September 02, 2004

• Long ago I developed the habit of tying pairs of socks together. I still lose them, but parity is maintained.
• check the lonely socks registry.
• Have you checked your feet? What's on your feet? You know, at the end of your legs.
• How many times do you see one sock on the street? "Look he's only made it this far." /Seinfeld
• Can't help you there, as I don't lose 'em, but what perplexes me is... why there's always one sock that looks older/lighter/looser than its partner? Is one of my feet more sock-intensive? And there's a shampoo bottle just like this at my bathroom window. I honestly don't know how it ended up there. Or maybe I'm just blocking the memory. Must be that I guess...
• "What's on your feet? You know, at the end of your legs." I have no legs but I must walk!
• Are they toe socks? 'Cause if they're toe socks, I stole 'em to terrorize the wife.
• "Are they toe socks?" Are they those socks with toes? Cos I think I have a pair. But I can't find 'em. "I stole 'em to terrorize the wife." Terrorize my wife?
• Yes, and YES! Now give me back my pants. Your cat is eyeing me suspiciously.
• The same damn thing happened to me.
• I just discovered the missing half of a pair I bought 3 years ago, lost about 2 months after. In the intervening period I moved 3 times without finding it, and it just turned up unexpectedly last time I washed. There is hope.
• I used to understand when I was going to the communal laundry that they might go AWOL during transport or get accidentally left behind in the machine of the moment, but now I have my own washer & dryer and still come up with 3 odd socks every time I do a couple weeks worth of washing. I gave up pondering where they go to, but now when I buy socks, I get multiple pairs in the same style & color. They still mysteriously vanish, but I match up the singles and wear them like they've always been a set
• behind the washer too. check there.
• In this age of flying cars and robotic maids, why have we still not found a better way to cover our hideous appendages than to conceal them in piecewise-complete rags?
• Obviously I am too dumb & lacking motivation to look for them myself, or resist the urge to post such an assinine question to a site that is supposed to be devoted to 'the best of the web' and not something totally devoted to me; but I am a moron. its funny because its true...
• Why has MoFi turned into a site where we help people find their fucking socks?
• I match up the singles and wear them like they've always been a set sorry, that is illegal. stop it immediately.
• In this age of flying cars and robotic maids, why have we still not found a better way to cover our hideous appendages than to conceal them in piecewise-complete rags? Because the last time I wore a fuckling singlet, they called me "Sweet Pea". And yes I said singlet. Beats the shit out of "unitard".
• lilnemo, we don't say "unitard" anymore. that is unkind. we say, "mentally challenged."
• They took them.
• Unsung tormenters of our days, unrealized authors of our fate the solitary sock or gentleman's hose leaves the laundry hamper like an unseen ghost while wise and foolish men alike search and curse and lonely wait they slither behind the washer and lurk or cling inside the dryer or the armpit of a shirt while tempers flare and rise higher and the unclad foot, forlorn, curls its toes in mute despair and grumbling family members look everywhere the single sock brings mystery to our little lives its way of vanishing is very quick a lonesome sock, in truth, frets hell out of our wives 'there are feet in them' the mundane say 'socks don't simply walk away' each disappearance has us beat but mayhap the poor socks tires of the reek of sweaty feet -- (gasp! choke!) 'O I have to get away! Give me air, fresh air!' I can almost hear them cry as they slip off without saying goodbye.
• That beeswacky is some kind of a fucking legend.
• Ron Jeremy is a fucking legend.
• Heh. And so are you, dear Nostril, and so are monkeys all. And generations yet to come may read the lines above and wonder how it was grown people disported themselves in such odd ways in what, to them, must seem like ancient days.
• What is this? Some kinda karazy house?
• Nostril: beeswacky's poem made me wonder if it's the right sock or the left one which runs away more often. Do me a favor and put an "L" on one and a "R" on the other of each pair. Please be sure to wear them on the appropriate feet - this is, after all, A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT, so playing around with the foot matching is not allowed. Please chart the disappearances and report back. Thank you in advance.
• Oh, yeah - be sure to use permanent marker.
• There you go. Oh, wait... mmhh... that's really 'wrong'...
• "or cling inside the dryer or the armpit of a shirt" heh, my brothers being much younger than me - would often at school find their small size socks in the backs of my shirts (static cling being the cause). Found it embarrassing which would cause the lack of thought in returning them home. Do you have other house mates? When living a lone, think the washing machine monster eats them. Since they come in pairs, there loss is like Tupperware.
• I really think that Nostril's wife (I think he has one) is using them for dust rags. Nostril: email me your address and I'll start a drive to send you socks for Christmas. (Hi, thomcatspike.)
• They're in Narnia. With Mr. Tumnus. He took them from your dryer.
• All hail the Bees! Once more you have outdone yourself. Regarding the lost sock issue. I have a sox box. Everyone needs to have one. Easy to make: Take one cardboard box from your SO's favorite beer--in this case, I have used a Fat Tire box. Use magic marker to write 'Sox Box' on side. Fill with single socks, and place in closet. Shut door. Periodically add single socks as they show up. Keep box in dark and undisturbed unless adding more socks. Six months later, VOILA! You have a whole beer box full of unmatched socks. Uhh, sorry, Nostril, can't help ya. (Sidedish--I luvzit! From now on, I'm gonna walk around asking, "What are you, some kind of unitard?") Crack.Me.Up.
• Of Life's Many Troubles I know quite a few Bad plumbing and earaches and troubles with you But the saddest of all when it's all said and done Is to look for your socks and find only one Here are a series of single socks stacked in a row Where in the workd did their fellow socks go? Of missing SOcks we have very few facts Some say cats steal them to use for backpacks Other, Norwegians willing to risk Prison to steal sock to make lutefisk But conspirecy theories just don't hold water Why would they take one and not tke the odder? ... -Garrison Keilor, "The Solo Sock" There's more, but my hands are aching too hard to type the whole thing. I'm amazed at the stuff I've memorized over the years.
• Al Simmons' immortal ballad. (mp3)
• I'm surprised no one's mentioned Fox in Socks yet. shit!
