Here's what I'm experiencing by just quickly glancing at Stinkfoot with her own flip flop in her mouth: An angry and overactive gag-reflex and a case of the warm-drools. I'm not as concerned about the street filth that may be crawling on the bottom of that pink thong (which Stinkfoot has clearly licked clean), as I am about the self-inflicted hazardous material on the inside of the sandal. We all know her foot-stench is comparable to freshly grated parmesan cheese.
You can dress her up, but she still stinks. Of cheese. And Scientology.