The Confessions of Terry Blay:
My dear friends, there comes a time during the course of every puppet’s time on this Earth when he must take stock of his own life. The duly appointed hour has cometh for me, gentle fellows. I remained unaware of its approach, but unprepared to greet it as I was, I could not ignore it, thundering away on the doorknocker of my conscience.
In the pursuit of the ideal of the streetwear lifestyle, I have caused affray as honest merchants attempted to sell their wares, to the point where the local constabulary was required to restore order. I have consorted with muppets of questionable repute, I have been inattentive and slothful at my place of employment. In short, I have indubitably been a bounder, a bore, and a cad.
When one drifts through life like flotsam in a particularly foul stretch of the Thames, as I indubitably have, a momentous event is required to set one on the course of redemption. To believe in providence and serendipity is to believe that when a message from beyond ourselves is trying to reach us, it may take the form of something dear to us, as to guarantee our attention. So it should come as no surprise that my salvation took shape as a sneaker.
It is strange to think now that the day began as any other, with no sign of the wonders to come. But then, it happened; a circuitous trip through the underground room which houses our stock of goods allowed me to stumble upon a meeting of the minds. A gentleman from the fine athletic manufacturing concern, Reebok, was discussing the prospective sale of a new shoe, and to illustrate his point, he held in his hands a sample , an Inferno bedecked in glorious tweed. Not yet being possessed of my newfound sense of propriety, I interrupted this meeting to express my emphatic and enthusiastic approval, using, what I know realize to have been, a ceaseless torrent of foul and abusive language.
The man from Reebok was as amused as Gloucester after his fateful encounter with Cornwall, which is to say, not at all. He became rather agitated, but was indubitably clear in his main point, which was that I, Terry Blay, would never come to possess the tweed Inferno shoes in my condition. Tweed, he maintained, was a proper fabric, for proper gentlemen.
In that moment I felt like Tantalus, one of the ancient, tortured souls of Hades, doomed to have that which would slake my thirst, forever just out of arm’s reach, but my path forward became clear. I, Terry Blay, would have to become a proper gentleman. From that day, I have devoted myself to the gentlemanly arts. I promise you that you will see my feet outfitted in the finest tweed, and know that I have truly become, a new puppet.
Your humble servant,
Terry Blay