• F8x in s8cks?
• Stumbled over this, immediately thought of Nostril's missing lucky green socks, and had to add it: Maru Mori brought me a pair of socks... Outrageous socks, my feet became two fish made of wool, two long sharks of ultramarine blue crossed by one golden hair... ...I resisted the sharp temptation to save them as schoolboys keep fireflies, as scholars collect sacred documents, I resisted the wild impulse to put them in a golden cage and each day give them birdsees and chunks of pink melon.... --Pablo Neruda's "Ode to My Socks", translated by Stephen Mitchell
• Ach, should be 'birdseed'
• Yay Neruda. I am a big fan of Octavio Paz, too.
• Nostril: Lost socks FOUND!
• BlueHorse my lucky green socks are not in there. I AM BEREFT WITHOUT MY LUCKY GREEN SOCKS.
• Uncle Nostril, are these your socks?
• Nostrildamus, I. have. your. socks. *evil cackle* They're in no danger, and they're being well treated... for now. Do not contact Interpol, or else your socks will regret your imprudence. Now send me money.
• This is not the place to say it but I hate Octavio Paz (not for his poetry but for his prose) and I got and evil grin on my face when his personal library burnt (which eventually triggered his own death). But now I feel bad for felling happy about that.
• Never read Paz on Duchamp? Very good.
• Sockless, Uncle Nostril wanders through the world -- (because he must), a world gone dark and drear. His toes soon gather dust. He craves, at the very least, more beer. No rejoicing can be his, no smiles light up his countenance, no gleeful heart in him may bound, until his LUCKY socks (and these are green) are found!
• Nostril: I want your sox.
• One of the lucky socks.
• Completely rubbish post. RIP.
• Found.
• 'O frabjous day! Calloo, callay!' He chortled in his joy. -- Lewis Carroll, "Jabberwocky"
• 'O frabjous day! Calloo, callay!' He chortled in his joy. -- Lewis Carroll, "Jabberwocky"
• And he just kept on chortling, apparently. Though why I do not understand, since I only sent it once. Must be gremlins.
• It's a well known fact that gremlins, when not stealing socks, cause double-posting. Sorry, Bees, you and Nostril are sadly infested. We must spray heavy-duty, highly hallucinogenic chemicals immediately.
• These are the days when socks repose in dresser drawers, for who wears hose when going to the beach? Our days are rounded, each to each, with pairs of sandals. Free, our toes tread waters which go up our nose.
• Interesting, BlueHorse. There is a mystery here: I do not understand why this thread has been placed in the rubbish heap, so to speak, when IT IS NOT A DOUBLE POST! 1) This was originally posted at 6:43pm UTC. 2) Then it was FOLLOWED by "Curious George: Where anre my socks pants? 3) And over and hour later, there was "Where Are My Socks?" posted at 8"06pm UTC. tracicle, would you mind checking this? It seems wrong...or I'm wrong, I often am.
• left offf the time of #2 up there, it was postedf 6:49pm UTC.
• Should add, this may a frivolous post, but it is not a double post. (And one I find highly amusing, obviously).
• Unnnnnhh? Not a double post? OHHHH! I get it. Like Nostril's sock(s)
• ...the urge to post such an assinine question to a site that is supposed to be devoted to 'the best of the web' and not something totally devoted to me... Nostrildamus said it best. It's not a double post, it's just silly, and we've got plenty of silly. And besides, it's a) not like it's deleted, and b) off the front page by now anyway, even if c) "double" posts are still showing up on the front page, due to some error on my part.
• And the double post category is only called that for the sake of brevity anyway; it's really the redundant/double/irritating/insert adjective here/not-front-page category.
• Thanks for clearing this up, tracicle. I'd supposed Curious George posts operated under a somewhat different set of rules from other FPPs, though thinking it over, I can't recall when or why I reached that conclusion. Realixe my sense of/relish for the ridiculous is not to everyone's taste. Lucky socks...heh!
• I didn't mean to sound so harsh, sorry bees. I'd probably not be so picky if it wasn't for the fact that deleting a post isn't really deleting. I'm glad to have an alternative home for the frivolities, like this one, because then, I imagine, everyone is happy.
• I'm not happy. I can't find my socks.
• Dude, I found it. Look up.
• My fate is to be feared -- My lucky socks have disappeared No man can tell me where To get another pair. I tire of hunting everywhere In house and yard and human ken And so I rave and tear my hair. If they come wandering home again I'll be the happiest of men.
• Is this the new daisy_may thread?
• Zemat: It could be--only time will tell. Wolof: Phhhuttt! Don't like it, don't read it. Bees: I'm with you. I LIKE silly. Nostril: Obviously this sock problem is extremely troubling emotionally and most likely keeping you up at night. I have one short word of advice. Gedoverit. Then go to Wally-hell. Buy new green socks. Problem solved. I'm sure Wall-Mart has green socks. A major fashion statement, I'm sure.
• For those who have a daemon of sorts, resistance is futile, Zemat, but I will be surprised if this turns out to be a long thread. In my case, absurdity is one thing that seems to trigger rhyme.
• Yeah, I'm late to the party, but unitard? Cracked my shit right up. There's coke on my keyboard and my nose still stings...
• The poetry of Socks is never dead!
• I can't find my socks. Learn the power of Google, nOOb!
• I know where they are!
• Oh, socks. My b, yo.
• surlyboi, it was the footie pajamas with feet that ASPLODE that did me in.
• Even the slightest reference to socksnow attracted the Fool's attention. Once upon a time there werte three little foxes Who didn't wear stockings, and they didn't wear sockses... -- A. A. Milne, "The Three Foxes"
• Thetre are over 148,000 entries for "socks poem" on Google as of today/
• = there /Curse of the Fat Fingers Strikes Again!
• Let's make that 'Fat, Fumbly Fingers' There are not words on Google that rhyme with 'humbly' so I want to do my bit.
• You mean to tell me you use GOOGLE to make your rhymes???!! You should be ashamed!!!!
• What about 'crumbly'?
