October 05, 2004

• From the history of socks section: For a long time, stockings were a privilege of the rich, as the manufacturing was a guild secret. There used to be sock-maker guilds? Awesome! I bet in the guild, sock-makers got each others back. They keep it real, with secret hand-shakes and everything. I can't believe they have a download section offering a 1.8 MB jpg of socks on a clothesline. WTF? But I do really like the pictures of the founder wearing a suit, with shorts, and socks pulled up to his ears. If any can convince me he always dresses like that everyday, I might buy a pair.
• I thought such specialized sites like these disappeared in the Dot.bomb meltdown. Do you monkeys actually concern yourself with "convenient" aquisition of black socks?
• Secret foot-shakes, dude. Foot-shakes.
• Nostril: Welcome to the Ancient, Mystic Society of No-White-Socks.
• Erm, possibly I shouldn't have let that out of the bag.
• A special sock bag?
• Shut Uuuuuup
• Like a nut sack?
• no, a fanny pack.
• Apparently, Mr. Knickerbocker, they've been around since 1999, so they've survived the dot.com crash and burn. Which means they must have done something right (i.e. not taking all of their venture capital, if venture capital they had, and using it to buy lots of fancy chairs and automobiles). And you don't buy a pair of socks, you buy a, um, sockscription. Well, you can buy a single pair, but they seem to be leaning towards the whole series of socks at specified intervals model. Useful for those like Neil Gaiman, who seems to have difficulty keeping socks.
• Psst, Sandspider, I didn't ask the dot.com question, but I will pass it on. Psst, BearGuy, these guys are still in business!
• Yeah, I noticed they're still in business, but I guess my unstated question was, "Why?" Ordering socks online just doesn't seem like big draw. But I could lead a sheltered cave life full of beer and chocolate.
• About My Sockscription Accept no sockstitutes! For years it appears some galoots have been doing things, and themselves, all wrong. Mea culpa, long sockjected to delusions, failing to eat or embark upon some yellow sockmarine, the songs we hear grow insockstantial, freighted with the world's confusions.
• Beer of the Month Club Chocolate of the Month Club Sock of the Month Club What more could a BearGuy want?
• Lo! I have found what may well be a Clue! The Eater of Socks looked up at the wizards cautiously. Then its jaws started to work again. ...grnf, grnf... "Here, that's one of mine!" said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, making a grab. The Eater of Socks backed away hurriedly. It looked like a very small elephant with a very wide, flared trunk, up which one of the Chair's socks was disappearing. --Terry Pratchitt, Hogfather [bold added]
• BlueHorse, I like the way you think. (-;
• I bought 4 pairs of deluxe black socks last week. Because I wear 'em.
• Deluxe black? Or Deluxe socks? Which is it, man???
• They are one and the same! It is by socks alone I set my mind in motion. It is by the juice of safu that the bod aquires socks the socks aquire black dye The socks becomes very black indeed. It is by socks alone I set my mind in motion.
• Choose socks. Choose a wool. Choose a nylon. Choose a pair of garters. Choose a fucking big sock closet, choose sock washing machines, foot-warmers, compact disc socks and electrical sock-openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and podiatric insurance. Choose fixed interest sock-mortgage repayments. Choose a starter collection. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece sock on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing sock shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your sock. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up socks you spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose socks.
• Monkey poe-ets. Monkey feelossyop-phers. And socks.
• You do not do, you do not do Any more, black sock In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
• Ya putcher left foot in Ya putcher left foot out Ya take the sock by its toe and ya shake that mouse out.
• Damn, gentlemen, that was worth waiting for! Bravo! Bravo! Bravo!!!
• Just a bit of sock-related plagiarism, bees.
• Shh! Not plagiarism when about socks. And it woz so very pretty!
• I wandered lonely, without my socks all slippin' low by burn and glen, when all at once m' garters broke, my argyles slithered down again. My wrinkled heel! My wrinkled toe! Blisters and limpin', wouldn't ye know!
• Yet another from a Man Who Knows About Socks: "A pair of socks?" she said. "Right. Wear 'em," came the mystery voice hoarsely. "Thank you, but I've brought several pairs --" Polly began. There was a faint sigh. "No. Not on your feet. Shove 'em down the front of your trousers. ....you don't bulge where you should bulge, either. You know? Lower down?" -- Terry Pratchett, Monstrous Regiment Had not considered this possible cause of Sock Loss before. And am not sure now how to go about checking to see whether someone of inadequate endowment's got a lucky green sock in their...um...private stash. Life is fraught with Mystery!
• fugugary - are you channeling Alan Ginsburg? There's something very 1950's about that rant. I can hear the bongo drums in the background. ;)
• I apparently can't spell names tonight.
• Now stop and think about it. Would you really WANT your lucky green sock back if you had to wonder where it had been?
• bees - great book! And great timing - I just read it this week :)
• Heh. Me, too, jb.
• well, now, do we gape or gawk if we discover an errant sock doth strut its stuff as a (falsie-d) cock? 'tis not for me to seek to see without an invitation so I'll stay shy of bulging fly resisting all temptation* *(except those of course from a certain bawdy horse)
• This is, like, beeswacky's on-line flirtatorium. Kewl +1!!
• Carpe-thian diem! And nya-ha-ha! Wolof, nor have I forgot those clucurrans berries, mon cher bonvivant! *twirls a growth it is fondly hoped may turn into a moustachio of distinction yet*
• I have a pencil-thin one at the moment.
• Good! Have ye found that missing sock yet, mate?
• I've long suspected that all the socks that disappear from the dryer somehow end up with quonsar... And has anybody said "SOCK IT TO ME!" yet?
• Nostril, I do SO hope you mean a pencil-thin moustachio.
• yes, moustache. And no, can't find the sock.
• I think I could turn and live with socks, they are so flaccid and so tubular, I gaze and gape at them long and longer, they do not twist or stretch about their position; they do not toe the mark by day nor weep for their shins in the dark, they do not spin me yarns about intelligent creation; not one is dissatified -- not one complains about the mania of spending things, not one politicizes food or cars or talks my ears off with how they heat their feet, not one heels toward anger, not one cuffs his fellows in a frenzy, not one is unlucky or fundamentalist over the whole earth.
• Yeah, but they smell.
• like roses, right? right?
• There's a blue sock on my right, and a red sock on my left but my lucky green sock has simply upped and left. How can I find my way through each bewildering day with out some green, without my pair of lucky socks? How can I put my best foot forward, how can I move along without singing the lucky green sock blues song?
• wooOOOOoaaAahhhoooooo . . . I lost my good green sock - the one that brings me luck And now my feet are cold - But no one gives a {beeep} I-hiiiiiii . . need a touch o' green - to win the lottery and such It's lonely standing here - I miss that sock so much But now I don't know what to dooooooooo . . . I got tha - Lucky sock . . Bah-loooooouuuuuuuuuuueeeeeeeess! *big finish*
• *Applauds, after wiping snot off the screen*
• Hey, hey - go, pete!
• YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAA! AAAAALLLLLLLLRIIIIGHT! WAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHAAAAAAAAAHOOOOOOOOOOO! Give it up for PETE--THE BEST!! *chants PETE! PETE! PETE! PETE! PETE! PETE! PETE! PETE! PETE! *waits expectantly with wet towel knowing that underwear will be soon tossed from stage
• B I say B-O B-O-X B-O-X-X Box B-O-X-X Box, box, box, box. S I say S-O S-O-C S-O-C-K Sock S-O-C-K B-O-X-X Sock box!
• Oh, he's got him a cape o' the cloth o' gold, And a pair o' shoon with a velvet sheen, Yet till seven long yarns were spun and told His lucky green sock was not to be seen. "Oh, who is this hath done this deed? This ill deed done to me, To steal away my one green sock And bear it over the salty sea?"
• Bees! Do you have Nostil's lucky green sock?
• Bees, we've found your Sox Perhaps we should organize a knitting bee.
• Wouldn't Bees look fetching in a pair of those sox and this?
• Ach, ye clowns are out to shift the thread's thrust to a hunt for socks which I haven't lost. Those bee sicks are devastatingly beautiful, incidently. But I will not be swayed, for it is Uncle Nostril's sock I seek. It is his LUCKY sock! It is green! Have ye seen the like?
• I ♥ sox. Hot sox.
• =dammit, socks! Where the bee socks, there sock I. O slay me with dragons! My socks and my giraffe they comfort me.
• oooo bees, thou hath forsoothded! heh.
• This is bullshit. I call SockFilter.
• Wrong forum, bone. Heh. Monkeyfilter: all forum one and one forum all!
• Bees has moved directly from honey to the mead.
• I saw mead in the store the other day - is it worth a try? Do you drink it over ice? And do tell bees - are you all about the mead?
• Well, to my mind mead is not worth a try. Insipid stuff. If honey ye must drink, better off with a cup of hot tea into which ye've swirled a bit of honey, as when ye have a cold. For choice, whisky. Straight Scotch. And none o' your nonsense about water or ice in it, either. Now Drambuie tastes a bit like Scotch with honey in it. Sticky stuff. But to this tipple I say pfui. (But wot do I know? Only wot I like.)
• Socks, lucky socks, I know not wot they mean, Socks from the drawer where other socks lie ranked in pairs, To glad my heart, and fill my days with glee, Those days now fled, I am no more serene, But weeping for the pair that is no more.
• I wore mismatched socks again I got another pair just like 'em
• ...five toes are red and five are blue They stay up when I hike 'em.
• ...they're colourful and make me smile, Guess I've got so I like 'em.
• ..but pantyhose has much allure if I Reebok or I Nike 'em.
• O'er Turkmen land I stride so grand, As for me kilts, I haik 'em; When used as tents, they seem immense, Before I finally strike 'em.
• Camerado! this is no sock' Who touches this, touches a Heel...
• My sock, it has holes in the toes, in the sole Ah me! What I need's a darning! With a needle and thread I could make them mended And Lo! My feets would be warming!
• I'm just a sock alone, everywhere I groan, people know I'm going pairless. There will come a time I'm washed free of grime and careless.
• Be alone No more I will find you Where The scent Of your soap Will lead To us
• My lonely sock Has always wanted to go To run away To join the puppet show It whined And stared out the window A face drawn on And a high-pitched "hello" "Go" I said, "And take care, although - If you want to come home You can, you know" fin
• This is a Dog license with the word "dog" crossed out, and "cat" written in in crayon!
• Heh! Why, give a dog license, he'll romp over your bones, redecorate your furniture with strands of hair, strew bits of kibble on your carpet, shove bones and biscuits behind the cushions of your chairs and sleep, if ye have to leave him alone in the house, with his nose in your old shoes, simply because the fool misses the smell of you.
• *snif* that's beautiful beester!
• My sock, oh sock be-toed and bright In the sock-drawer, stuffed in tight, What arthritic hand or eye Could knit thy fearful symmetry?
• Go and catch a falling sock! Get with child a bandicoot! Tell me why the sea is salt, Or why Godzilla isn't cute. Help me to hear the prices rising, Tell me why it's not surprising. And where To fare And when to buy another woolly pair!
• A left, a right A drawer full of sock Successfully fight Or say what the fork. dang - medic!
• "This morning I woke up and couldn't find my socks . . . so I called information" "I said, 'Is this information?' she said 'Yes', I said 'I can't find my socks' . . she said 'They're behind the couch.'" --Steven Wright
• Mr Wright is sheer delight. And knows about socks.
• green how I love you green

  sock

• In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of socks departed The left has gone and so's the right And left me broken-hearted. Hey, I'm a Poe-ette!
• Socks! I'm sorry I spurned you in the summer. Socks! I beg you! This cold is such a bummer! Please come home. Sandals did well in heat. But now I need you, warm, on my feet. Socks! Where are you?
• A stamp of the heel, a turn of the cuff -- Does each sock sense when it's had enough? Stockings have long been famous for running, And clearly some are full of cunning. Between the lauindry basket and the door, A sock slips off and then is seen no more, Socks are obdurate: though owners curse and roar, "Come back!", a missing sock will spurn its owner's drawer.
• I find you missing Woe is me Was is the lint That made you flee? Was it those nasty reeboks That once got wet? Or too much garlic Which fouled my sweat I can change But without you Only once.
• Those socks who remain in perfect pairs regard the lone ones with scornful stares. What have you done, they often say, to drive your errant mate away.
• The Trashman comes and goes, And darkling are the Crows, The Moon doth without light, Though folk peer round they see no sight -- Fishies in a turgid pond Obsessive all with dark Beyond; The streetlight's on! and giving more Brilliance than was the case before, And now I know, for what it's worth, That there hath passed a stocking from my drawer.
• Let us bow our heads and pray that all socks will be made holey.
• The world is charged with the grandeur of Socks. They won't weep out, like sweating from shook folk; They gather to a grayness from the ooze of soil Worn. Why do folk mend now nor wreck their rot? Generations try, have tried, have half-supposed, Yet all is seamed with thread; enriched, stitched with toil; They wear man's smudge and share man's smell; their shot Is paid now; nor shall foot freeze, being hosed.
• Oooooh, Bees, thank you. I like: All things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; And sock threads!
• Take, O take those socks away That so recently were worn, And whose yarns, like well-baked clay Chafe my foot with something foreign: So these stockings wash again, Wash again, With suds of soap, nor soaped in vain, Soaped in vain.
