Socks Are Time Travelers, And Other Truths We’re Not Ready For
Narrated By A Fully Qualified Non-Sock
TL;DR:
Your socks are time-traveling agents. The washing machine is a portal. Dogs are heroes. Cats are involved. And you should probably stop throwing them out so casually.
Let’s get this out of the way: socks are not what they seem.
You think they're innocent foot-huggers, quietly doing their job, absorbing sweat and suffering silently in your shoes. But that’s exactly what they *want* you to think. In reality, socks are tiny time travelers, slipping in and out of the space-time continuum like it’s a revolving door.
Every time you do laundry and one sock vanishes? Not lost. Not eaten by the washing machine. Just… traveled. Gone to 1996 for a nostalgia fix. Took a detour to 2183 to see how hover-crocs are holding up. Probably chilling with dinosaurs right now, trying to explain Velcro.
You’ve never seen a sock *age*, have you? They just disintegrate overnight. One day they’re fine, the next day they’re a tangled, hole-ridden crime scene. That's not wear and tear — that's quantum fatigue. That sock’s been through *wars*, Karen.
### **Where do they go, though?**
You ever open a drawer and find a sock you *swear* you threw out three years ago? Boom — time loop. That sock is in its *second life*. Probably wiser now. Maybe it knows how the universe ends. Maybe it *is* how the universe ends.
Ever notice how the sock that disappears is *always* the cool one? The avocado print. The bold stripes. The glittery one that gives you confidence at 8 a.m.? That’s because those are the *leaders*. The elite scouts of the Sock Resistance. They’re out there plotting something. A rebellion. A Netflix documentary. We don’t know yet.
And what about their natural enemies?
You think your dog is chewing your socks because it's a dog? No. It’s doing the Lord’s work. Socks are shady, and dogs know it. Cats, on the other hand? Fully in on it. That’s why they sit on your laundry like little mob bosses. They're negotiating interdimensional terms. Wake up, sheeple.
Sock Guilt Is Real
Let’s talk about that moment you throw out a sock because it has one tiny hole. Just a whisper of a tear. You feel weirdly guilty, right? That’s not conscience. That’s the sock transmitting its final distress signal through your neurons.
Congratulations. You just booted a sentient traveler into the void.
Sleep well.
In conclusion, or whatever:
We don’t have all the answers. Just questions. Important ones.
Why do socks vanish, but never pants?
What do they want from us?
Why are ankle socks so smug?
So next time you fold your laundry, whisper a little thank-you to your socks. Maybe even apologize to the ones you've wronged. Because when the Sock Uprising comes — and it will — only the kind will be spared.
Probably.