• Bumble-bee?
• Fumble-bee, I think sums it up best. Not humble (bad buddhist) but willing to bumble with the best...
• Dear Nostril, no, I haven't used Google to make rhymes...yet. But if I could figure out how to, I might. And why not? What is so unusual or terrible or not-to-be-thought-of as that? If it works, use it!
• Pony boy, pony boy, Ride along with me. Giddy-ap, giddy-ap, Giddy-ap, whoa! My pnoy boy! I simply can't think why the Stevenson-Kefauver ticket woz such a Wet One!
• "And why not?" Ah, I was only jokin'.
• Monkeyfilter: If It Works, Use It!
• Nostril -- I do apologize for sounding tetchy there. Have ye found the other sock yet?
• the asploding footies rocked too.
• Where are my pants? Gallery of famous people without any pants.
• Ha! These are great!
• More re The Pitiable Plight of the Sockless here.
• sock metaphorical: Closing the book, I find I have left my head inside.... Long passages open at successive pages. An echo, continuous from the title onward, hums behind me. From in here, the world looms, a jungle redeemed by these linked sentences carved out when an author travelled and a reader kept the way open. When this book ends I will pull it inside-out like a sock and throw it back in the libaray. But the rumor of itr will haunt all that follows in my life. A canfleflame in Tibet leans when I move. -- Mary Oliver, "An Afternoon In The Stacks"
• = candleflame
• How dear to my heart are the socks of my childhood when fond recollection allows me to view a knee-high black number which unfailingly slid down my ankle to make a great lump in my shoe. The limping, the blister, the breaking and weeping, and raw skin a-peeling, the foot in the bucket, and curses ear-aching which rose through the ceiling up into the blue.
• Ooh ooh has anyone done "The Joy of Socks" joke yet? :^| well poop.
• a sock unseemly: ...Whosever room this is should be ashamed! His underwear is hanging on the lamp. His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair, And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp. His workbook is wedged in the window, His sweater's been thrown on the floor. His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV, And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door. His books are all jammed in the closet, His vest has been left in the hall. A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed, And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall... --from Shel Silverstein's "Messy Room"
• Don't set us up like that Pete.
• Google offered "about 90,200" entries for "lucky green socks" just now. And "about 93,000" for "my lucky green socks". And "about 32,000" for "missing lucky green socks". Nostril, I now suspect their disappearance may be the work of a mob.
• We must form a Sock Patrol! Bees, you be the Lootentnant. OK gang, we must be on the look out for 215,200 sock nappers. The perps may be wearing one green sock, or we may have 108,600 perps with two mis-matched green socks. These people may have K-Mart shirts and bad haircuts. Be careful. They are footed and dangerous and probably have a mob mentality.
• ...footed and dangerous... Have a banana, BlueHorse
• (drumroll) MonkeyFilter: footed and dangerous and probably have a mob mentality . . .
• And some have missing/mismatched socks, don't forget that part, pete_best!
• I love walking outdoors at this time of year; and today would be perfect if my socks were only here! The leaves begin to colour up the trees and now the hills apppear as gaudy as a patchwork quilt and I'm well-dressed (except below my knees) for inspecting hives of most-irked bees.
• Of all the things I'd hate to lose- I think t'would have to be my shoes But when it comes to losing a sock I truly believe I don't give a . . . clock? bah! *crumples up post*
• Pete's socks have clocks!
• I clean socks. I clean clocks. I clean my clocks with my socks. Do you like my sock cleaned clocks?
• A sock crock stocked chock with mock cocks blocks the pocked bock-hocking jocks flocking the rocky docks.
• Don't cock-block pete's pocked sock crock, or I'll rock your jock. While wearing a smock.
• *applauds*
• bees' knees please three cheese teases on wheezy breezes sir!
• *looks around slowly I don't like the turn this is taking. Don't mention the word cock and sock in the same sentence*--remember there's one among us that puts socks to perverted uses. *doh!
• cocksock!
• See how it stands unassisted!
• Doing things upright again, eh? In Which It Is Suspected, The Hunting of the Sock and its subsequent restoration to its rightful owner, may present, now, some indelicate difficulties. No, Lewis Carroll did not write The Hunting of the Sock, an oversight which I deeply regret.
• The socks of my dreams are the luckiest socks of all the socks I've seen; each worsted thread, like a leprechaun's tread, is elegant emerald green. The leaf of its heel and the jade of its toe are a sight to tickle sore eyes, and the moonlight scenes with the sock of my dreams are not yarns to be told by the wise.
• Little Miss Matched: mismatched socks for 11 year old girls.
• Antinat is a new SOCKS server with relatively complete support for SOCKS standards. SOCKS can be used to overcome limitations of NAT...
• Ah, fuyugare, you've sold me on the first one! Am too technically incompetent to even think about the second one, unless with mute despair.
• Ah, fuyugare, my fellow madman, from overseas a sock of mute despair keeps calling.
• Bees actually has nailed the genesis of my green sock fetish: it has to do with Ireland. Strangely.. not long ago.. I dreamed of Ireland.
• were you laying back at the time?
• Sockbaby.
• Sock monkey.
• Oh, hey. I found them.
• Sockless through the world the ancient sages wandered; while sock-clad and shod, and often having lost the path, we moderns flounder.
• Your Delta Tau Chi name is . . . sockless *uuurp*
• Nostril! Look wot's here!
• bees is kickin' it OLD school now.
• She touched my Peppy, bees.
• Good for her. Wot I want to know is, was she wearing socks when she did it?
• Can you show us on the sock where it was lucky?
• Birds don't wear socks, nor frogs nor lions. And were socks worn by ancient Mayans? The first socks made by the Unknown Knitter were made to fit man, that mysterious critter.
• Bravo, bees!
• Actually, some birds DO wear socks, albeit comprised of their own feathers. My friends, I give you the Cochin.
• Clydesdale horses wear white stockings -- with horsefeathers. Really.
• Clydesdale horses wear white stockings They don't like your silly mockings They wear shoes that weigh six pounds The better then to knock you down.