• This thread socks! *bows*
• ahem...the OFFICIAL black socks song... black socks, they never get dirty, the longer you wear them, the blacker they get. some day i'll probably launder them, but something keeps telling me, don't do it yet. not yet, not yet, not yet.... (sing in rounds until vision blurs) back in high school my friends and i used to use this song as a measure of distance. for example, the drive from my house to jennifer lefeaux's was 15 rounds long, and from her house to either piper baier's or sarah o'connor's (they were on the same street but in different directions from the intersection) was another 38 rounds. going the other direction from my house, it was 190 rounds to ann-marie erie's, but only 55 to eugenie bagur's. got all that? good. O.K. now how many rounds of black socks would you have to sing if you left ann-marie's, went to lunch at sarah's, then picked up me and jennifer lefeaux and took us to eugenie's party?
• Delightful, sexyrobot!...and here's an UNOFFICIAL Black Socks Song... without socks, how far can we go? we simply don't know if we'll make it past the rainbow cafe said eugenie speaking sanely it's clear sarah has no idea no telling either how far they could go, she and eugenie, and ann-marie walking with jennifer lefeaux and then all four walking still more and more black socks heavy-laden with secret dirt a secret compound of scales and scurf and grit and foot oil ground among the fibers to go with them wherever they tread aromatically scenting their every step (no one will know 'cause the dirt doesn't show) all of them trudging on for blocks and blocks, growing footsore in their stiff black socks their feet go crunch, their socks go crack but they've gone far too far to go limping back
• I remember fondly the day the group did away with Daisy May And founded a thread in which to play black socks.
• Evil socks you tempt my brain, Frig my asshole again and again Up and down with a hairbrush handle Sometimes thrusting a lubed-up candle, Thus again you thwart my needs, My lucky socks are lost in Leeds. Evil socks, as black as death, Sniff some coke, some horse, some meth, Speaking backward satanic rhyme, Wearing sandals all the time!
• Our Nostril goes no more to Leeds, a town that's bad. He plies his bong in a world gone wrong, and seemingly mad, Or he sits and scowls and sucks a hookah, For he'd two socks with him when he came, But only one lone joy came home again. Poor fellow, reduced to wearing sandals, Now he fears black socks and roamin' candles! Now, listen and attend! Sweet gods of woolen blend, He's phrasing his lament in rhyme, So before he goes around the bend, Send him a new pair by summertime! Oh, let them be the kind o' sock that's never lost, The sort have luck to keep a man from feeling tempest-tossed, And let them be seen to be a lushly verdant, emerald-green, And the luckiest-socks to be worn! Oh, and easily cleaned!
• in the factory, lo! people pass to and fro bearing assorted ballcocks while of Michangelo they incessantly talks with his best and worsted fine milled socks
• No entry found for ballcocks. Try looking up each word separately: heh.
• And double heh!
• These yarns are too much with us: footed and shoon, Wearing and mending, we lay waste what's knit, As little birds before great rainfalls flit; We have frittered our Socks away, a sordid boon! This Sock that bares my toes unto the sky, Once a companion eminently fit To share my joys, is now a thread-bared forfeit, Up-gathered now I bear it, say good-bye: For this, so wan a colour, I want to dye, It moves me much -- Sweet Gods, I'd rather be Clad in raiment far less grey and flimsy, I crave a stocking, warm and bright, to keep me dry, That, like Apollo, high above the land and sea, My trail will blazon, as I brilliant fly.
• That is no closet for new socks. The old In other drawera, shoes heaped upon the floor, -- Their laces partially untied -- and fraying through, The footloose yarns, that unkempt owner wore, Dreads, treads, threads -- travail with great ado Whatever was unwrinkled, weft and warp, Pitched headlong into crowded closet, such neglect Affronting a would-be wearer's intellect.
• I've never seen a poet so inspired by a single sock. Imagine what a pair would do! Bees, email me your mailing address, I want to send you a pair of socks for Christmas.
• I have desired to know Where socks not fall, Where feet through doors slip in and then out sprawl, And amazingly go. I haven't asked to see Whence new socks come, Whose fingers knit longer than moonlight is dumb, Socks out of the price-range of me.
• You want to send *him* some socks for xmas????? /collapse
• Whaddaya want Nosey? He bid the price closest without going over! I'm going to say the shower cleaner is $1.49, Bob
• Yeah! I think we should start a sock drive for Nostril. After all, he started this whole lost sock thing. Poor guy, he's still mourning for his lucky green socks.
• Yes, Nostril needs lucky socks! His expressed preference indicated emerald green, as best I recall.
• Yes, but would it inspire him to write good any poetry? Bees, would you rather have the striped kind with toes in them? (psst, guys, I was thinking more a fuzzy purple hat for Nostril--don't spoil the s'prize
• YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE: NOSTRIL's socks are lost and gone. He has no lucky green socks to put on. So, go! Find some tea. Remove the earpicks which Alnedra put there. Use them wisely to clean one ear, then the next! NOW, CAN YOU HEAR ME? NOSTRIL needs socks. So please: don't give 'em to bees. Thank you.
• AWW, thanx beeswacky! I didn't know you knew my lady friends...anyway, just lying here naked except for my black socks, checking out your MoFi profile, sighing wistfully, and thinking to myself, "yes, yes, but it'll never work out. I'm really more of an ant person."
• sexyrobot, rumour has it heroic glowworms make brilliant companions.
• yeah, but are you going to scrape the propolis from your ass and meet us at irvs on friday at the mofi meet? oh yeah...and something about socks....mmm, socks.
• Very apt for the subject and the season SOCKS - PABLO NERUDA Maru Mori brought me a pair of socks that she knit with her shepherd's hands. Two socks as soft as rabbit fur. I thrust my feet inside them as if they were two little boxes knit from threads of sunset and sheepskin. My feet were two woolen fish in those outrageous socks, two gangly, navy-blue sharks impaled on a golden thread, two giant blackbirds, two cannons: thus were my feet honored by those heavenly socks. They were so beautiful I found my feet unlovable for the very first time, like two crusty old firemen, firemen unworthy of that embroidered fire, those incandescent socks. Nevertheless I fought the sharp temptation to put them away the way schoolboys put fireflies in a bottle, the way scholars hoard holy writ. I fought the mad urge to lock them in a golden cage and feed them birdseed and morsels of pink melon every day. Like jungle explorers who deliver a young deer of the rarest species to the roasting spit then wolf it down in shame, I stretched my feet forward and pulled on those gorgeous socks, and over them my shoes. So this is the moral of my ode: beauty is beauty twice over and good things are doubly good when you're talking about a pair of wool socks in the dead of winter.
• Yes, this is a fine poem, BlueHorse, one of my favourites --'twas also on the old original socks thread, before our Archival Amnesiac Blackout, alas.
• Never seek to tell thy socks, Socks that seldom fold for me, For the weary rain doth fall Silently and foggily. I told my sock, I spilled my heart, Said she must never leave, What I did was not too smart: She's left me here to grieve. Did she absently forget, Go with some passer-by? Off the clothes-line she did flit And left me here to cry.
• Ladies & Gents, there's news to be sent, I've got a little something on my chest I need to vent. I don't need no socks, I need no cloth, And tho' I must admit I'm loath To admit: My feet are warm and cosy, My chubby toes are pink and rosy. Tho' I lost half a green pair I'm sure it's in the vicinity somewhere - I joked about the socks so dapper, Cos' my humour is weird like Zappa. So to make this cheeky chappy happy Please send me an ounce of some wacky tobaccy.
• Time to cancel the Sock Drive! Otherwise Nostril could be buried alive in a deluge of socks which monkeys send to cover the feet of their Uncle and friend. To Uncle Nostril SEND NO SOCKS lest we have to hear his outraged squawks! Tho' I lost half a green pair I'm sure it's in the vicinity somewhere Attention, Athena, great hunting-divinity! Help Uncle Nostril find his stray sock Lest he be searching to infinity.
• Does this mean that the socks meme no longer has legs?
• The poetry of socks is never dead.
• Only lost, and then reposted
• Yes! Luckiest of socks, the green one now Adorned with lint that clings like snow, Must stride among the leprechauns As emerald as an Irish dawn.
• Exactly, you've pegged it. It is indeed the Irish factor that makes the socks lucky. You have seen into my inner soul, mr beeswacky.
• It was Green! Green! Green! We've spent hours and days a-wondering where he's been. When the soap-suds all ran out, He was gone, beyond a doubt, Though we hunted through and under the washing-machine.
• ______ ---|___| ---|___| ---|___| ---(___\ ----\___\ -----\___) striped sock in rapid motion
• Where does the light go when the switch is turned off?
• Where do the eggs go when you close the fridge door?
• Where do the bullfrogs go when ye open the freezer door?
• Him name hopkin freezer frog. PS I'll find my frog.
• When holes wear into the heel It becomes Tied into the other sock A Jack Russell Terrierist toy Grrrrrrr!
• A Clue! Mysterious thick green socks that you can
• *applauds the Jack Russell tear-ier* tick, I think ye've stumbled on a Sock Waystation. These are not usually known to the public. Where did they come from, these thick greens socks? Owner doesn't remember. Or perhaps, the owner can't remember! Can these socks induce amnesia in human beings? It would explain much. Theis person seems to regard the thick green socks as comfortable. Adds they seem to disappear on their own. Very suspicious! Hmm. I think we know the kind of socks these are. All too well.
• These aren't the socks you're looking for. He can go on about his business.
• Can't remember? Or won't remember.
• Jedi Sock-Trick? /head explodes
• Pile the stockings high, and stop us flinging poo, Double them under and let us write I am the socks: I cover feet.
• We are the hollow socks We are the stuffed socks Looming together Codpieces plump with straw. Alas! Our fibrous whispers, when All's yarned together Are woolly and wonderful As boiling to dried peas Or mares' nests among the trees In a back woodlot.
• Ah, socks! Simple foot pleasure, We're friends who treasure The comfort we bring. We're not mysterious. You are delirious, If you think we don't sing To ourselves while we cling To your toes and your heels. Your foot is our king.
• Feety pajamas on in 10!
• Where every seal reclines on rocks, And shoes abandoned lie, The traveller searching for his socks Must fare as ill as thou or I.
• Ol' Nosey may think his position's quite sucky To be adrift in a world without his socks, so lucky And yet I'd agree that life would be neat With lucky green socks to warm my feet. Gooooooo Wildcats!! YAaayyaayayaAayy!! *pom-pom jumps*
• There is a garden by your foot where sometimes lucky socks are put.
• Nostrildamus getting angry When they call him 'Old' He's 34 and looks so young But his feet are cold.
• A pox on the socks that walks without ye.
• Heh. We'll make a Scot o' ye yet, BlueHorse. /joke
• Boiling Broth of Scottish Blood wells within my veins Celtic fire burns twice as hot, every time it rains, My eyes like pissholes in the snow, or pokers from the fire I cannot find my fucking socks which raise my drunken ire. My ears are two fell caverns that attune to songs of war, My mouth a gaping beacon belching words to shock a whore And tho' ye might not think it, my prick's a claymore sword Unsheathed, I'll diamond-cut a path to find my foot-clad hoard.
• )))!!! Hail to thee, brave Boiling Broth of a Scot! Young Uncle Nostril, with two flame-red eyes, Who's first to point out tommy-rot, Erupting like volcanoes spouting to the skies, Foul-mouthed and furious, but never vain-glorious, Our Nostril, whose wit is always good for us, Enlivening, and making everybody wise, Man of great heart, which cannot be disguised.
• I'm making my friends sing the Nostrildamus drinking song next time we go out. A hiley-hidey-hiley-hidey hiley-hidey ho...
• Clocks can be a part of socks, the reason is sublime -- in one sense this allows them to run all the time.
• # Here's an easy # thing to say.... # New socks. # Two socks. # Whose socks? # Sue's socks. # Who sews whose socks? # Sue sews Sue's socks. # Who sees who sew # whose new socks, sir? # You see Sue sew # Sue's new socks, sir. # That's not easy, # Mr. Fox, sir.
• petebest is channelling Dr. Seuss?
• The king sits in Dumferlin town Upon a bench of pine, "O whaur'll I get a new stocking To clothe this foot o mine?"
• I love monkeyfilter.
• monkeyfilter where there's never any telling what the next step will bring (especially if you wear those lucky socks)
• I've been cold and lonely, Lean and steamin', I've been uptown and downtown And I've used my reasonin' But I just can't find what I'm lookin' for, My ol' socks gone. Well I've looked amid the laundry, And I've looked beneath the stairs, And I searched around the junk That I have thrown away there, But the truth is clear, for all to see My ol' socks gone. My ol' sock's gone, oh-woh My cold toes on, oh woah-oh Yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah My ol' sock's gone. I called upon the psychics, Who used their skills to find some hose And I called upon forensics, With their bloodhounds' nose. And then I called my mother, Though I knew it was forlorn, And it's oh so cold When your feet aren't warm... So I've given up tryin'. They were woolly and they were comfy, They were green and they were old, They saw me thru the bad times And they saw me thru the cold - But its time that I admitted They're no longer in the fold, My ol' socks gone. My ol' socks gone, woah My cold feet song, woh-no Yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah, Yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah, And the sole's worn... /fade
• O woe, the tragic lament of it! O the anguish of a man left sockless! *weeps for his friend*
• Old socks, old socks, Lie on the courtside like Reeboks A newspaper blown through the grass Falls on the round toes and the worn heels of the old socks.
• Shall I nevermore be holed?
• Hymn to the Missing Sock. Holey Holey Holey Green sock Almighty Oh, the Bees shall praise thy name And Nostril pine for thee.
• I move that the "Missing sock" be added to the seminal country music list: Heartache, trucks, jail, drinkin', Mom, & missing sock.
• and hymns? What about hymns, Pete?
