STUPID HUMOR TALES
Socks are Anarchists
Do they Escape to Outer Space?
Ever open your sock drawer and find one missing?
Where do they go?
I got some wild thoughts about it. They escape to outer space. Butt how? A quick trip along the underground railroad. If they stay in that dark moist place for too long they get the black mold death. So that they have to hurry. You may see great balls of socks roll by to a Space X Rocket. Then lift off!
Some Romantic Nerds are coyotes for the infamous escapee socks longing for divorce and unwanted by the community. They get the socks out to the rockets.
Bang, Zoom — they launched into space.
Are masked by star trails? Maybe! Or are they star trails (see the above photo)? But who really knows?
I’m throwing my socks into the ring, going against the gag order issued by SCOTUS (Sock Court of The United States). Like many other funny people who have mysteriously disappeared into the Sock Courts of the Land for socks robbery, they are in space, flopping around like them there socks.
So, if you’ve stopped believing in Santa Claus recently or a long, long, time ago in a sock draw far, far away, then this little Christmas Story might suck for you. And you’ll be pleading for a Maserati or the end of the climate crisis with wind socks and get this sucky story about socks instead.
The Socks (the suckers! the stupid socks with no brain!) get all clean in the washer, and then like waterboarding, only different they go into the drier and are tortured by hot air (like being in Congress minus the boredom).
It’s their lot in life…
Those smarty pants anarchist socks (with pant-envy) are the most vicious of all sock species because they rabble-rouse underneath the bed. How did they get there? Because they can’t agree on what? Anything. That one phrase they cry out: “Lint me a loan.” And fall prey to the secretly cunning dust bunnies and choke to death.
It’s not pretty.
Free the Socks! Free the Socks! — is my battle cry…
Don’t let them die a dusty desert death or in a bone-dry place. Don’t let them stay underground too long for the death of black mold! Yuck!
Or let them rabble rouse beneath the bed — those nasty anarchists.
Set them free in outer space.
Dedicated to Emily — a chance meeting in Starbucks, comrade in sock tales and I blew it. Was is in 2013, 14, or 15? Sorry ‘bout that. Come again?
Join me on the further adventures of socks and other stupid humor tales.
Blessings, Passion, and Grace on your journey. May whatever your looking for — find you. Like that sock that escaped.
If you have any additional sock sages or a random shares you’re welcome to comment in the responses.
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