• Ach, now, 'tis apparent ye are one of the light-legged breeds, BlueHorse. :) The longer hair ye see on the fetlocks of Clydesdales and on Shires is actually called feathers. No mockery, for I've been fond of these big gentle animals since I was a small boy allowed to feed carrots and potatoes to Widdershins and Rob Roy, a matched pair of black Clydesdales.
• I love those big guys.
• ...for the great grey drayhorse his bright and battering sandal! - Gerard Manley Hopkings, "Felix Randal Old times. Hooftracks. Where men went, horses too, in peace and war; the timber logger's team snaking out the trunks of the felled trees, the covered wagons lurching west, mounted troopers chasing through the bush, horses and mules hauling artillary pieces high up the trails and passes of the Hindu Kush, the ploughman's team, the cabbie and what hauled his cab. The horses shared men's lives, and death did not spare them simply because they were horses riden or driven into holding at the wrong time a wrong position.
• Hay, now.
• Ah, now we're on a subject that I could go on all day about. A favorite: Haying Horses in My Mind Wally McRae I see lathered teams in afternoon sun Cutting five-foot swaths in yard-high hay. I smell drying coils that the dump rakes spun Of alfalfa and blue joint in contoured display. There’s a buckrake skimming the ground, in my mind, In controlled weavings, to even the load. Overshot teams plod a monotonous grind: ”Git up. Whoa. Back.” On a four-foot road. Modern Christmas-hued monsters on diesel fuel race Faster than oat-powered Belgians I knew. Freon-cooled air fans the pale driver's’face Furrowed rubber replaces the hot-forged shoe. Coming weather is heard on the FM band, Not read first-hand in the westerly sky. "Speed” and “Progress” the team now. Not "Classy” or “Sand.’ Modern haying’s a pleasure, I admit with a sigh. I see a kid shooing pheasant chicks From the few final swaths. Or picking clean The outside rounds: pitching beaver-cut sticks Crickward, a scout for Dad’s mowing machine. Hell, there’s no nostalgia in diesel exhaust. You don’t speak to tractors you step behind. We’ve damn sure progressed, but something’s been lost, And horses are haying somewhere in my mind. And this one's for you, Bees. The Clydesdale Anonymous Thudding hoof and flowing hair, Style and action sweet and fair, Bone and sinew well defined, Movement close both fore and hind, Noble eye and handsome head, Bold, intelligent, well-bred, Lovely neck and shoulder laid, See how shapely he is made, Muscle strong and frame well knit, Strength personified and fit, Thus the Clydesdale – see him go, To the field, the stud, the show, Proper back and ribs well sprung, Sound of limb, and sound of lung, Powerful loin, and quarter wide, Grace and majesty allied, Basic power – living force – Equine king – the Clydesdale horse
• Thanks, BlueHorse.
• Lost! Lost! All is lost! [A Lay Rendered By Aid of Conversations from the Gaelic into English by the Reverend D. MacInnes[ It is a long time since we have seen your stockings, Donald. John. James. Did you put out the lamp? the cat? the haggis? I fear me he has mislaid all the luck of him. them. us. Pray tell me, sir, what use is that? this? anything? Their maidservant will answer the door an ye knock. It's almost twenty past six o' the clock. Would ye mind repeating, for the cook's fogotten, whether ye prefer the pork ham or the mutton? the beef? the salmon? Bring a notebook. Fetch a pen. Describe his socks for me again. He is thankful he is back to the quiet of the glen. The cast of his mind is changed. The loss of his green stocking has made him the unhappiest of men. He repines in his bower, and there is so much grief in him his head is become nearly deranged.
• You know, at this point, he might want to simply buy a new pair...
• THAT, sir, was uncalled for.
• 'tis the quest that matters, not the prize.
• Blasphemers, begone! The sock matters! Yea, for the cold foot says so! If reason why we trudge the weary miles be sought, it's this: Socks give colour and dignity to the otherwise undistinguished appendages at the nether ends of our shanks without which we cannot stand teeterless. Besides, socks make us smile when we feel low, socks are the fitted ornament of every toe.
• Aye, dear sock, thy value's known, and, seeking your mate, my world has grown. The quest to find a pair, you see, seeks for you, as well as me.
• Wishing all hunters of such yarns the sweet small of sock-cess, islander.
• Ack! *grabs throat* *falls backwards* !!
• I pause to ask a pertinent question, Which thread is better for my attention, The one over thar, The one where we are, Or a new thread's untimely invention?
• Well, sock threads come in pairs, ye know, pete. For benenfit of newer monkeys, this is the original sock thread. After the Collective Amnesia struck Monkeyfilter, the thread which sidebars as Black Sock (#4994) continued the diversion.
• The Old, Old Yarn or, Courting in the Old Days Lass, thou hast a stocking? I daresay thou hast two. Mine match my nose, Which is figuratively blue. Thy stocking is grey? No, I'll venture it's green And brings thee good fortune When laundered and clean. Come sit here beside me. I'll tell thee a rhyme, And show show thee my stocking If thou wilt show me thine.
• My stockings end about thigh-high. Quite hidden from the wandering eye. 'Tis true, I'm curious to see yours. But I'm afraid you'd want encores. *blushes
• Heh, but of course, BlueHorse!
• I'd like to see a wacky bee Or flowers - like a posey I wouldn't mind a sock to find Or a visit here from Nosey Cheers all! *Quaff*
• ))) for ye, pete!!!
• Socks I think that none shall ever grok a thing as lovely as a sock. A sock whose mended toe, when worn, will not abrade the wearer's corn, A sock that knows not gods nor devils, whose cares lie most with metatarsals, A sock that's emerald every day, whose colour will not fade away, Within whose depths a calloused foot, finds warmth and comfort that must suit. This poem is free of moths and beetles, And socks are made with knitting needles.
• Warm that foot up sock, sock Warm that foot up sock, sock Put that heat on my feet make my toes feel neat and Warm that foot up sock, sock take it bees!