• only "Amazing Grace", although Jesus is certainly allowed. WWJPMS: Where Would Jesus Put My Sock?
• One sock over the line, sweet Jesus, one sock over the line Sittin' downtown in the haberdashery section, one sock over the line Waitin' for the socks that go home, sweet Mary Hoping that those socks are on time Sittin' downtown in the haberdashery section, one sock over the line Who do you love, I hope it's my green socks I've been changing them, as you can plainly see I felt the joy and I learned about the pain that my mama said loosing a sock could bring, If I should choose to knit a new pair, the lost one Would surely strike me dead, and now I'm One sock over the line.
• These socks are pagan.
• My socks are little pagans; since they left me in the lurch, I know one place I needn't look for them is in a church.
• Well, I'll be darned A country ballad to a missing sock You picked a fine time to leave me loose-heeled, With four broken tarsals and a veruca as w(he)eel I’ve had some bad socks Worn thru’ a whole box Can I sur-vive my barefoot ordeal?
• *applauds wildly*
• *throws underwear onstage*
• *frigs self with hairbrush handle*
• Ooh and there's a flag on the play! Looks like GramMa and bees are discussing it . . . we'll be back after this timeout . . .
• Y'all have been an audience! As y'know, I'm a little bit country and I'm a little bit rock and roll... Deep down in Oxfordshire close to River Stour Way back up in the years around the Civil War There stood a college building with a roof on top Where lived a college boy named Abieze R. Coppe Who not only liked to read and write a book But he could wash his underclothes just like a-wringing a sock Go go Go Abiezer go go go Go Abiezer go go go Go Abiezer go go go Go Abiezer go go go Go go Abieze R. Coppe He used to carry all his socks in a laundry sack Sat beneath the pot plants in a laundromat A service washer saw him sitting in the shade Ranting with the rhythm that the driers made The people passing by, they would stop in shock Oh my, how that college boy could wring his socks His mother told him, someday you'll be a heretic You'll be called a Ranter, you'll surely get some stick But many people queuing up to wash their smalls Will find religious inspiration as they fold their towels And maybe someday you'll get name-tags in your socks Saying Abieze R. Coppe rocks!
• And in this wise self-celebration came to monkeyland. Sing a song of stockings, pocket full of punch, Green socks which are missing, did they go out to lunch? Once the pub was opened, strong men began to cry Isn't that a lucky sock ye're wearing for a tie?
• Ohhhhh, sweeeeeet! Gotta respect those word meisters. *boogaloos off, singing sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me
• Fear not, Beeswacky. The college boy is Master Coppe himself, not my pale imitation.
• Liked it -- do write more poetry, Abiezer_Coppe.
• A day without socks grey, cold pour quoi? O sock take thy toes from out my heart evermore.
• Tis the season to be holey-- Green old socks, Green old socks, Green, old, missing... Heh! Oh what fun it is to find, Nostril's green old sock today. *sung to the tune of that, unh, other song
• We hope you find your lucky sock We hope you find your lucky sock We hope you find your lucky sock And find it right - here!
• Hail to theee, blithe stocking, Shoe thou never woz, That from my house went walking With all your yarns and fuzz In unpremeditated journey just becoz.
• Heartfelt poems about socks.
• Praise neither engine nor caboose, for once the brakes are shot the train of thought must run to pot. Ah, woe is me, today I sing sorrow, I will weep bitter tears all day tomorrow, for my sock is footloose and fancy-free, my ingrate sock has run away from me.
• Folk shed no tear, but smiled, for Zeus and Lada's happy sons, Castor and Pollux, once in a while disputed socks and even traded 'em -- one by one. Swiftly, shipmates, blow by blow, across the seas they both did go, went hunting for a Golden Fleece and in their deepest hearts desired not peace, but golden socks -- and gloves, to keep them warm in golden glory, safe from harm. Socks gleaming in the darkest night, their feet, they thought, would glimmer bright. Yet they by death were severed, the horseman Castor died, while Pollux, the boxer, cried. The yarn of their socks is still untold, but lucky socks are never made of heavy gold. Green is the colour of spring, and therefor hope, eternal in the human breast; green socks by Celtic devas equally are blessed. Green socks are knotted through men's lives, now up, now down, by cunning fingers they're devised, and how -- or why -- they come or go, no man can ultimately know.
• I count my socks, I count my toes, Where lost socks go, Nobody knows. I count my bras, I count my drawers, When green socks go, Then Nostril roars. /bad poetry
• Nostril has bras too? Man this thread is getting better all the time . . .
• I have bras & g-strings. But they belong to my hot wife.
• THROX!
• His missing sock is emerald green, its been weeks since it was seen. We look for it here, we look for it there, we ask the wombat and the bear "Have ye seen half of his lucky pair?"
• Throx, three socks, in Nosey's drawer The bras, the g-strings can't be far One of which is used for luck, One of which is used t- **turntalbe stylus scratchingly pulled from groove** And now for something completely different.
• Not this record, not this record, NOT THIS RECOOOOORD!! (heheh)
• I've just had a horrible thought. Could it be that Nostril doesn't seperate his colored socks from the dark laundry? Could it be that his green socks are NOT lost, they've merely been transformed into a muddy color brown by being washed with black clothing? Could it be that this WHOLE THREAD is actually a hoax that Nostril has purposely or inadvertantly imposed upon us? These questions must be answered! Nostril, go check your underwear drawer.
• suspense music plays
• No, no. Not transformed into muddy brown. Colorfast.
• And now these messages . . . Men - do you need a little life in your love life? Are you constantly wondering how to put the weasel back in your trousers? Well, now you can with NEW! BashiVerse from BeesCo! Yes, delight the ladies with such classic lines as A Bashi there lives whom you may see Crushing a land by the Caspian Sea, And this Bashi rules with no other thought Than to stop everyone who might scheme or plot To oust the Bashi from the topmost spot. Put some funky in your world with the new BashiVerse and sit back while the ladies love you long time! Available at fine Filters and Kwik-E-Mart convenience stores NOW! Only $19.95 plus postage and handling, a one time set-up fee of $35.00 and the keys to your car are required for purchase or lease with no commitment except to buy more when we tell you to, cancel anytime except ever, not valid in Minnesota, Palmerston North, or West Midlands except after 5p.m., must be 18 or over
• Wot about the Fenlands, petebest? The home of sodden woolly socks.
• always valid in the Fens, wot?
• Man, I need a mellow dose. - Mr S. Ranch, 2004
• Fling in there stockings, stockings, And never a cast-off shoe; In drawer now one reposes, Ah, would that one were two!
• One red sock to drive a car One blue to drive a truck One white sock would give me hope One green would give me luck But NoooOOOoooo!
• My sock is like a silent bird who's nested in a dresser drawer, my sock is like an apple-tree whose yarns grow tangled more and more. My sock is like a maple seed that flutters down in spiral fall; my sock is greener than all these more beryl green than Donegal. Raise me a loaf with milk and flour, glaze it with egg and bake it well, slice it in parts and thrust in candles, then set them alight to blaze like hell; sit down, dear friends, and lift a glass, let voices rise in songs of glee, because the lost one in my life is back, my sock is home with me.
• Tonight on SMARTLINE: Is Sock Luck better than your average idiot-pulls-one-out-of-his-@$% luck? Our panelists debate!
• the green sock hangs from a black bedpost in the midnight watch cold fingers stuff it
• Cotton socks are vile when seams run across your toes, after a while they chew holes in you -- and wooly socks, alas, too soon wear through. Socks of silk against your skin for skiing keep you warm and a pair inside your woolen socks is fairly standard form. Nylon stockings wear rather well, acrylic socks, however, tend to smell.
• i bought new socks I watch them. Heyheyheyhey HEY! Get back here! socks, right?
• When socks are abandoned and left all alone, they don't flirt let alone mate again. Unpaired by the drawful -- the spectacle's awful! -- they provide moth fodder and things far odder, get made into sock puppets or used as cleaning rags, or thumbless gloves, becoming the butt of feeble rhymer's gags.
• When stockings last in the hamper bloomed And the great starch early drooped from the collars and cuffs of shirts, I mourned, and yet shall mourn, ny never-returned lucky sock.
• Thsi is too silly not to share; found this on page 242 of The Vampire Encyclopedia, a work previously mentioned here: Socks Items of clothing that can be used to destroay a vampire or at least drive it away, especially in the traditions of the Gypsies of Eastern Europe. It relies upon the obsessive nature of the vampire towards certain items such as seeds, grains, or its own clothes. Vampire hunters steal the left sock [my bold] from the grave od an offending vampire, fill it with rocks or dirt from the grave, and throw it outside the village boundary, preferably into running water. The undead will awaken, miss his sock, and start searching for it, even enduring water in order to retrieve it. The vampire, of course, drowns when he enters the water.
• On the lefthand side of hell's mouth is the ghost of a yew tree, standing by a pool. Whatever you do, don't wash your socks in it. In fact, don't go near it, don't touch the water, blacker than the ink kings use to write death warrants.
• To A New Year of Socks a poem to be read with only one sock by me. *ahem*. O Sock! O Sock which hitherto had lain e'er upon the floor You are no more for 2004. For as surely as a wint'ry branch doth snap, Were my posts to this thread like crap, Or even to say As sunny as a giggling stripper (Oi!) Still tomorrow, still the wanton crush of time Will our socks be paired? Will our meter be spared? Will our drunken half-rhyme schemes show we cared? To Socks! To 2005! May we bee amused by the poems they contrive! Salud! at this point in the program, you may quaff your beverage and mingle about
• I got 3 new pairs of black socks for xmas. Unfortunately, I lost a sock from each of 4 pairs over the last year, so I'm still in the red.
• I got 4 pairs of black socks for Christmas. In other news, look which account still works...
• petebest, always delighful plus! So, do ye have red socks, then, smallish bear?
• Goodbye to the year two thosand and four, we don't need or want ye any more! Ye sorry thing, to lead our lucky sock astray so now we're eager for a better day. Dear sock, come home, and fill us to the brink with glee -- that we this fresh new year may step in merrily. Welcome to ye, then, two thousand and five -- in you may bees make honey, and men relish being alive to stride along with both feet clad in lucky socks, with time to care for one another, and pay less heed to clocks.
• Black socks, sullen, point up specks of lint, White socks, cotton, show the dirt; Grey socks, alas, are what some children wore to slide across the polished floor. Blue socks, sky-blue, are worn by few, and in the wash soon fade to paler hue; yellow socks, rarely sold, suit the young and nattily bold. Red socks when Someone's careless turn the white stuff pink, so washing these, I'm told, is living on the brink; green socks are jewels, and when folk put them on may find they tread as sprightly as a leprechaun.
• Everyone's always after me lucky socks! /freaky_cartoon_leprechaun_thing
• One need not be a stocking to be haunted, One need not spin a yarn; The path of many footfalls treading Continues on. Nor polish, in a midnight moment That brand-new shoe With an unmatched stocking rubbing The heel of you.
• Discovered a poem in The Pnguin Book of Nonsense Verse, which underlines yet another reason socks are important. Some excerpts: The Reluctant Hero, or Barefoot in the Snow

  by Margaret Mary

  When he put on his socks in the morning He found they were much too tight. His feet, without any warning, Had lengthened over night. He didn't have any other, He couldn't pick or choose. He borrowed a pair of his mother's And went to put on his shoes. When he put on his shoes in the morning He found they were much too tight.... [so he tries other footwear, to no avail, until: --] And so he went out barefoot, No socks or shoes he wore. He trod in places where foot Had never trod before. And everywhere his feet sent A message to the sky. His footprints down the street meant A hero's passing by.
• = Mahy, not Mary
• nice find Mr. Bees! A sock will keep your foot dry For a fair amount of time But you wont even ask why The sock is so sublime b/w Did Genghis Khan wear a sock? A lucky one to battle? Would he even give a fsck? High up in his saddle?
• Genghis Khan wore boots of felt --and how they smelt!
• This, the place sock threads begun, where monkeys lingered to have fun -- we owe it all to Nostrildamus -- whose sock-lorn state is ever famous. After that beginning, threads took on strange and stranger twists, so now if ye Search for missing socks, there's quite an number which can't be missed.
• The sock search is on! No Google! No clicks! It's under the bed! It's under the drumsticks! You heard what bees said, Now find that sock thread!
• Evil socks, you cause me pain, Chafing my gonads again and again, Crushing them with your woollen vice While I wank-off to Anneka Rice Her bottom round with sweaty crack, I fap my tadger, whack-whackety-whack. My ball batter squirts in your fibrous taint, I got the idea from 'Portnoy's Complaint'
• Evil socks, I fucked your mother If you had a twin, I fucked another. Death becomes you, its in your veins Like a black'n'decker bit mincing my brains. Don't doubt for a minute, don't doubt for a day I've tried trepanning in my own special way Once with an ice pick, once with an awl Buy a rubber chicken from my garage-sale stall.
• rubber chicken = +1 *ding!*
• And now the question must be this: Though you had fun, Why'd your sock run? Do socks go seeking wooly bliss? Or do socks even know what fun is? Did that sock deem things went amiss? All these and other questions rise To lead us on in wild surmise.
• Glory be to goats for stockinged things! -- To sheep dense-pelted, yarn in rainbow hues; To cotton-bolls, slick spindled until free of seed, To silk that's drawn from caterpillar- ravellings -- Linked strands, knotted and pieced, which turning heel does not refuse, And cuffs, their tucks and garters, timely tackled at need.
• Sok, sock, sock, from the foot in my boot ye flee! And the bunioned hide from a sock that has fled Is all that is left to me.
