The Agony Of De-Feet

I am sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room, and I'm booted up. I'm booted up, not my computer. My right foot is booted up to knock off some of the agony of de-feet. My feet.
Remember the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat? I don't know about the thrill of victory, but I sure know about the agony of de-feet. De-feet started hurting a few days ago. So, I went to the doctor today. He put on his most serious face and poked my right ankle, looked up at me and asked "Did that hurt?" He had to look up at me, because when he poked, I instantly found myself looking down on him from the ceiling.
He said, "hmmm." I hate that when a doctor or an automobile mechanic pokes something and says, "hmmm." "Hummm" is usually an expensive and painful word.