• when wearing socks of some disparity ignore those twits who say it's a barbarity and treat with contempt and not familiarity those who rule that stockings have rigid similarity and say that you're uncivilized, accuse you of vulgarity, and don't treat you or your gaudy socks with the slightest civil charity
• It's beesbert and wackivan! ; Cool!
• With a left sock red and a right sock green, your port and starboard are easily seen, and those you pass, with your ankles showing, will have no doubt which way you're going.
• islander, wot a fine idea! Have a banana!!!
• beauty islander! The ladies like to see me do A turn-about and a little soft shoe But with no sock my dance is kaput Now all I got is a squeaky foot *shuffle-ta-squeak-shuff-shuffle-squeakity-shuffle* --From The Shufflefoot Blues by Wild Melon Hauffenbauer, Esq.
• Matching socks is vain, man's hopes are but a bubble, and our grasp on pairs is feeble -- if fortune or one sock should fly, we find ourselves in trouble.
• Mixing socks can be an art In dark, they're hardly told apart, So I give up without a fight When black is left and navy right. But when materials mismatch, Now that's an easy thing to catch. And nothing makes me more bereft Than cotton right and nylon left.
• He died, and now the socks are gone, He died, and now the black we don, Though all the words we spent to try to bring him back, His determination was too strong to bide our lack. Now his bird is ash & dust, But that's not the reason his heart was crushed. The simple knowledge that he's a fool, It came to him that he's a wielded tool By folly. Without the strength to help even small ones close, Words sent into the ether make nothing-notes.
• Hurray! more sock poems than ye can shake a stick at. Nice going, guys!
• Even wise beeswacky hears not the words, Of his old friend broken and bruised, He cried once for help among the versed, But all he heard sounds like a curse. But here's the rub for all you folk Unlike the sock, it's you that's the joke The sock's a symbol, if you can see When your life is mixed-up, you'll be lost just like me.
• patience to the patient, despair for the despairing, I sing of single socks and their un-pairing no one can bear another's sorrow, and Cupid's bolts sink deep, fly swifter than a mortal arrow even great Zeus obeyed cravings brought by that archer's shots, and even Zeus was made dismayed by Cupid's arrows, fletched with feathers feelings, like waves upon a sea, in anyone may rise and fall and on occaision may rear up high before they dash inland, submerging all
• He's reserected! Yes, he's bee-n. He's here again; our socks are green! We said a prayer to get him gone. We said several, not just one. Socks were piled upon his grave, As for his sins, they were forgave. The simple knowledge that he was bare of foot Was cause enough--his heart--ka put! Thus we need simple tools, like knitting needles to take care of the holes from beetles. We must always darn the small holes closed. For without crochet, we'll be decomp--hosed. apologies and tip 'o the hat to K the Cat can it get any badder than this?
• Roses are red, my sock is green -- the other got lost in the washing amchine. Roses are red, My nose is blue, and when it runs makes me hoarse-y, too. To answer your question about badder.
• I love a lot of mixed up socks From solid blue to argyle From neatly stored in pristine rows To tossed up in a big pile I see a lot of rhyming verse Some fanciful new quatrain; But if our Cat gets in the pile We'll just love it all the same
• waiting for you I'm a stone-frozen lion guarding a gate -- winged but motionless my mane precisely carved in commas each feather ranked and filed perfectly in place while the wind sleets me with sand and I am worn thinner than a whisper from a moon of Mars and the sun's might shivers all the baked air for eons around me
• Thank you, thank you, thank you, bees. mwah!
• Ah, me -- foolish bees -- so hopelessly bee-sotted with monkeys he couldn't stay away longer. If I had electronic arms be assured I would hug you, tick, but alas, we are made of airy nothing here. And yet...and yet..
• Welcome back, beesbashi!
• Hi, Koko! Been meaning to ask ye, how did ye rate user number 666?
• Just the luck of the draw. If I'd known, I might have chosen a more devilish user name, like S4T4N!1 or Mrs. Antichrist, or something clever.
• Hurray!!
• *doffs cap, extends hand* Have a seat by the fire. Your scotch will be served shortly.
• Huzzah hooray! 'Tis a wonderful day! *ook ook* Welcome back, beeswacky!
• are you guys STILL searching for socks in here?? sheesh.
• MonkeyFilter: Sock Poetry By Craftsmen at Competitive Prices
• Bees!!!! *doffs hat, hums happily*
• If I said I didn't miss you, how I'd be lying! -- separation from dear friends I find feels too like a kind of dying. Before I left I didn't realizxe it was possible to fall in love with scores and scores of disembodied folk I'd never met or heard of. But then, I'm not always very smart about relationships which engage my heart. /such a n00b!
• The lion moves, yawns and stretches, His mane is ruffled by the wind. Royal cat, taking back his reign, While apes, monkeys and all we wretches Dance in celebration, and find That bees-ness was an awful pain. Pax.
• Make that "bees-less." Poetry is hard.
• A tricky bee-ness 'tis, bee-ing away! ))) to ye, Help!
• /me forgot bees came pre-loaded with bad puns . . . *shrug*
• By my stripes and bad puns ye shall know me, pete.
• Sidey: The socks remain lost, but we found the Bee!
• woe sliding down one shin the abandoned sock sings "I keep on heeling over my strands keep breaking now I'm of my mate divested though woollen worsted always I am my own worse enemy and by myself am bested"
• I dreamed last night that I had commented in this thread, and Nostril returned long enough to tell me to fuck off. (Yes, I'm serious.) All I remember of the dream was reading his comment and laughing like a loon. So here I am, commenting in this thread. I think this means I spend way too much time here.
• the Great Northern Diver or loon, under the water's surface plunges through the floating face of the undrowning moon arrows below the waves to visit that Old Woman who sends the seals to knit the Undersea and middling earth together with dark luminous eyes that shed tears insuring that the seas stay salty
• to the lanyard now I clip my one last sock of eldritch green and run it up a high pole to wave at that great dipper which lets us sip from Hippocrene
• Warm and woolly, lucky green, the finest socks ye've ever seen, I wore 'em walking, dancing, riding, but they were shy, and now one's hiding -- I miss my sock of emerald green it never came out of the washing machine; two went in and one came out., Did the other go down the spout?