• I love to dance a merry jig I whirl about just so My one regret, my one upset Is doing it with a naked toe. Heyy SOoooooooocckk!
• Evil socks, you ate my chook I know-not for sure, I read the book And now the film is out in town I'll eat the pie, it's round & brown. Evil socks I'll roast your buns Like undead undies you rise like suns Up above the world so high, I squick a mermaid in the eye.
• Vagrant foot-clad woollen shift Without ado you deftly drift Into my nightmare, whick-click, whick-whack I'm taking prozac which should fix that.
• hee hee!
• Heh! Of sock bereft, (it was not white), my left foot's left (and so's my right) -- Yet Mongol socks are my delight as hastily I steppe along.
• Booooooooo! ;)
• Though each dread pun evokes the Boo Obligatory, Alas, dear pete, I'll never say I'm sorry.
• O green sock, stalking through the bush, where thorn may catch and stone may brush the lint away and your threads fray, sock, why not hurry home today? The dresser drawer contains your mate who wonders why you stay out late, so turn around, don't hesitate! Head for home and not the hills, and cure our Nostril's woes and ills!
• Evil, vile, sock from the pile, My lilly-white senses you defile With cheesy toe-jam collecting dust, Search for my missing green sock I must.
• Come buy my fine socks, A shilling a box, A half-pair for a penny, Come, will ye chose any? See, I've green and I've gold guaranteed free of mould. They were knit by a queen, not a knitting-machine, and are fit for the feet of the finest and proudest and sold by a hawker who shouts long and loudest.
• Socks may have to swallow holes, they're stepped on all the time; what joy in such existence? Are socks just knit to toe a line? Feet use them and abuse them, perhaps socks are outbluffed, no wonder when they scoot away -- we all know that they're cuffed.
• But Stink Foot, as it never will be removed, Though insoles court it in a scent of heaven, So luck, though to a woollen hose is link’d, Will warm itself in a celestial sock And prey on toe jam. ~ William Shakeboot, Gamlet
• Enter Gambol (a clown): Imagination is not fettered, though foul foot-foetors rise to give Young Uncle Nostril an unsavory surprise. Whimlet (aside): See where Prince Nostril on the parapet doth drop his sullied stockings, fouled foot-ware, in sudsy water swoop and swirl the pair the while he chugs a dainty Danish beer? Wallop (a courtier and toady): But, Highness, pray ye ponder well the worth you might attain in some post-mortal yonder if you ne'er wash a swan-white foot again, nor murd'rous swoosh the sock-pent atomies of stench down castle drain and into yon clogged trench.
• Aha! Danish beer. Bloody good idea. Off to the booze shop I go.
• *stands, applauds* Bravo! Bravo!
• *cue bongos & solo sax* Lucky . Ssssssssssssssssssock You laid upon the floor - DEAD! And now (yeah) Holy and hole-y you shall be ALL-iiiiiiiiivvee Survive lucky sock You have risen Risen! And gone away Gone away like so much detritus, the piffle, LAMBASTED by others - CAST to the GROUND! You leave . . . *puffs cigarette* Pour quoi, mon sock? Are we not all woven? Are you GREEN with . . . human envy? Desire to trod upon other's feet? *bongo fill* To sock it to another . . . sock?
• /snaps fingers yeah man
• I have an urge to buy a beret and smoke clove cigarettes.
• I am a man of my word!
• Notice the guitar-playing bendy fingers.
• Whimlet: The noo Prince Nostril leaves his parapet to swallow yet, and now, another brew. His bendy fingers clasp with skill the glass as he begins to riff and sips anew. Skoal, sweet prince! That's a grand portrait of you with your good Hollands; 'twill make a delightful addition to the Monkey Gallery on the wall beside my 'puter.
• Ah, Bees, thou art a gentleman & wordsmith of such superlative nature to swoon & beggar a 32 ft Japanese monster's rampage. The bendy fingers are result of many years of noodling the strings of various stringed instruments. The bent nose be the result of one single insult amidsts a rugby scrum sometime within the decade of Thatcher's Briton when young Nostril dared rude physical activity upon the muddy field. A great pate did impact young Nosty's smelling orifice resulting in asymmetrical bending of the smelling-tube. How ironic!
• Ow-wow-ow! *claps both hands to nose, adding a fourth element to conventilonal see-no-evil-etc monkey-tableaux* Smash not this noble nose with which I smell the rose or -- now I think of it -- my stockinged toes.
• Nice mug Nosey - I think you should be the fifth element to the conventional - *drink* no evil. Of course since beer is divine, that would only leave out Budweiser. all American gentlemen who wish to dispute, please stand slightly to the right. Than-kEW! *THUNK*
• Now let us put the thing plainly -- Nostril's sock has gone down the drain, he said his sock slipped away with the suds to the bay -- so now when he walks he's ungainly. The question which now lies before us as folk frequently ask all in chorus, "If one foot stays bare when ye walk anywhere is it time for a wee doch an' doris?"
• C'mon everybody do the Nostril Hop It's how you do it When you've got one sock It's how you do it When you're on the scene It's how you do it When your sock is green Go Daddy! *piano solo*
• Let us to town! we shall replace those holey socks no man can mend, so when our feet step out the door no longer will our kin implore us to refrain, and purchase more before upon the road we wend.
• Sock it to me?
• "Bring out your thread!" is that's heard when wandering lonely through the third great world about the gnarled and knotty trunk of Ygsdrasil, hunting socks that smell like skunk. "Come, Socks, I'd coax you out of hiding, with a word or two, ill-timed and un- abiding. You can tell by my demeanor I am one who thinks that cuffs are very likely cleaner than your heel and toe. Whether by light of moon or sun, return ye home, and if you need some guiding I'll be there to help you, every well-darned one."
• Of good luck none can tell the worth, but the luck of the lucky runs steady as incoming surf. The man whose lost a lucky sock will stand and gawk at first, then cry he is a man accursed and tear his hair until he's wilder looking than King Lear.
• The light of the moon is a glorious thing except when you're reading or sewing. for the light of the moon can disguise everything so socks do not know if they're coming or going. For this reason by moonkight it's not recommended that folk sit down with their socks to be mended, but instead go out walking, and hunt for the stocking which vanished away, and nevermore was seen by light of day.
• When a lucky sock is gone, all peace is overset -- Over hill and stream and rocky grot I sought, Wore holes through my shoes thus hunting the missing Inquired of strangers if they'd seen a sock that's green, Pondered my chance of a new one purchasing, Couldn't knit a new one since I've not been taught. So I walked for years in the woods in the wild. Til finally Eventually I forgot.
• Beeswacky: 117 - MonkeyFilter: 5
• White Chocolate Wangs!
• Oh god, wrong thread. First time I've done that, now I'll never be able to live down the title of N00b. Please forgive me!!!!
• Wang-ker! :)
• These socks, he said, Grasps them in gnarled hands, A story they do tell, though you know of none. These socks, he said, did bind the feet Of Finn the King, the mighty one, And with the warmth embued between Such toes that never man hath seen He leap'd upon the earth beyond the ken Of mortal men. He fell back faint, his spine against the wall His head inclined near hearth and so I thought would fall, But greyhead leant again to me, blue eyes spark'd so bright These socks, he says, are not just base foot-worn a' slight, But the very secret of the Irish might, The very hidden magic skein to bind a hidden king With them, but those who know-not, scarce! He sank again within the hearth, His bowed-back grey-head bent beneath But I remember still. And for his memory, wear green socks until The end of time unwinds. And even though green sock means little, I wait until the tale will settle, And there amid the words, am I, Green-socked, small, dancing, by and by.
• *standing ovation*
• Whoa! Nostril! The history of green, Irish socks takes on a more emotional tone. I apologize that I originally thought it all trivial!
• )))!!! Excellent work, mate!
• Uh, what? I was pissed out me 'ead when I wrote that & din't even think about it. Bloody load of old crap, if you ask me. You lot are crazy.
• ;)
• Nice Nosey! I declare the orcs defeated and your party finds an enchanted pint, offering immediate shitfacededness when necessary.
• Once upon a midnight bleary, when I with suds was growing beery, From unzipping many a can, then sipping, sopping up still more, While I guzzled, all unmuzzled, suddenly a slipping, tipping -- No! it were a gentle dripping, drip by drop like water dropping, slopping on my entry floor. " 'Tis some stocking," I exclaimed, "dripping on my entry floor, Merely one, a sock I wore."
• Quoth the Nostril: "Burp and snore."
• Take thy pint from out my face, And take thy sock from off my floor!
• 12 little geminis dancing in a row, 11 little cancers, now they're hidden but they grow 10 little capricorns, wearing clean white linen, 9 little aries working hard at wheels a-spinning 8 little tauruses, breaking china plates, 7 little leos barking orders while they wait 6 sagittarians, eating what they see, 5 little virgos doff their caps & make a plea 4 little libras practice balance on their beds, 3 cool aquarians pour the water on their heads 2 little scorpios, their tails a-poised to sting, 1 little pisces lost his socks so here he sing: All the little zodiacal emblems balanced fine But none can fix the socks that someone went and left behind.
• That was great! Okay let's do it again and this time - really emote! I wanna see those leos! Action!
• But, but, but ....Nostril! Geminis are twins, so 12 little Geminis would be twenty-four, right? Unless you mean 12 all together, so that would be six? I'm so confused.
• moments of absorption/obsession with socks when I inscribe their names on a list when I think about paying for them when I pay for them when I clasp their parceled delights to my chest when I carry them off to my abode when I tear their wrappings off when I remove their labels and tags when I discard the nuisance wrap, label, tags when I feel their tactile quality when I place them in a drawer when I remove them first from the drawer when I pull them on when I test for toe-wiggling and general comfort when I step out in them for the first time when I take them off for the first time when I toss them in the laundry hamper when I carry the hamper downstairs when I watch them get placed into the washer when I wave and say bon voyage to them when I wonder if I'll ever see them together again when my dear ones lead me away, weeping, from the laundry room when I blot my eyes for weeping over the transitory quality of paired sock existence when I hear anguished shrieks from the nether portion of the house where the basement and the laundry room are when I dash wildly down three flight of stairs, narrowly avoiding breaking my neck in the process when one I love wrings faltering hands and says apologetically Your Sock Is Gone when I say No! not my NEW sock! not my LOVELY new sock! when I see the answering nod when I abandodn hope when I refuse to the outrage of Fate when I seize the washing machine and dismantle its hose when I peer futilely into the empty hose when I fish down the drain with a plumber's snake when they come to revive me with apple pie and coax me upstairs to have a bite when they lie to me and tell me you'll get over it when I contemplate my eventually approaching birthday and think of all the damn pairs of socks I will inevitably be given instead of books when I lay here and groan aloud when I write this lament
• =when I refuse to bow to the outrage etc Pox!
• Ah, fercryinoutloud! Just buy three pair the same style and color you people. Life is to short to agonize over losing your socks. Pants are a different thing altogether, right Pete?
• (oh, yea, nice poem, Bees)
• "Life is to short to agonize over losing your socks." No it isn't. If all I have to agonise over are missing socks, I consider it a *good thing*. /casts disparaging look around the planet
• Mice like to nest in cast-off socks which they chew into wooly ravelings, and pilgtims always watch their steps as they walk hoping to find a stray sock in their travelings; and so, with heavy heart and feet I homeward stride hoping to find my wayward sock is safely back inside.
• too short TOO short dang, it must be the fault of this preview thingie Mice in socks? That's nothing, that. Insert the foot, and find a rat! Then take a stick, or take a bat. And mash that critter till he's flat.
• when I blot my eyes for weeping over the transitory quality of paired sock existence .
• Fuckity shit bag, black cuntible socks, Wankety arse tit, pissing pink cocks, The pros in the whore house, counting their pricks, The tricks in the garden, eating a twix, Each of them all lost a sock up their arse, I can write poems, but not with much class.
• Hehe good one GramMa! Although it's true That rats have rights They don't have socks Which causes fights
• I too suspect I write with no class, (unless it's on a kindergarten level), for poetry is difficult and to write it well is tricky as the devil. The important thing about writing is to write, and all the better if ye write from the heart, but I think it's useless to worry overmuch about whether or not what ye write is 'art'. Quotes are for Wolof.
• The Joy of Socks via j-walk blog Now we just need a 'Bashi store.
• I don't mind wearing socks with clocks that don't need winding, socks striped or with polka dots are true delight I'm finding; socks worn with gaiters or Argyled are garments in the height of regimental style, but socks that disappear are the pits, and I miss them most if they are socks that fit.
• I have a friend with one big leg He wears a one big sock He stretches them on doorknobs see You can't buy mismatched socks a lot I know for sure a what he's wishin' For he'd be lost if that big sock went missin' So he keeps it in the same damn spot.
• if heart should fix unduly on missing socks, to lose one then is merely quasi-tragic, unlike the pain of severance from a vanished life that brought us love with all its whelming magic
• They lost their way She lost her dream He lost his mind You lost your socks It's hard to comprehend Which is the greater tragedy
• )))!!! Go, go, go, ever beautiful BlueHorse! Only a single sock hangs dripping on the tiles. Only a single sock for one foot. Only one foot bare and flinching on the cold floor. Only one thought -- find the other sock! Only one sock -- for company on a long road. Only one sock to save me from sandal-chafing.
• Luckiest of socks, the green one there Is strung with lint and pilled with collie hair, And now lies limp, a singlet in dresser drawer, Rather than half the pair it was before. Now, of my threescore years and two none of which will come again, (and this is true), At most I have but forty more To examine every other dresser drawer. And since to peer at socks in drawers Can fill a mortal man with horrors, About the household I will flit Looking for a better fit.
