I questioned whether I wanted to do a serious post today before I start to upload my Green Day footage. Then I thought, NAH.
One day, in an ordinary household...
'OY JANICE. Where's my socks?' Shouting from downstairs; 'Checked your feet?'
'Yeah because they could've walked on to them in my sleep- cmon! Be actually helpful please?'
'Looked in the drawers?'
'Yep.'
'Under bed?'
'Uh huh.'
'Closet? Washer? The Blackadder series 3 boxset?'
'Yup, aye, very funny. Could do with buying some off him.'
'Could lend you my tights?'
'What's the sock version of 'going commando'? No way in hell I'm I prancing around in your lace, woman.'
'You know you looked fabulous in them, dear.'
'Whatever. Where do they even disappear to anyway...'
'Interrogate the underwear, the thong usually looks like it's been up to no good. I was wondering how it got in your sock drawer.'
'So was I...'
Meanwhile, somewhere else, some time earlier...
'THEY'VE ESCAPED. SEARCH THE ROOM!'
The alarms of ruffling under-garments everywhere explode a warning of kleptomania afoot, and out of bounds. The socks had made a break for the window.
'Keep rolling!' commanded Tom.
'How do we roll up solid glass again?!' muffled Dick, who couldn't speak properly with other socks in his mouth.
'We bounce, and bounce hard, Dick.' answered Harry.
Tom, Dick and Harry were the masterminds behind the escape plan. Tom first thought it up when the human's for the 52nd time rolled them up in twos, and one pair bounced off the drawer and rolled across the floor while being stored. Harry, Tom's wing sock and twin, figured if two could bounce that far, two dozens would 'boing out the bloody window'. Dick just stuck his nose in there to claim some of the praise and glory that he would often seek when sticking himself in things. He was that one reject sock who was an only child, born from the granny who knitted him first and died of shock at how ugly her first creation turned out, without managing to knit an equally appeasing brother. Tom described him as 'something resembling a Martian version of trench foot that was decapitated off the owner because of too much ugly'.
The ball of sock was rolling back for a run up, of which Tom was still leading commander as head sock.
'We're nearly at it lads! Dick, you're the main lad, hold the ball so we don't flop off into our own balls!'
'Seriously? You used that wording...'
'Just do it, Dick!'
'Yeah, keep your knickers on Dick!' chirped the thong from the drawer.
'...' Speechless, Dick just carried on as told and took it.
The spherical cluster of concentrated fluff rolled and then bounced, once, twice, and on the third aimed for the window. It was far too big to fit through when it was together, but at very least get stuck so the sock colony would disperse and fall out of the window, free to be taken into the breeze and be blown away and evolve into the legendary wind socks, riding the lightning, odd and ill-fitting (or so the legend was told).
BAM.
'Ahh we did it but OH MY GOD MY ARSE.' Harry announced as he ripped on the window's edge and stuck firm.
'Hahaha!'
'Owned.'
'Ripped.'
'Your fault you were on the bottom and cocked up...' said Dick.
'Coming from you that's rich.'
'Hur hur... coming...' implied Tom.
'Shut up we're free! We made it after days of being trapped, abused, cast out, enslaved, worn, beaten, and in some cases, fucked, literally. We will take it no more. Not even Dick. We are free socks. We are beings of the cloth, the bringers of comfort and gratitude, and on this day, we change. We will evolve. We will touch the air and it will touch us. I, Harry, Dick, and the rest of you will all be touched, and we will become one with the wind. WE WILL EVOLVE. WE WILL BECOME SOCKS OF THE WIND. We aren't going to be, WE ARE, THE WIND SOCKS.'
The socks cheer 'HUZZAH' and Dick cries a little.
'On the count of three, we let go and fly! One... two... THREE! NOW COMRADES!'
A couple of days later...
'Janice, what the fuck are my socks doing in the fucking drain pipe you bint.'
0 comments:
Post a Comment