• Licky sock, where are ye hiding? Come ye here, your owner's calling that so often trod ye low and now with one bared foot must go.
• A thread about indestructible socks.
• My darling indestructible sock ... it is you [bites pen] that tiptoes off and leaves me feeling ... [scratches head] ... um ... who, thew, askew ... ... um ...
• *carefully slides shot of single-malt over to bees' desk* Although my foot is bruised and Although my mind's confused I Thought for sure the indestructible Sock would Save me from stampeding emus
• *takes a judicious sip* O wonderful and indestructible sock! Of you we write, though in you we don't walk, Your woolly threads that longer last than iron Sustain our spirits and keep us feeling fine. Some day we'll glance above a world of unrequited love Where missiles are stock-piled and species die out in the wild, Above men's endless cities and the traffic fumes and roar, And talk of peace by men intent on waging bloody wars, To find the gods have placed you, sock, high among the stars.
• ahh, the breath of life worked well I see :) As a wee and scurrilous pup, I assumed in the world of the grown up That an indestructible sock was the goal of all the world As a watchful, silent young lad I regarded Our Leader a useless cad Unfit to behold the indestructible sock unfurled Now a wiser and mischeivious fool I watch idiots pick worldy fights for fuel The indestructible sock, and the living place its been hurled
• ))), pete, you've truly bested the fears that politicians wrested -- through lands where hot words did prevail your songs fall sweet as nightingale's!
• Wellll ... suppose it's only to be expected, given the nature of this thread, but the sock poem I thought I posted here has vanished without trace.
• Is this what you're looking for, bees?
• Yes! Thank you, mct! Meant to pit it here. Yup. D'uh.
• hehe. So MCT found the sock . . poem? *marks off list*
• end o' winter song I weep to be in stockings now that March is here, for whoever walks in stockings feels, some morning, through his floor, not the feeblest flame from the furnace rose warming a man's cold aching toes, while a fellow stops and feels the flue to find not one puff is coming through.
• 'Twas the night before St Pat's Day, and throughout this ancient house, not a stocking was stirring coz they were all soused -- all sudsed, they'd been well scrubbed -- stuffed in, by toe, heel, cuff and shin, to fill the bin of the washing machine, and there sodden they lay, the dullard brown, the sprightly green, the uninspired grey, the somber black, the threadbare white, through the interminable hours of the night. Their long-accustomed laundress left these premises and lonely socks to be further tended by unskilled men who pondered doubtfully the instructions on the washing powder box as about the need for bleach and softeners we dumbly wondered. "They must be somehow dried!" one cried, as we peered deep within the dark wet tub from whence the water hadn't exited in its usual swift flood. "But they're still full of soap -- look at all those bubbles!" And thus began the first of our St. Pat's Day troubles.
• flu it came upon us before we knew it as the washer died with its engine fried we were all laid low far too ill to go anywhere outside so our socks soaked for hours as we clamoured at the bathroom doors every one enduring unutterable horrors! where are those doctors who made house calls? where are the black bags and the magic potions? where be the bringers of clear soups and good cheer? gone, all gone, with the socks of yesteryear!
• a fool in his seasons in summertime he thinks it's fun to swim with the wild waves dashing over him in fall his head is filled with wool he's sad when he hears a whippoorwill in winter he shovels tons of snow and wonders why it has to go in spring his thoughts such as those be turn more on socks and mystery
• Bees is wooly-gathering again.
• I miss my socks as a hive misses honey as a gull is lost without the sea I move by increments through marvels sometimes I fancy a mystery at others I long for simplicity
• It was only after my 82nd Birthday When I realized It had been 57 years Since My lost sock had gone a-wand'ring. I had lost track Of time and bare feet And now my leather sock was warm enough.
• Greeting living creatures, how to, the Percy Bysshe Shelley model: Hail to thee [adjective of choice here] SPRY [fill with name of appropriate appartition etc] PHANTOM [name a type of critter] FROG thou never wert
• It is a sock's duty to stand it. toe the line. honour the best foot. avoid puddles and chewing gum. cover the foot, never the track. let 'em walk all over you. And in you. to disappear when the time is ripe. to fray if rubbed the wrong way.
• you fickle sucks! from drawer, from closet, from gym locker from the dryers where they're drying, from the washing machine or off the clothes-line they whixk away, are never seen -- leaving their wretched owners baffled and crying for such is the way of the foot-loose and green
• pancaked on the asphalt by callous tires lies a stray sock once the joy of dyers spangled now with frost and dulled by mud awaiting the street-sweeper or cloudburst's flood
• A stocking that's walking the roadside with glee is a stocking that's fled from its home quietly, for a sock in its dull round is usually stuck with the breaks that it gets and the good or ill luck that fortune dispenses. "Footloose, fancy-free!" cries the stray sock, crossing fences most stockings can't see.
• merrily merrily drops the rain that makes the grass to spring so green and woefully woefully out of luck is he who has a missing sock
• new sock for old? in the wind and rain or subarctic cold I shall not wear its like again
• Barefoot on a spring lawn, both shoes and socks now are gone. My socks await, safe in their drawer, 'til summer's end they'll wander no more.
• A sure fun ender is to step on a rock with my foot so tender without my lucky sock
• I kicked my legs one shoe went flying and took my sock and left me crying come back! come back, thou green and woollen! so now its mate is all I pull on.
• Hot sweaty sox. Amazing the difference One vowel can make.
• wendell, I love you! What a difference a vowel made. Just a change in the meaning Brought the heat and the steaming, Where there used to be socks. My old socks were blue dear. Today, they're a new hue, dear. I'm sotted with you, dear, Cause your puns are divine.
• And for those of you who might not have listened to music from the 30s and 40s, the tune is "What a Difference a Day Made." The original lyrics are out there on the internet, but I couldn' find an mp3. (Forksclovetofu, where are you?)_
• awesome path - the Dinah Washington version is already in my head.