• I measured everything in lucky sock-lengths: the length of the carport and the collie's pen, a new slat for the old bedframe, my hatbrim, the collars for the dogs, the span of my waist and the length of my foot (some three fifths of my sock) -- and all was going very well until Someone washed my woolly measure, and now all's skewed, my efforts at precision with great painstaking pain were made in vain.
• hear the hunger-song of the wicked wee moth O I could eat the wide world were it knit-and-perled! that dreamt of devouring some lucky green cloth.
• Wild and wooly socks, out in the misty morn. Perled with dew and glistening, their toes quite rent and torn. These holy socks, we pray, shall never more go roam. But knowing Nostril's history, they won't be going home.
• O beauty, BlueHorse!
• The woolly Sock men set their Hearts upon Turns to Dust -- moth's Fodder -- and is done, Melting like Sherbet on a heated Plate, And blighting every Hope that had begun. And those who husbanded the Knitted Fleece, And those whose Rambling brings them no Release, Alike by no such Emerald Coils are charm'd -- Forsocking them, Luck won't repeat again.
• so bees, did everything come out in feet? heh. metric.
• Oh, darn! I've lost my socks again. I feel like such a heel. I feel unraveled, so undone. It's totally surreal. I'll look again toe-morrow, in corners and dark nooks. Those socks will march in step again or be impaled on hooks. I've got to stop staying up till 2 ayem.
• )))!!!
• beauty GramMa. What happens at 3am? ;)
• The Stocking The wretched yarns below him trip, he stumbles on the stones and slips, a tattered rag, who only rips. He treads the road with failing threads, Nor water and nor fire dreads, Fringed by the rough, hard world, sole shreds.
• My sockless foot still walks the road, It is much chafed by shoes; In spite of which I bear my load While treading dust or ooze. The sock I own's a single one, A faded shade of green, I can't think where I've left its mate In all this rural scene. And so I seize on passers-by, I catch them by their ears, "I've been looking for my MY SOCK!" I yell, and then burst into tears. "Long years have passed, my sock has fled, and left me here alone!" They stare at me and start to shake before they dash for home.
• Area Man Keeps Talking About His Sock film at 11
• Yes, I am haunted by the sock that simply left, I spent hours hunting for it yesterday without consideration it simply went its woolly way leaving me with one arm foot warm and one of heat bereft. I've put signs up with some photos and offered a reward and I've been through all the neighbourhood putting signs upon the doors, as well as the telephone poles up and down the eastern seaboard, and through the Great Lakes and the prairies to Vancouver's shores.
• Don't know what that arm is doing in the third line of the first stanza. Was someone giving me a hand, or wot?
• Now I dream of songbirds chirping in the trees, I plan the garden, and will soon set out the peas, And next I think the cabbage and the chard Between the flowerbeds in our back yard. Yet how I dread to see those green sprouts rise, To flaunt their emerald hues before my eyes. My sock has not returned, and I am woe With hunting for the darned thing high and low.
• And a another big hand for our Bees!
• These socks, they are all homely things, but ye will find they're worn by kings; though we'll assume that kings don't wail if they loose a sock, so a pair does fail. But homely folk like yourself or me who need to keep track of each penny can hoot and carry on for years, if we chance to lose something we wears.
• is it me, or are a few recent comments missing? Er, along with the sock . . .
• Shouldn't be...
• pete, try the where are my socks thread, #4405.
• Well tap my lectern and call me Rufus - my comment was over there, thanks! Comment: 1 Socks: 0 we now return you to your regularly scheduled sock-themed poetry bonanza, already in progress. *theme music*
• I darn the wool slowly and mend my sock holey, so I may journey day by day in search of the one that got away. At night I dream of emerald yarn fit to clothe the feet of Genghis Khan and of many a hero who's long gone, which gives me strength to travel on.
• At night, as I have found my bed I dream of socks and poetry Too good for one, we have two threads For bees to frolic wackily
• O for a closetful of the warm, the wooly emerald green! Instead I have just one, for the other's not been seen. And what is the use of only one sock? If you wear it anywhere and wear it with another sock from yet another pair ye had better carry the business off with an air of aplomb. Or look pretty dumb.
• Here's a bet you just can't lose mismatched socks, meet mismatched shoes!
• O where is my wandering sock tonight? My sock could have gone anywhere (Its mate now is my sole delight) The wanderer's the cause of my torn-out hair Where is my sock tonight? Who wears my sock tonight? My foot is half-froze From my heel to my toes, O where is my sock tonight?
• I am most ashamed to say Two socks I've lost today; I thought myself immune To this frightful curse, And never thought so soon To suffer it the worse. 'tis not a pair I lack, For I had four before. Two grey, the others black, Now they're neither nor.
• a knitted ) for Alnedra!
• Help! The sock-plague is spreading!!! Bring out your threads!
• oooo *ssssst* Okay bees, I'll allow it - but watch yourself Sonny Jim! hehe
• comfort of green wool sliding over metatarsals -- chilblains are banished
• A warm sock in the sack is worth two on the foot
• My darling has big feet And tho i love her dearly Under covers of the darkness I swear she puts 'em on me With sleepy sighs I close my eyes - But Laird I wish she'd stop I'll rue the day I threw away that one green tattered sock.
• O excellent, pete! Injured my shoulder a few years ago, and someone gave me a ... well, it's like a small sack stuffed with rice, which ye can put briefly in the microwave to heat up, then use to warm your feet or whatever. Maybe ye can find one for her. Don't let the terrier play with it. My collie chewed a corner off mine when she was a pup -- rice all over!
• Socks of grey? Throw 'em away! Socks of yellow? Out the window! Socks of white bring no delight, and socks of blue are dismal, too! Give me socks of red only when I'm dead. Let socks of lucky brilliant green be the only socks in which I'm seen!
• T'was Valentine's when m'lady said: "You nincompoop! Get out of bed!" I felt a whiff a rap a kick! When I recalled that she was sick! All huffs and wheezes all sniffs and snorts My poor dear lass was out of sorts And all because I did forget - On rainy days Her foot gets wet! So bless me mama! For I have sinned I didn't find that sock again.
• ))), pete!!! one cold day this old chimney lit and damper open in a dim room grown further thick with smoke then down into the fire kindled fell the bees dazed from darkfall into bright-tongued death while from hidden comb choking the flue sputtering wax dropped and sweetness spilled on snapping branches that last spring wore pollen
• a fitting return, sir bees and well done!
• I ask the lion if he's seen a woolly tube-like thing, its colour green and lion answers with a roar 'Go seek another at a human store!' then I ask the eland and gazelle but it seems that hooved beasts can't tell a sock from a shoe or a hat or a gnu as they go skipping across the veldt on toes that are in keratin shelled my sock is lost! my sock is gone! I cry but they just flick their ears and pass me by
• I sought among the constellations that last refuge of bears with long tails and gorgon's heads and scraps of myths and legends from many vanished folks and nations my sock is lost, have ye seen it? was the burden of my song it's green and woolly and about this long but stars are singularly unobservent, it seems and absorbed in their attempts to simply gleam I got no satisfaction from them, nor the sun, and so came back to search where I'd begun
• My Heart Be Wholed Though I Bee Mad I blot my eyes and blow my nose to gaze, enraptured -- at my toes! Into a pot of emerald paint I've stepped -- though wearing socks I ain't! -- I toss my bonnet into the air for now I'll bee-hum most debonair and blithely prance with feet bright green in the silliest dance ye've ever seen! Into wild song I joyfull burst the best I've sung and yet the worst though all that's in my heart I lock to celebrate -- my socks so mock! Lo! the mad glad dancing of the bees who's splashed green paint up to his knees and like one loon-struck laughs and sings and essays a score of Highland flings! O I tell ye I am mad with glee -- and a bee must dance -- in poetry!
• Old pond: sock slip-off no-sound.
• In Which An Absence of Footware Is Noted Ye evening bats that lurch zigzag, in what at first seems drunken flight, in search of moth and insect phototroping toward a streetlamp's brilliant light, I pity you, not only for your ichorsome diet, but because your hinder limbs must end in furless chilly paws! Poor bats! Ye wear no socks to warm your naked toes, and this sad fate, I must surmise, is doubtless due to lack of extra-tiny hose sized to the feet of active mice, chameleons, voles, and ginkos (though these last three don't often cross in staggered flights the sunless skies). Soon to the starry midnight vault of heaven I deem I must transalt* to ask the gods how did this happen? and is this some god's fault? and who, if so, must have been napping? *Ach, don't blame me -- blame Abiezer_Coppe, coiner of/stumbler upon this word!
• i can never compare to the great bees, but i wanna poetise too! there's a sock just one that you left by the bed you dropped it maybe when you took your clothes and you'll not come back to get it. i've not written poetry since uni, so be nice!
• Hurray! the poem-barrier is breached by prismatic7! O joy, o rapture for lo! an errant sock his captured! So while you're standing on the scene please tell us is the darned thing GREEN? I like it! I am not fierce -- mostly. And then I probably bumble it. Please believe I am always delighted to welcome a fellow practitioner of the High and Ancient Art of Poesy! The sky's the limit! No, make that the uni-verse is our oyster! w00t!
• *sigh* ... an entirely superfluous h manifested -- pox on the thing!
• the lone sock is black - a winter night left heartsore by a love leaving. no, really, it was... not normaly so melancholy but i'm at work on a beautiful day! curse!
• Ye know, in the old days, superstitious folk would recommend a person encountering misfortune take off a garment and then put it back on inside-out in order to turn their luck. Can't say if this works, though, for in this day and age some of the magic may have leaked out of older things. Unless your garment happens to be green, in which case it may be endowed with strong magic to endure and to spring back to life, even as the grass in spring and the weeds in my garden. what a fine haiku this lover's disappearance summoned up in you! In more serious vein: Commiserations. And I hope things soon improve for you.
• my socks today are white white socks black shoes recipe for disaster, mostly - but i know i look good. always!
• In this Year of the Green Cock I put on one emerald sock -- but in spite of all I say or do, the mate to it stays missing, too. That missing sock, so long unseen was knit by leprechauns, I ween, by mortal man no telling when its charms so dear return again. O emerald sock, so long away, I speculate on where you stray and dream your yarns spin high and grand throughout some elfin nether land. When you come back to middle earth green cocks will crow and flowers spring, and bees will dance for all they're worth, while sun and moon beam welcoming.
• A recent day as I hovered o'er The simple wood of my sock drawer I found that I was low A lack of socks, not just my one A trip to Sockland was begun 6 for $6 don't you know I am pleased with my purchase I like supporting the tube sock merchants But now I am stumped My knee-high socks they do annoy I look like wee Lord Fauntleroy Or other silly chump.
• Sir Bees, how are you on the notion of an open-subject FPP for poetry? That is, not one dedicated soley to socks or sloths, tho they be rightly so dedicated. But rather, one just for all attempts - be they hack or graceful waxing - of verse?
• As a connoisseur of the poetry of my fellow monkeys, I must vigorously support petebest's suggestion. Of course, I'll expect continued submissions of verse regarding all things socky as well. I wish I had an iota of talent or knowledge when it comes to verse, so that I could play with you. But sadly, I know nearly nothing about it. Perhaps I'll have to change that.
• mct, if a person starts writing poems, and keeps at it, s/he will progress, but unless folk start at it, they never will. Just as very very few are born knowing how to speak -- poetry's a form of expression ye learn by aborption (reading and listening) and then writing/reciting -- writing poetry is a gradual process, as what one continues focusing attention on becomes increasingly do-able, very like playing the piano or driving a car in that respect. pete, I am all for FPPs on poetry per se. But not in favour of all poetry going into one single FPP, because I find I write here often in reaction/response to a particular comment in a particular thread. Taken out of context much of what I do I suspect would be meaningless. Think it would inhibit my writing, anyhow. Context is all. Meaning per se is relative, and things are what folk make of 'em.
• Understood cap'n. I'll try to word it appropriately. I hope a sidebar poetry link will encourage, ne c'est pas? Of course as MonkeyLaureate (tm) you do have veto powers. MCT, on the other hand, has to do 20 push-ups.
• Being loopy, to bee a PoetLariat suits me.
• Psst, petebest, make sure ye put some links in it, so it's like a real post.
• ook!
• A real post has links?
• can i be the ProletariLariat? the PoetHairyHat?
• ...the ProletariLariat? )))!!!
• A real post has links? Heh, sometimes. :)
• Oh, most are black, but some are blue, one pair is green as Chinese peas; they generally stay inside a shoe (we travel with a pair of these) or else repose inside my knapsack until the happy day we venture back from lands across unstable seas. All my stockings have crossed the wide oceans. No, they never get seasick with the ocean's motion; they're stumbled on the sands of exotic nations and brought me correctly to all my destinations. Yet one of the green socks wearied of this, and set off to find some new foreign bliss, and to this day I don't know where it is -- so I must coax grandmother into knitting another.
• A foot covering is a hell of a thing An item - a purchase A meme-thread doth serve us A sock! The grave as a clock! It's green, the sheen of poetry giv'n! links, check! thread to the launch pad in 5 . . .4 . . .3 . .
• The seagulls screech up in the sky but socks are silent when they fly; their ways are strange their tracks unknown, sometimes one strikes out on its own. Men wonder but they do not know which of their socks is next to go.
• In all my travels round the world no garment warms this little girl like socks in all their cotton glory you hear the truth within my story they help me to forget my woes and hug most kindly all my toes so to my socks I will declare undying love a bond most queer but I am not alone in this just look up above and read this list
• Hurray and ))) for hihikomori!!!
