Also, the folks I’m involved with in politics always seem to call me David. Not sure why this is so.

Ralph David

If I hear this, I KNOW it’s someone from my deep past, probably a family member.

R. David

To avoid confusion with my dad, years ago I started using R. David on my official documents and whatnot. My late friend Tim Barnhart thought this was interesting and henceforth referred to me as R. David. Because of this a couple other people still call me that.


Actually, I can think of only one human being who ever called me this, and it was my late Aunt Millie. God Bless her. No earthly clue why she called me that.


Obvious choice here. To 90% of my friends, I am Shoe. That’s all. Shoe. I have tickets left for me at college basketball games around the country at the Will Call Window, and at Ohio State, UC and other places my tickets are left under the name David Shoemaker. At West Virginia? Shoe. That’s all it says on the envelope. Hilarious.

Mr. Shoe

Obviously used by former students, because otherwise it would just be weird. It is odd to be walking down the street and hear a 40-year old man yell, “MR. SHOE!” though.

Coach Shoe

You know how I can tell if a former player of mine respected me? If they still call me “Coach.” Simple but true.


A handful of people call me Shoey, and all of them live on the Eastern Seaboard somewhere. For reasons known only to them, I’ve been called Shoey by coaches and players at the University of Maryland for over 25-years.


A couple of old friends latched on to those names years ago and won’t let ’em go.


All of my old friends from my college days call me Dutch. Here’s why. When I was little, I built a go-cart with wings and christened it The Flying Dutchmen. What can I say? I was an odd child (I am part Dutch so maybe that had something to do with it). Anyway, my dad thought it was funny and began calling me “The Dutchman” or “Dutch.” Once, a couple guys from OSU came home with me and overheard dad call me that, so it stuck.

Sleeping Jesus

From the mid-70’s. Don’t ask.

Source – A small Alabama community got the shock of the season on Saturday when a group of scantily clad gay African American Santas took their Christmas parade route by storm. The Prancing Elites, an all gay dance team known for their provocative moves and outfits, were confused by the invitation to walk the Semmes, Alabama (population 3,000) Christmas parade but swayed and thrust their way through outraged crowds nonetheless. Parade organizers have since apologized for including the Prancing Elites, but the five gentlemen from Mobile think it was all just part of a day’s work. ‘I had no idea that they would be dressed the way they were and that they would think it’s appropriate for a community Christmas parade,’ said Karen McDuffie, who helped plan the event. ‘Their costumes and the style of dancing were inappropriate.’

I am shocked, SHOCKED, that the Prancing Elites weren’t received favorably by a small town in Alabama. Isn’t the deep south known for it’s tolerance and accepting views of alternative lifestyles? I mean, they’ve been letting black folk vote for almost 50-years!  C’mon man!

Then again, they just began letting African-Americans in their parades a few years ago, so we shouldn’t be surprised a black and gay dance team caused such a ruckus.

On a related note, parade Master of Ceremonies and Duck Dynasty cast member Phil Robertson was found unconscious behind the viewing stand after the boys pranced by. Apparently the Prancing Elites were too much for him.

Prance on, Prancing Elites. Prance on.

PS- Claudia Davis really needs to relax.


Top Fails of 2013.

Posted: December 23, 2013 in Fails, Humor, Interesting Videos

Long but totally worth it.

Cool sign, bro.

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Listen, I know it’s a stressful time for Santa’s Helpers and all, but c’mon guys, you really need to get it together. Don’t do it for yourself. Do it for the kids.

Maybe. Or maybe not. Probably not. Then again . . .


So back on June 23rd, shortly after the Miami Heat won their second straight NBA Championship, I posted an article entitled “15 Reasons I Hate LeBron James.” I wrote it because I wanted people to fully understand why I dislike “King James” so much. Anyway, yesterday I got a long, detailed response to my blog from somebody named LBJ236, taking all 15 of my reasons and explain why each was a misguided, misinformed piece of garbage. FYI, #23 was Bron Bron’s number in Cleveland and it is now #6. LBJ236. Just sayin’.

Now, LeBron is well-known for perusing the worldwide interwebs for any and all things related to him, and if you type in “Why I Hate LeBron James” into Google my little site pops right up.

So I ask you, is it possible “The Chosen One” chose yours truly to respond to? No way, right?

But what the hell, you be the judge. Here’s what I received, word for word. Whoever wrote this basically copied and pasted my blog and added their response to each of the 15 reasons I hate LeBron James. I left in the spelling and grammar mistakes for entertainment value.


Yep, he began calling himself “King James” in high school. Cardinal rule, kids. You simply cannot give yourself a nickname, especially one as pretentious as “King James.” That’s just lame.

LBJ236 Response:

LeBron did NOT give himself this nickname. The fans in Akron and Cleveland started chanting that name and LeBron kept it. Great players don’t nikname themselves. Don’t be makin’ shit up.


Then again, she did sort of ask for it.

Want to really feel good this Christmas? Then do something good for people who truly need our help. Instead of that 6th or 7th or 10th gift for your kids or grandkids send a little to Water is Life. Just click on the name to find out how.

C’mon. Do this for them. Do it for yourself.

“You a bounty hunter?”

“Man’s got to do something for a living these days.”

“Dyin’ ain’t much of a livin’, boy.”

Well done, sirs.

Sometimes kids say things that seemingly come out of nowhere, without regard for common sense or logic. To wit:

I subbed today and ran into a 4th grader in the cafeteria I hadn’t seen in awhile. He had just sat down to open his lunch sack when I walked up . . .

Hey Jackson. What’s up? Anything new?”

“Well, I’ve almost convinced my little brother I’m growing an extra finger.”

I opened my mouth to ask what he meant, froze for a second, and then walked away.

You know what? I really didn’t want to know.