• Stroll nonchalantly toward the sock receptacle. Don't stare. Socks can vanish into air. and no sock cares to be a spectavle. Alas, affection for one's socks is not reciprocated. But folk do like them anyway, and keeping company with socks keeps me elated. Socks calmly stride their way and don't look back -- no plea nor shriek of ours can stay 'em -- if socks could only speak to tell their wants or issue orders (I'd obey 'em) perhaps we'd follow them upon their solitary, silent track.
• in what grassy plot or dingle does my green sock huddle? I called it, even gave a whistle, yet to me it did not waddle, nor with my bare foot seek to snuggle
• I dislike wearing ties: they hang limp down my front and get into my soup or catch splashes of sauce and have to be sent for the cleaners to clean unlike a wool sock which is easily washed
• An overlooked charm Now that I think of it Is to fashion a wool sock Into a puppet With black marks for eyes And hilarious patter We'll knock 'em dead Like a baseball batter err . . yo? what do you do when you write yourself into a corner? Eject?
• Corners are places to catch your breath. Take it further by a step or two -- find out what happens next.
• Where are the shirts I wore ten years ago? On whose back did they amble off? Were they torn up at our parting?
• I propose getting new socks. At some stores, you get quantity discounts.
• My socks are not disposable! indeed, it's unsuppsable for my feet are always hose-able and without socks they're froze-able.
• In Roosha, you do not dispose of socks. Socks dispose of YOU. I always roll my socks together when I put them in the drawer, so why are they always mingled with strange others when I go to reach for a pair? Do socks have cocktail parties at night?
• This being the internets, I'd guess cookie parties.
• all gussied up and wearing galoshes when the rain falls down it's then I sloshes when I wear these ancient Wellies my socks gets wet as serpents' bellies
• You, o still unravelled sock that used to dive inside my shoe, would you have stopped your secret flight if I'd pleaded with you through the closing night? I should have thrust ye in the hamper before ye left with silent scamrper.
• I wear a sock upon each hand, no longer wear 'em on my feet, but keep one grasped in either fist -- my socks are full of sly deceit I will not have them stray away to parts unknown whilst I poor fool, am left alone. Folk look at me with guarded eyes and try to sidle out the door -- how strange a pair of stocking mitts makes folk think I've lost my wits!
• A stranger man you'd never meet, than Bees without his socks on feet. If socks upon his hands he wears, then are his pants just socks in pairs?
• Updike lost his socks: In Extremis John Updike I saw my toes the other day. I hadn't looked at them for months. Indeed, they might have passed away. And yet they were my best friends once. When I was small, I knew them well. I counted on them up to ten And put them in my mouth to tell The larger from the lesser. Then I loved them better than my ears, My elbows, adenoids, and heart. But with the swelling of the years We drifted, toes and I, apart. Now, gnarled and pale, each said, j'accuse!-- I hid them quickly in my shoes.
• You are all geniuses. Someone's gottah publish this thread, preferably as an illustrated book..
• Someday I'll foot it fearly here or there with all the missing and vanished underwear leaving only this faded scrawl to show that I woz here at all.
• he liked to read he liked to write and while he was doing this one night one sock slipped off beyond his sight he glanced about and couldn't see where the darned thing went -- was mystery hey! sock, come back, he shakily said but there's no reply from A Vanished Thread
• Emerald stocking, walking yonder Whither are ye now, I wonder. Why must ye stray? Why won't ye come? Why can't ye be more stay-at-home? There socks are lovely hung with snow, but in the summer far less so. I tread in cherries to my knees without my socks to give me ease.
• I pulls me almonds to me knees I think the moon is made of cheese
• Socks, lie pleasant under heel, and don't abrade a single toe, nor slither down in saggy wrinkles that look so shoddy as I go.
• Green woolly stocking, so drippingly clean, Why'd ye leave your mate i' the washing machine? Long, he peered into the coalblack mirk, and thrust in his hand. He pu'd out a shirt, and some shorts and a terrycloth towel -- but no missing sock! He unloosed a great howl. He ran to the drain, which still wore its screen, yet there was no sock in the damnfool machine. He called for his pliers, his gloves, and a wrench, but his family had left him alone in the lurch.
• Some stockings are washed In the sink with great care While others are laundered In the machine over there My sock has no spare It's even threadbare
• Since I can't find my socks, here's a poem about feets: Ode to Feet by Doug Tanoury 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. Copyright © Doug Tanoury 2003
• to put on my socks I sat on the dais but after searching every place and asking people all by wireless I soon concluded I'd been careless and left it somewhere in the palace or else it was lost by our laundress or it left me with some malice with my one foot doomed to step out bareless
• My server told me My socks were rejected I'd misplaced the link I wasn't connected I looked under the sink I scoured the floor My sock was not found My sock, 404.
• Does anyone here know the Black Sock song?? I'm surprised it's not on here yet!
• nice, Pete and Bees, of course I'm your sock poetry groupie. *throws underw socks
• My sock was not found My sock, 404. Pure genius, bees. You justify the existence of MoFi all by yourself.
• hat, that was petebest, at his best!
• thank ye kindly Mr. Hat, but of course I agree with your conclusion. To bees! *clink!*
• Oops! Sorry, petebest! I haven't been getting enough sleep. To both of you! *clink!*
• *clink* any excuse to raise a glass of cheer
• any excuse is a good excuse! To poetry and poets! *clink*
• *clink* To all lovers... and lovers of poetry, and lovers of the silences between words, and all the lines that keep us strung by the heart the heels the head while hurrying us from one wild moment to the nexr.
• one sock has left me the other one's right we both lament the coldness of uncovered feet if I tread on a cold tiled floor I can wake the entire household when I roar
• One foot covered in thread One foot chills where I tread I dread the three AM Wakeup call And long to go back to bed
• Argyles black and grey and green the fairest sights his shanks have seen ideal for walking in the cold though some are darned,still, some are whole a sporty dresser he is not old rags and shreds have been his lot his buttons gone, his elbows patched, the poor fool's stockings never matched
• Whose socks these are I never know For bare feet come yet wool-clad go; Folk seldom spot me in my seat Knitting the socks which soon hold feet. My little sheep must think me mad To labour on so feet are clad -- Upon the twiglets of yon trees New socks I hang, so take who please. These socks are lovely, woolly, thick Though knitting them is quite a trick It promises to make me sick It promises to make me sick.