• *blush* Thank you, beeswacky!
• You earned it, hikikomori. Ah, these socks, they ensnarl us all with their intimnate yarns and their runaway ways.
• Now it must be that all these Enduring young socks Which I stare at In wonder this morn Won't be changed by tomorrow They won't seem careworn Since they'll suffer no harm As they weather each storm. Their threads will never be unspun, So they'll end day as they began.
• Woolly sock, who knit thee? Dost thou know who knit thee? Who reinforced thy heel and toe With neat green stitches in a row?
• Gu'in a math a bhios sibh!!!!! = May it be well with you.
• Sock, I see ye have come a long journey. Whichever way brought ye in, from the south road or from the east, ye're always welcome to this house. Come to the hearth, and take the chill off. Whether ye will have a glass of wine or whisky? Here is honey and a loaf of bread, and a dish of nuts out of their shells -- I have never tasted sweeter nor tenderer. Will ye have a spoonful of this sweetmeat? [= pudding] Whether ye would have apple or grapes with the cheese? Try now a glass of this old port which has been straining at its cork waiting for the day ye'ld join the feast.
• They flee from me that sometime did me sock ...
• In snowy ancient days, as I suppose, the well-off stuck their feet in hose, while all the rest in winter froze or wrapped some rags about their toes. Now, crasser folk would try to blame us coz they they think our stockings heinous, made of wool, and emerald green -- to boot -- and wondrous lucky, too, without dispute. But Fate, or Fortune, seems to lure away one half of each pair that glads our day, and it's true, the stockings we've not got are the very same ones that run a lot.
• a sock, a single one, in the midst of the highway waits and waits for a foolish passerby to write about its solitary plight
• Wile traveling about I saw a sock without owner "A loner" says I A wandering kindred soul I with sock well-met Adopted it as my pet, solely 'Cause only the lonely know The ways of the lost sock
• wrinkled green stocking gone away without farewell -- my luck has left me
• Here is an ancient foreigner who sigheth one-two-three, with one foot well clad, the other bare, he is a fright to see.
• Tomorrow there will be a service held to honor the memory of Nostril's green sock. Anyone not wearing green socks or undies will be excluded.
• Young Uncle lay on Footling Bank and wow! but he was flying high! and there he saw a fairy lass knitting like mad as she rode by. Her yarn was of the staple wool, more green than grass or April's moss, at every toss of her horse's head she whispered to it, "I'm the boss." Young Uncle, he leaped onto his feet and louted low upon his knee, saying, "Lady, ye've knit an emerald sock and it's casting a glamour over me*." /nominated for silliest come-hither line Evah!
• Gramma, thats a strict dress code. Fortunately you didn't specify which article goes where.
• A sock not taught to live the lovely life of laundry May go wand'ring And miss the roiling tumble of bubbles in the wash. But a wand'ring sock may tenaciously trek these territories And find love With the sock of yet another's other wand'ring wash.
• Poor laundered sock! Though thou hast surely strayed, I'll take needle in hand, I'll mend what is frayed Then you'll march with your mate in the grand parade. Sudsy and dripping, the sight will be gripping, As you squelch along, quite damp, but undismayed.
• *bows to the mastah, bees-san*
• Upside to sock ownership: They don't need to be fed special diets. They don't scratch, whine, bark to be let outside. They don't attack the letter-carrier. They don't -- often -- get into the neighbour's garbage. They don't growl. Much. They don't hog my favorite armchair. They don't leave spicules of bone in my bed. /loves his socks
• Of socks and the man I sing (or shortly shall) who first flitted from too-trodden shores that pall, and damply dismal northern climes, to land in non-Scots Perth and there did set one sockless foot (though let me postulare a welcome boot) upon the baking sizzle of the Aussie earth.
• My cat likes to eat sock lint off the floor. That is all.
• Throx
• Throx times 2
• tis time to take off my sock and go to bed..
• yes I've seen cats stare at strange small things like nailholes in a plaster wall or twist ties when they tire of staring cats may pounce or try to swat the whatsit with a paw unlike frogs who make sudden angle brackets with their hind legs long after you forget the frog is there and startle you (or at least me) today the frogs call from the pond from the woods ready to plunge me into spring one more time with their angled legs their can't-quit grins
• Him name is Hopkin Grin Frog.
• I woz kept up all night because my socks are LOUD!
• now, sir, I am writing to cancel my subscription to your Sock of the Month Club they come by one and then by one again and never two by companionable two and it's growing more than I can bear to deal with just half of another pair
• That damn Quotes cat just shredded one of my favorite pairs of socks with little stars and moons on them. Grrrr Bees, does this call for a sad poem?
• It's perfectly appalling! The stars and the moon have fallen! The Quotes-Cat sharpened a tiny claw to overthrow celestial law!
• by the turning shaft is another of sunlight in the old mill the dusty moths wait for dinner wait for men wearing warm wool socks to come stamping in the morhs fall like flakes of bran to settle in the place where the men sit down talking over the steady rumble and the groan of the great wheel while moths do what moths do so that when I sit tomight on the edge of my bed to peel my socks off all I find is a scrap or two of emerald wool inside an empty floured shoe
• I know I talked big about a Poetry FPP, but I've come to the realization that it fits perfectly in any FPP. Especially these ones here at the beginning. Although I don't particularly favor a "bananaguard" poem.
• A true story ... Spring is born from winter most bittersweet A cold fact that I reluctantly did meet As I walked to my bus this morning head-down As usual, to spot trap or treasure on the ground I noted, as I had in days past, The deep snow, retreating from the edges fast An unwilling confessor, it could no longer contain The grisly evidence of a murderer's domain Helpless and in shame It drew back the cover from the corpse concealed For so many months, and now to my horror revealed A single black sock, I stared on in shock, At this sodden, half-frozen lost soul The misplaced and forgotten half of a whole Half of my grief lay here and the other At the back of the drawer, with his forsaken brother.
• )))
• Hey, Koko -- )))for a fine one!!!
• Thanks, pete n' bees!
• Everything here is weird, and smells like cheeses, espexially the green sock sticking out of the pile of neatly folded black socks. And the white fishbone sticking out of it. And the cats off to one side, yowling and yudeling cat wise.
• MonkeyFilter by a dab toep Daisy Mae and green socks poetry and painted rocks fuzzy kittens and flinging poo fupping ducks and cockpunch, too
• Cockbong Will not linger long In this thread with a poem long For of black socks I have no song.
• sparks fly as I watch you catch yourself, correcting at the last possible instant after you lurch sideways through the air with your tentflap wings matching the red rush threading my lungs hurling my heart till it almost bursts
• 'Twas ever thus from childhood's hour! My woollen stockings would not stay: I never wore a shirt or waistcoat Half so apt from me to stray. I never cursed a dear green sock But I was fed a pomegranate; I never learned to simply talk, Whene'er I speak I start with "Dammit!"
• I wandered from room to room Sockless doom haunted me Where could my pile of clean socks be? Alack alay, they were not lost That handsome woman put them in the wash. Oh well I guess it won't hurt To wear socks that have a bit of dirt. Signed, Sockless in Piscadaway
• I choose mountains with rock-rooted trees I choose black tea with a dollop of cream I choose lake water with incoming geese I choose lucky socks of emerald green
• Supine clothing Outerwear Clean Koala-bear Silliness
• The Snake and Worm I often ponder, how do they get from here to yonder? It seems to me it's rather neat to cross the ground when ye've got no feet. And if ye have no feet at all why, wearing socks is difficult. Oh, some grow steaduly and slow, as a green worm stretches, and some grow in great spurts from tiny wretches and have to split their shells or cast their skin before we see a Butterfly begin.
• In business no more For I have learned You can't get rich Selling socks to worms Cats too, it seems Have no cause To put fuzzy socks Over thier furry paws It seemed as if I'd be out of luck Were it not For my friend the duck Yes, ducks you see Have taken a liking To wearing wild socks It's really quite striking To see a duck Parade about In one sock (or two) You'll laugh and shout So here's to duck socks Be they green or black Our animal friends Waddle waddle, quack quack.
• Because I have to walk for blocks With quacks, and moans, and even squawks, I'd like to have some ducky socks, Green ones, for a duck that talks writes bad poetry
• ))) for !!! blueHorse, these moaning ducks are worrisome. maybe ye should feed them some bananas, too?
• At every step I take I hear a groan, and looking down I see one stocking's left me, one alone -- for second shoe and stocking, both are gone! Yes, ocean twinkles merry blue; but beach is wide whereon I stride; the sand hath seized my right hand shoe and snatched away my right sock, too And from the stocking which is left I hear a grain from sock bereft. "O moaning sock beside the sea we'll walk back, tracking carefully." I tried my best to reassure but woolly grief cannot be cured
• bees can't spell nor can he tell grains from groans this side of hell he leaves behind a fearful mess yet the poor fool dreams of sock-cess
• /me grains at the punny verse
• Sock of the morning, beautiful sock, daylong companion wherever I walk -- what swkward step or sudden turn took you from me, I cannot learn.
• alas, so awkward, this groping for a sock word!
• mountain of socks deep in a closet buried the shoes and the silken cravats summit of stockings some day we shall climb it someday we shall wash it and that will be that
• o knitted yarns, lumpy hose, green above groves in leaf how long will you cling to the foot-smells of the foolish? dear sock, snuggler of my toes your leaving brings me grief formost among grasses, ferns, mosses your green I cherish
• a haughty sock wound through the rest and looped them closely to its breast a tangled knot of giant size to horrify our awe-struck eyes
• A giant sock If placed correctly Would cover the Empire State Building Keeping the occupants Snug and dry.
• Socks are extremely inspirational it seems. I can't seem to access the search function to find the poetry thread because it keeps running down the page and won't let me click it--weird. Has this happened to anyone else lately? Anyway, this poem is for the Bees: Orchid Now that you are gone, you are everywhere. Take this orchid, for instance, its swollen lip, the scrawny stalk's one descended testicle as wrinkled as rhetoric on the bar-scene stump, the golden years since jingling in its purse. How else signal the bee? In my swan-clip now languish urgent appeals from the usual charities lined up to be ignored. But your flags are up: I see the flapping petals, the whorl of sepals, their grinning come-on. Always game, again I'd head straight for the column's sweet trap. Ducking under the puckered anther cap to glide towards the stiff, waxy sense of things, where male and female hardly matter to one's heady urge to pull back the glistening lobes and penetrate the heart, I fell for it every time, the sticky bead laid down on my back as I huddled there with whatever— mimicking enemy or friend, the molecular musk of each a triggering lure— wanted the most of me. Can I leave now too? I have death's dust-seed on me. I have it from touching you. J. D. McClatchy. I thought it was interesting metaphors, but I'm sure Bees is actually drunk on the honey of love--or he deserves to b.
• Socks are extremely inspirational it seems. I can't seem to access the search function to find the poetry thread because it keeps running down the page and won't let me click it--weird. Has this happened to anyone else lately? Anyway, this poem is for the Bees: Orchid Now that you are gone, you are everywhere. Take this orchid, for instance, its swollen lip, the scrawny stalk's one descended testicle as wrinkled as rhetoric on the bar-scene stump, the golden years since jingling in its purse. How else signal the bee? In my swan-clip now languish urgent appeals from the usual charities lined up to be ignored. But your flags are up: I see the flapping petals, the whorl of sepals, their grinning come-on. Always game, again I'd head straight for the column's sweet trap. Ducking under the puckered anther cap to glide towards the stiff, waxy sense of things, where male and female hardly matter to one's heady urge to pull back the glistening lobes and penetrate the heart, I fell for it every time, the sticky bead laid down on my back as I huddled there with whatever— mimicking enemy or friend, the molecular musk of each a triggering lure— wanted the most of me. Can I leave now too? I have death's dust-seed on me. I have it from touching you. J. D. McClatchy. I thought it was interesting metaphors, but I'm sure Bees is actually drunk on the honey of love--or he deserves to b.
• had! had interesting metaphors damn verbs
• Try clicking on this, see if it gets ye there.
• Msmall>Thanks, BlueHorsae, that's a most handsome bee poem, and one I hadn't read before!
• *secretly switches bees to decaf*
• Some fiend hath my sock lured from its happy home so now it wanders, woolly, ever worsted, and forlorn. The mate it left behind is woe,and I have one cold foot where'er I go. To a fairy grot I strayed by yonder ferny glen and inquired most politely if They'd send it home again. There, seated on a mound, I piped all night for Them, the glow of light from underground I saw, heard laughter of a host and a lady clothed in green tried to coax me in with Them. But I was firm, and would not go, though sorely tempted by their queen.
• O the lonely sock-mate Snug, curled in the drawer Waiting
• the sock lies sandwiched between foot and shoe its days are therefore dark its pleasures few small wonder that it slips away and ends its days a castaway
• Glad will I be when winter's fled and gone, and Spring my tears and fears abates -- Ah, when will my ten toes be comforted again? And The Lone Sock paired with its missing mate?
• when my sock returns from its long sojourn whose woe will be the first to heel? my sock is gone it was all green, it had tremendous socks-sppeal! my heart doth fill with wooly glee at thought of it come back to me!
• ah bees - ever witty and painful Whose hose pulls the no-shows? That wascally nostrildamus What fiend rules the sock scene? The beetime is upon us What slacker fails the sock test? That would be the other petebest.
• socks need to be summoned invited into the sock drawer into the hamper into the dryer coaxed onto the foot then the floor firm under them as they flex and lift swing and descend housing the feet snugly as along the track they wend praise socks and pamper them any time ye hamper them! remove the splinters and the burrs that socks collect or else expect them to disappear abruptly quietly as onto their own secret path they steer
• A nose today I found My pup's Observing from the ground As I went about applying my lucky green socks. Always observant, she That dog Appears quite earnestly To marvel at the concept of my lucky green socks. Only just realized That hound! Has taken - by surprise And brazenly absconded with one lucky green sock! Come back here you @#%! cur! You bitch! I should have known it's her Who took away and nested with my lucky green sock! Ah ye darned animal, you do have a cute face don'tcha. Don'tcha!
• I dreamt our two paths crossed again I dreamt you home with me and me in socks of green and you in socks of white dancing our old dance before the flicker from the hearth until the rich smoke the snap of wood the feel of you enchanted me again to wakefulness to find you gone from all around except my mind
• Whenever I write in prose I'm nearly rational, yet it seems last night I attended a bacchanall I wore my green tie and a pair of green hose and very little else in the way of other clothes and, to judge by the pictures on the front page, green socks were somehow all the rage, for they appeared in every shot. How? Dunno -- for I remember nought. It seems a great pity I can't now recall what all of us did with the enticing Mrs Hall. And why did we climb to the top of that plinth? Could we have been drinking old-fashiooned absinthe? (I know I got tight) Well, no doubt it was quite an enjoyable orgy, but this morning my head feels incredibly porridgy..
• My collie sleeps beside my bed, she much prefers the floor; but the dachshund's annoyingly insistent that the bed has room for someone more. Once up, she hogs the middle of the bed, and ties the covers in a knot and as for moving over once she's in -- well, she will absolutely not. So at night there's one bed in my room full of dachshund, and luckily a second bed into which I stealthily sneak once the blanketty blank dachshund's fallen asleep. All of which above is simply preamble to the fact I now wear socks to bed -- for the floor's bare wood, except for the old hooked rug upon which the collie makes herself all snug. And some dog (not the collie) ate one of my slippers -- a deed which seems a simple act of spite for a dachshund's no longer allowed to carry bones upstairs to chew them in the bed at might.
• One cat, my big Main Coon, Sleeps nestled on my right arm While I pet his stomach And he purrs me me to sleep. The other cat, a Manx, Is fascinated by feet. Sometimes he'll wrap himself Around one foot, pressing his Tummy against the sole. It's like wearing one slipper. Other times, he'll attack my foot, But gently. Kick it a couple Of times, then hug it while he goes to sleep. But, my first cat Makes sure I'll sleep,cuddled up. No socks required
• hehe awesome bees & path - I take it these verse are snuggled into reality of a sort? You can try, but cannot resist the bedhog, the Jack Russell Terrierist For try though you might Her theatre is night Where she stealthily hogs The bedspace you missed Though her action's simply malignant With a shove she grows quite indignant Made so all the more As she returns to the floor With a mighty thump and shake Then sneaks back until you're acceptant
• O the tidbits a fuzzy sock doth make Wee fuzzy morsels of fluff Carpet canapes for a wee kitty to take One linty hors d'oeuvre is never enough.
• ... think I would go mad wearing a cat on one foot ... have enough trouble with socks ....
• Nice one, Koko! Thanks to the collie, I have long strands and clumps if she's not brushed at least every other day...these go well with the bird dander and feathers...dammit, we need seven maids with seven mops in here! And a vacuum wouldn't hurt, either...
• a Collie flowbee perhaps?
• I have seriously considered a theory that postulates spontaneous generation of large floor wads of dog hair from my Kelpies as the root cause of Pekes and Shih Tzus.
• Eeee! And I thought vampire watermelons were the worst we had to fear!
• I knit new cats frequently from the fir on my floor.
• I fear the fir upon the floor the way it shoots out little roots the moss that hangs down from the ceiling the lichens crusting o'er the wall they don't belong in here at all and give me an uneasy feeling
• Will no one wash these filthy socks? The foul things are as hard as rocks! And every time they touch the floor they scratch and gouge it to its core. There has to be some better way -- will no one throw these socks away?
• Don't be so hasty Mister Bees Though socks are nasty Your feet have needs They long for comfort When out walking A sock of some sort Or perhaps a stocking.
• While Bashi has the treasury and Bashi's smiles are sugary, the desperate utter flattery and laughter seems a mockery, for his people have the drudgery and all their days are misery.
• Folk seldom say, 'sockloose and fancy-free' though why we don't is a mystery to me.
• Methinks I see the word "Bashi" A misplaced piece of poetry?
• Aye. /dolt
• Uh-oh: Oh where has my lucky verse gone? I miss it so, etc.
• Sock-loose and fancy-free will never suit me! I want both socks in each pair, not strolling around with one foot bare! My socks are dear to me -- they embrace each bony foot so I can galivant about in woolly felicity! A pox upon the thief who snatches one but not the both, a fiend as fatal to my woolly ones as any hungry moth.
• A hat on head A sock on foot My underwear I did not put I'm strangly cold I'm feeling bare That other sock I'd better wear
• forgot to mention that poor poem was dedicated to bees and inspired by pete_best and I don't know what happened above, I swear
• Ma'am, I'd admire to hear more about this Strangly Cold galoot o' yours.
• soggy smelly too long airless locked in leather footing it featly everywhere I go o what boots it?
• At work there are white socks covered with sneakers it's a hospital At home there are white socks covered with dog hairs it's a mess
• today I choose to wear dog-coloured socks to dock by the sea of the sod-coloured mallards that won't eat the collards or sing ducky ballads ir pay for my dinner with one legal dollar
• I have a singil sok, bot one in numbyr, and every nyht I pull hym off in myn ladye's chaumbyr.
•             ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄                              ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓             ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓          ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ ▓▓                           ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ ▀▀          ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ █▌          ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ █▌          ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ █▌          ▐████████▌ █▌          ▐████████▌ █▌          ▐████████▌ █▌                ▐████████▌ █▌          ▐████████▌ █▌                ▐████████▌ ██►           ▐████████▌ ███►         ◄█████████▌ ████►             ▐██████████▌ █████►             ◄████████████► █████►       ██████████████► █████►               ◄██████████████► █████►        ◄██████████████► █████►          ◄█████████████► █████►           ◄█████████████► ████►            ◄█████████████► ██►             ◄█████████████►               ◄█████████████►                ◄███████████►                  ◄████████►                                  ◄█████►                                        
• Good grief, roryk! *gives him Monkey Crown for King of Ascii Art*
• roryk, those are marvels! my nose is long and bulbous and my feet are just enormous and every time I picks 'em up I sprains my psoas I like to sip my negus from a painted scyphus and darn my socks so beauteous -- they're green as asparagus
• *blushes* goes to look up meaning of psoas, negus.
• Those socks are so real I can feel the fuzz... Initially, I thought I had clicked on the link to the blacksocks site, and they had updated their frontpage with a new logo!
• Man, that's some good ascii! I can practically smell those socks. And kudos to bees for making this thread one of the best on MoFi.
• Glad ye like it, oklo; many monkeys have contributed to this thread, and hopefully more will.
• off my feet I pluck one lone, lorn sock the other's disappeared somewhere when I ran out of luck a sock is but a well-wrought cloak to wrap the foot of some poor bloke
• Pox! for well-wrought read well-heeled, please
• Stocking, stocking, growing ripe in the bosom of the night, what intrepid breed of men would dare to put ye on again?
• In breif but weird alt summation; I do declare o'er all the land - The sock is found! On my vacation! If I only knew where i am!
• Hi petes! Hope your enjoying yourselves!
• Don't loose that sock, petes, or we'll not have it to put on our feets.
• gah! my apologies. i was running a vb script on my machine and trying to read monkeyfilter at the same time. the evil script posted an empty comment, i suppose because my browser had focus...
• Yet if considered as a picture...or an answer... it is thought-provoking, nonetheless, roryk. ;]
• thanks bees. as a matter of fact, i am wearing sandals today, without socks, black or otherwise. naturally, the weather has transformed from a sunny june morning to torrential rain, thunder, and lightning.
• Together we've skied down the slopes and mounted horses by the score but now you're threadbare as my hope of finding you back in my drawer. For some among the laundry crew --folk who knew not what they did -- one morning thrust you deep into the garbage can and slammed the lid.
• They will not leave my socks in peace! They sneak into my room with ease and steal my stockings from the drawer though I lock and bar the bedroom door Over the hamper I stand guard, to catch these rogues I am prepared -- I have a net I have a rope I'll make them feast on laundry soap!
• I do not want Bee's moldy socks He may keep them in a lock'd box A box nailed shut with numerous locks And heaped upon it piles of rocks
• Unhand my socks! I cried aloud and roused the house to seek the thief who'd made off with my well-darned socks, may he roast on a spit o'er the Fires Beneath. My household groaned and made complaint, "Hey! Getting up again we ain't!" And so I sit with my trusty dogs -- qw'll down the guy who steals my togs!
• =we'll
•   ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓        sometimes        ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒   ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓     i am obliged to     ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒   ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓        satisfice        ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒   ═════════     pairing one sock    ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬   ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓       with another      ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒   ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓    that's not as nice   ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒   ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓                         ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒    ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓                         ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒    ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓                        ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒     ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓                      ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒      ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓                    ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒      ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓                  ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒       ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓                 ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒        ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓               ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒         ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓               ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒          ▓▓▓▓▓                 ▒▒▒▒▒
• ))), roryk!!! O one is white and one is grey, disgraceful when they get that way!.
• I think that I shall take a seat And take some time to watch my feet Another sock I cannot lose For another one would make it two's!
• my sock is sweet and thick as a marshmellow I'm glad it doesn't belong to some other fellow I'm sure my joy would be complete with a thick white sock on either foot, but since one sock won't cover two feet there's just no way that I can do it
• Doug Tanoury Ode To Feet I have seen poetic feet so perfect, The very smallest units Of patterned stress, Soft idioms of Iambic And drum beats of Anapestic, That march across the carpet In measured meter toward full-length mirrors. I am the bard of bare soles And naked ankles, Of fallen arches and Swollen heels, Of toenails Pedicured and painted, That catch the light Like so many cut sapphires, All arranged In descending order of size. I have crafted couplets in Trochaic, And started the heartbeat of lines in Spondaic, For I am the poet of feet, Perfect and imperfect, Poetic And otherwise, Of bunions, bumps and bent toes, Carried within or laid upon A pump, mule, sandal or thong.
• Footloose, with fancy fried, I find I tuck my toes inside my hat, my shirt, my overcoat, since Mrs Murphy's billygoat has eaten both my green wool socks -- I take my toes for lengthy walks.
• In Which He Wanders, Lonely as a Crowd Foot the First Socks and the man I sing, who thirsted to wear two socks of woolen worsted while he hiked across the rugged hills in search of herbs to lessen mankind's ills. He sought the flower, bud, and eke the root, the bark, the stem, the leaf, the berry and the fruit, the corm, the drupe, the pod, the husk, all this he did between day's dawn and dusk. Each night he'd build a tiny fire, eat, and wash his filthied socks, and hang them on a bush, until the sorry day came when he could not find one sock, now fled, which left him, bare, behind.
• I grabbed a cask of ale, A wench She squealed, "What's that smell?" That feeted stench? My socks set sail And since I've steeled my nose from hell The Pirate's Foot! Ahhrrr!
• poor wandering sock though thou hast surely strayed take epsom salts and we shall waltz sock be not now a-frayed
• O the sock of my dreams is the darnedest sock of all the socks I know each threadbare strand like a worn sweatband stretches both high and low the green of its sheen is the eeriest seen between here and the Northern Lights and though my sock may be still a far cry from me I'll miss it those cold winter nights.
• Cold nights. Feet fishing Under covers For warmth. But loving the Chill in anticipation. Cold nights. Feet fishing For warmth. A lover's legs! No socks needed When warm flesh is next to me. Cold nights. Blanket weight Sinks us Into dreams, While we sleep, and We'll sleep late in the morning. On cold nights.
• *hugs path*
• *tickles mct*
• *applauds*
• Hey hey what's going on around here?! Darned kids! *shakes fist* *ahem* mi mi mi mi miiiii The joy of socks They rock my feet To the beat of the street Best when the dryer Dings, I apply them Hot like my socks rock Shoes not needed Advice heeded to sleep In sock footed sheets putted away Waiter! Another beer please
• Three mateless single socks I stuffed into a fourth, and the collie, once I threw it, chased after it for all she's worth. Other than this, I find little use for such leftover socks abound in my house. We use socks to polish the vehicles, the windows, walls, and the floor and sometimes we pop one over the dachshund's snoot as she starts to snore. We've socks heaped high on furniture, socks choke our closets, too, we stuff them full of decorative rocks for we've nothing better to do
• That blasted Jack Russell Terrierist Cares Not If it's two or it's one Of a Sock Just tie 'em together Each other they'll tether 'til she mangles the one Then the other
• in a pinch, I coat my feet in mud so once it dries my footsteps thud I wouldn't have to do this messy thing if I only knew where my green socks flew
• I took my cast-offs those lonely ones whose once-paired mates had upped and gone my socks I carried among the trees I asked the queen can you mend these? be sure I'd darn them if I could but we've no needles in this dark wood I went to borrow a needle of gold oh dear, we're out of them, I'm told
• it's not fair to be part of a pair and have your mate go out somewhere to make them complete with mismatched feet I'll beat the street and one by one away they'll run my job is done *socks run away from horrible poetry*
• it can't be that bad, GramMa, I smiled ;) I asked the missus Would she mend them She glared askance I'll ask again then
• grandmother likes to sit and knit warm things for when it snows striped mittens for our fingers heavy stockings for out toes
• Ach, my Pete, yer a sweet, dear boy. unfortunately, he's got piss-poor taste in poetry *spoken sotto voice
• We've searched and looked and wondered On days that we've dressed and we've laundered But damn, what the fock? Where is that damn sock? This foot fetish thread is conunder'd At last a clue! Ach Laird, it was due! To renew this thread marked with a colon: The socks are all odd - The lorry was robbed! Cor blimey, the damned things was stolen!
• Presents the Bronzed Sock o' the Week Award to petebest.
• Wh00t! Oh Gosh! I . . I just want to thank my agent, Marty Sockstein, the good people at MonkeyFilmters, uh . . oh geez I didn't think . . uh, GramMa of course - Hi GramMa! - and I don't think any of us would be up here without a special wacky bee who made this all possible - I . . I said I wasn't going to cry . . . *cue theme music*
• This is GramMa reporting from the Bronze Sock awards. I'm happy to be here tonight with you on this awesome occasion. Petebest has just received his Bronze Sock, and I'm sure you'll agree that his acceptance speech touched the hearts of everyone. The audience is in tears. Let me tell you, the gown he's wearing is absolutely fabulous. It's a very sheer, very clinging backless gold stretch lame with a V-cut neckline, dangling wrist ribbons, and a wide puce bow at the hips. Peeping fetchingly out from under the hemline is a single pink sequin-encrusted, lace topped bobby sock. *throws arm wide* Everyone, give it up for ... PETEBEST!
• *thunderous applause*
• Moral: Ach, sometimes 'tis best to lose rather than win, at least if GrandMa makes ye wear gold lame and puce together like that.
• heheh - at least she didn't reveal the bet I lost . . .
• I put my sock upon my head for want of better inspriration O wot is Wrong with you? they said I was an object of some consternation it's tough to know what's best to do when just one of a pair is dealt to you in circumstances of this sort I'd really rather teleport and now I sit at this card table and fold as fast as I am able
• bees - thanks for making me laugh for a long time.
• My story told For all to see I tried to bluff As did the bees With Jacks and Tens I raised my wager I gripped the table I sipped my lager I took one more Tightened my gaze I drew a six! And began to raise Six, Jacks and Tens I licked my lips Big bets agains But I was out of chips! I'll take the risk! My eyes were locked I slipped my shoe And bet my sock! I call them in The gambler waits I play my pairs He plays a straight! Oh now I'm done I wait in shock I walk home broke Without my sock I grumble on Oh lady luck! My bluff was great! My cards, teh suck.
• ))) !!! A powerful and moving tale, pete -- especially if 'twas your last pair. ...of xocks.
• those are Z-otic socks, of course. /buzzes off
• Here the salmon must be sock-eyed as they fin their way through the incoming tide. And elsewhere the Evil have ruthlessly pocketted the moneys they filched before they were docketted.
• Not nylon, not rayon, not cotton, but warm and wooly; high and low I searched unsockcessfully for my green sock strayed away from me.
• Christmas stockings I have seen are no more knit but felty objects of red and green that only a lunatic would deem could fit a young child's foot and into which only so many gifts can possibly be put unlike the old knit stockings which would s t r e t c h indefinitely and might well contain hastily added things you never asked for nor expected Santa to bring -- the jar of cocktail onions the collection of skeleton keys the pair of pince-nez glasses with the cord the small box of heavy-duty brads and picture hangers -- which often proved to be the most interesting toys for entertaining myself and the other boys
• a hole in one sock: and out sticks a toe of the monkey whose number is one eight oh
• I wondered where that other sock thread went to.
• Are even the threads about missing socks coming up missing now? Good Mothra!
• I lost the sock thread All fuzzy in my head Black And lying in drawer But then GramMa found it Bees was abound in it Bumbly In poets full flower
• when one sock goes I notify the media and press its wretched mate in the ensocklopedia
• I think the game's afoot for you bees . . .
• I call a halt! can such things be? my left sock's run away from me yet one is left and in my drawer confusingly it's left once more
• that can't bee right . . .
• "I don't have a photograph, but you can have my footprints. They're upstairs in my socks." --Groucho Marx (1890 - 1977), In the film A Day at the Races
• OK, Pete, get on over here and clean up the M&M's you made me spit on the keyboard...
• What is so ripe as a sock in June? I say a sock in any monthly moon may well outdo the ripest stinking cheese and leave folk grimacing with dis-ease. And this is why, be it June or July, sock-caustic comment greets me as I fly.
• Several times I've sniffed a rose Who's presents smells as sweet - But ne'er again shall I test my nose Against which socks are cleaned of feet
• Words against the sock: Socks by Bryan K. of MN I do not like These things called socks They seduce the feet Then make rancid smells Their fluffiness Is deceitful And their caress Is often vulgar They steal the soft touch Of the morning grass From tiny toes And soft carpet Is not felt They keep feet All toasty A perfect place For multiple bacteria I think These things called socks Need to go
• socks are sneaky often quirky they leave, and then I feel unlucky panicky because my sock's so finicky gone on some trip where life is risky I hate it when my socks get frisky
• Wow i heard a hip-hop beat to that one bees - reprasehnt!
• Frisky socks can take feet dancing Frisky socks may take feet prancing Prancing feet get out about Frisky socks may then wear out
• The frisky sock matter will make you mad as a hatter! With feet pitter-pattering, you've gone a-wandering you silly old thing! Now, don't pout if you're out and about, on a Canadian route, you're oot and aboot! Get clued to the truth of boots and shoe-shooing like an elephant's ear hears a young Who hoo-hooing! *pant* *gasp* *hands mic back to bees*
• You down wid it, Pete!
• Lemme hear ya say "heeyyyyyyy!!!" Lemme hear ya say "hooooooo!!!"
• soon green will be the grassy glade where late my sock strolled on parade farewell o stocking green as jade I'd seek ye, but ye do evade these empty hands, for holding made
• I sent my socks to the dry cleaner on their return, one looked far greener and I complained, my words came keener than anguished howls from a hyena. The proprietor with equal fury said we should put it before a jury. "My socks were green; one came back white! You know this sock is nothing like! What's more, it should be made of wool!" I told him that he was a fool. But he, with manner growing meaner had me charged with a misdemeanor.
• *applauds from the courthouse steps*
• Socklore A sock of woollen grey isn't worth a load of hay. This cotton sock of navy blue was soon worn through. The sock of nylon yellow makes me look a silly fellow. And I'll not trade my wooly sock for an egg of the Great Auk.
• I seek my sock from shore to shore and whinge about it like a bore as on these rocks I sit and jaw my sock was green it wasn't blue and it stepped out of my left shoe leaving me to groan with woe
• if you seek a sock with vigour and you fill yourself with liquor you will not find what's missing quicker
• lo! league upon league of entries in my sidebar clearly I was gone too long
• I've lost a sock And with a waddle I lurch and look Inside this bottle I've found no sock Nor wisdom still A sockless sot I am until I stop A lot *hic*
• we must cork the cockpunch at once!
• Corkpunch all 'round!
• on a sea of cockpunch pete embarked at lunch and the sea dogs howled as he disembowelled a schooner of ale in pursuit of a mythic white whale
• I've walked a hole in every sock I own now I'll order new ones by telephone
• I've lost a sock again It's true This one was white Like the other two And now I'll sigh A brief boo hoo You stupid sock! I loved you too
• I sat this morning by the stream I set my boots on a ledge of rock where the water swirls about and knocks then Something that I couldn't see snatched one old sock away from me and now I wander by the brook tryng hard to whistle it back
• A senseless single sock I see - In song e'er whistled by a bee, Get hence yon sock! Come walk with me! Alack, it floats away . . pity
• The sock that's stranded on the shore cries, "Farewool, my love, forevermore!" His yarns are spun, downstream he tumbles; and, like a cataract, he roars and grumbles.
• Socks are fickle things. Bare feet always stay with you.
• Aye. And oh! the difference to me!
• A fickle sock A pickle this trodding about in, Barefoot and clod hopping Winter's curse! What's worse that slopping about The frozen mud atop rocky streams I seem A particular sot *hic*
• Bare feet in the dewy grass. California winter. Yes, it's a little cold out, But my feet were too warm Under the covers, so A treck into the backyard Has made them happy.
• That's known as approximate poetry.
• bear feet stay away from my door! sock please come home if you're the same sock I wore I won't even blame you for taking an excursion although ye left me standing barefoot and cursin'
• heh heh heh
• Dew-cooled feet are always the happiest feet.
• alas! when I go barefoot on the grass I'm sure to get cut or stung or scratched so I make it my infallible practise to give two hoots and pull on my boots before my feet get cactused
• Nothing closer to heaven like the startling sting of a pair of cold feet... when they are not your own.
• I wore my mismate socks to bed Port was green, and starboard red Warm my feet and cold my heart My dreams would start and stop and start
• )))!
• You constantly, as if in a rut put your two cold feet upon my butt I wish upon your head a pox please wear to bed your god d**med socks
• Another Coffee Spittake Moment® brought to you by BlueHorse.
• I am crude, they tell me for I wear socks to bed but what's a guy to do when his elderly dog insists on licking and licking and licking his bare feet till they're red?
• Socks are the bane of every lad in summertime, when feet unclad stride o'er the sands, and toes ticklish tread full upon a jellyfish.
• I never sawr My foot more sore Than when upon A Man o' war A spindly beast I mugged and screeched I need 500 Socks at least But now I trundle A bit more humble 'pon the sandy shore My feet in bundles
• A Mexican, who speaks no English, comes to the USA. As is often the case, he finds that he needs new socks. So, he walks into a clothing store, and manages to convey to the clerk that he needs something, but not what. So, the clerk starts taking down boxes and showing what's inside to the Mexican. He shows him a shirt, some pants, a tie, a hat, but each time the Mexican shakes his head and says "No." Finally, the clerk brings down a box of socks and shows them to the Mexican. The Mexican starts nodding vigorously and says "¡Eso sí que es!" The clerk angrily blurts out, "Well why didn't you just spell it in the first place?!"
• tell that one when ye get to meet that daring pirate Jean Lafitte
• Captain Silver, wool socks on, Was far too warm to wear long johns.
• Heh! If the captain was Long John, surely he'd but one sock on?
• Long John, Long John, what's that on yer nethers? "I'm wearing wooly stockings, in concession to the weather."
• Monster, I'm doubtful o' these nethers for, though he'd his nautical act together, Long John Silver had a single leg o' flesh; t'other was a wooden peg.
• socks are bare necessity for anyone ticklish as me barefoot I cannot cross a lawn unless I've got shoes and socks on
• Holey, Holey, Holey, Holed Sox Almighty I sought to hold a maiden, As fair as any foaled, With golden tresses laden - Well heeled, and so well soled. (I could not take the jade in Because my sox were holed). I'd normally have sold her With clever lies well told; Or maybe bowled her over With kisses overbold; (But I could not enfold her, Because my sox were holed). Quoth she, "I find you holy, All-wise and lofty-souled; But I reject you wholly -- My goal depends on gold. (Not just your sox are holey, Your trousers too are holed.)" "Though hotly coaled your stove be," Cried I, "your heart is cold; I'd rather die and moulder Than fit into your mold. Let richer lovers hold you - I like my sox well-holed." You dears whose arms enfold me, Long, long may you be skoaled! But as for you who scold me Because my clothes are old, I'll live to see you mould, And when your death-bell's rolled, I'll dance in sox still holed. -- W[illard] R. E[spy]
• Am I the only one who saw the tag description of black socks and immediately assumed that this was a thread about seventies' porno films? Just sayin' is all.
• I'm tellin' ya Berek, get yer head outta yer...pants.
• BEWARE! Doctor's Orders By Ronald Tomanio At the end of the day when you fall into bed exhausted I advise you dream all night Go ahead, but take off your socks Both of them socks cut off your circulation causing many peaceful people to have nightmares about foot stranglers Now, foot stranglers notoriously show no mercy so take off your socks Please In the awake world where half the race is punching the other half in the face I ask you to be gentle with your feet be gentle with other people’s feet then work your way up to the face and slowly kiss each cheek not just one but everyone Remember the smooth softness of the face of the universe Lay down on your bed facing the stars sleep and dream like an old cat foot stranglers hate that.
• some like to tread on soles that are socked some like to write poems for monkeys to mock the day is so long and tempers so short some plan to go home and down a half-quart oh, no with this big hole in the toe now I can't sock it away sock it away sock it away!
• *guitar solo*
• *grabs guitar, smashes it against wall, hands back remains, shrugs* Sorry
• *silently hands Berek broom and dustpan *buys Pete plastic ukalele
• *performs air guitar solo with broom*
• *kicks rubbish under couch*
• *rocks out on broom*
• some garments once they made for me half mocassins half socks they had a woolly footy stench to part with 'em was no great wrench I buried 'em beneath yon rocks
• What do men do when socks are gone? There's always this solution: Take heart and learn to knit our own With a hero's resolution. Be not afrayed of fleece that's made Into bright yarn that's multi-plyed, but with our needles stitch away Two socks that let our bare feet hide.
• My sockless world Has got no gas My sock-thread post, no rhyme Without teh Webz There's no SockClass Like school in the summertime
• Isockles hang from wintry bough - my toes are frozen, knit, my brow.
• the socks of winter are seldom thinner than socks of summer right now 'tis fall when wise men all their socks will cull and buy some new to warm their shoes and feet withal
• sock, why have you deserted me? my tears create a salty sea that you and I part company so here I groan in deep blue panic by this severance driven frantic I tip my heel, I tap my toe and wonder if you did not know that you, dear sock, were talismanic lucky green sock, please hurry back forgive me for being rude and slack and not writing this like Kerouac