• This trackless waste is all too briary for strolling barefoot after blackberry or wandering past the new fish hatchery and I do it without intent to be contrary. My two new socks (both brilliant strawberry) they somehow ceased from strolling with me perhaps snatched through some fell witchery removed, with my boots, through uncanny burglary I've been the victim of some dupery of some nefarious nincompoopery!
• haha! Nice, bees! I'll tell you what I'm not wearing socks! F*ck that! Here I sit happily, enjoying My patio, my piazza A space for my toying With naked feet! Ha ha! Take that! you damned socks! As leaves crunch underfoot World time ticks tocks and I linger slightly colder than the rocks and resolve to head in for blankets like a fox!
• here comes the red fox -- so natty in his four black socks -- his fame is widespread for curling up in a comfy bed instead of trotting through the snow as ice-edged winds come slicing through
• Numbers Mary Cornish I like the generosity of numbers. The way, for example, they are willing to count anything or anyone: two pickles, one door to the room, eight dancers dressed as swans. I like the domesticity of addition-- add two cups of milk and stir-- the sense of plenty: six plums on the ground, three more falling from the tree. And multiplication's school of fish times fish, whose silver bodies breed beneath the shadow of a boat. Even subtraction is never loss, just addition somewhere else: five sparrows take away two, the two in someone else's garden now. There's an amplitude to long division, as it opens Chinese take-out box by paper box, inside every folded cookie a new fortune. And I never fail to be surprised by the gift of an odd remainder, footloose at the end: forty-seven divided by eleven equals four, with three remaining. Three boys beyond their mothers' call, two Italians off to the sea, one sock that isn't anywhere you look.
• You found it GramMa! the poem, I mean.
• Philosocky Jet-lagged, I knew a universe of socks and missing links exists, as sure as holes exist in zeroes. Somewhere beyond the chinks which fools have glimpsed in our reality, a home for homeless hose must be, a vast safety-deposit box full of errant socks, a boundless coffer of The Misstepped. Having carefully folded themselves through strange dimensions, they finally lie breathless, sardined into tight stacks, waiting for the glistening tin to split and the Celestial Can-opener to unpeel their lid.
• Ah, Bees, we missed you so. *pulls on fuzzy winter socks and gets cozy in the chair
• Where are my socks?
• Sock loss seems to be ubiquitous, and when it happens, folk make an awful fuss.
• Yeah, I need a pair of those in green.
• Green socks for Chyren The factory is hirin' Its a festive time in Monkeyfilterstan the bees have returned and all that i've learned Is missing socks are still plagued up oe'r the land
• Since heel and toe go bare I think I'm forced to buy another pair. For lo! the winter's howling in, my feet are blocks of ice below each shin.
• we hung our socks by yonder tree and hoped they stretched to infinity sing ho! for the season of Ultimate Cool of Yule Log and adults playing the fool
• I stretched a hole-y sock Across accursed heel And with every step The thinning soul Of concrete I feel And so I rest To-day is best For me.
• I hang my socks from hooks and nails I've hammered in my bedroom walls so I can see when any flee and notice any vacancy this makes the walls look bright and quaint but covers up the tartan paint
• I hung my stockings on the mantle with care, When I got up, not a one was there. Those damn green socks had taken a hike, 'xept for the one with the coal I don't like.
• hehe nice one GramMa When I was a lad Our stockings were stuffed With crumpled newspaper "Not gifts!" I would huff But now that I'm older I've thought with surprise That crazy green sock Was prob'ly inside
• I tack my stockings on with pins to stop 'em sliding down my shins one thing indeed I won't abide is a shoe with my sock is wodged inside
• is]= all
• ,,,I have measured out my life in missing socks.
• MY FEET IS COLD
• are you sure your foot are not colds?
• I seem to remember reading that they can float up to the top of the waser basin, slip over the edge, and get caught somewhere between the basin and the outer casing. I never took the washer apart to test this theory.
• What, feet?
• I checked. They're not there.
• Why Men Pray to Them They eat but do not usually digest our feet. At the close of day they restore to us what they took away.
• What luck, ye think, to find a sock. But the thing is pink as the tongue of a cat and it seems too shrunk for the foot and shank of a half-grown brat let alone the overgrown appendage with which, when walking, I must manage.
• My feet are cold, And despite the yarning My socks have holes So I fall to darning.
• Gentlemen I ask you Consider the thong - the insouciant flip-flop Created To be without sock(s) To never know their Fuzzy rub Their staticky lick Their Baffling Dissappearance
• Flip-flops seem like very flimsy footware. Horses may step on the feet of the unwary. What ye need are good, stout shoes, or better yet, boots. They'd be be useless for hiking in the hills, too, by the look of 'em. Our landscapes here are on the rugged side, and the wise hiker will carry a snake-bite kit.
• If I had a thousand socks, I'd wear 'em all at once. (Except the one I'd use to wipe the treacle off my front.) They'd pad my bony ankles, and they'd hide my knobby knees, But I'd have to buy some great big shoes, some 30EEE's. They wouldn't have to be in pairs - I don't mind darned or patched. Once you get past sixty, who's to notice if they match? And when I washed my thousand socks, I'd hang 'em out to dry. You'd think I was a millipede, if you were passing by, But, "No," I'd say, "a thousand socks for me are quite the norm. Five hundred left, five hundred right - they keep me almost warm." I'd wear 'em with my eighty bras, and panties one through fifty; I'd put on bathrobes (twelve or so) and say, "Don't I look nifty?" Booties, argyles, tubes, and crews, I'd welcome one and all. I'd don the orange ones last; my feet would look like basketballs. I'd jump out upstairs windows, landing safely on my feet, Yes, a thousand socks are what I need to make my life complete.
• O del;ightful, The Underpants Monster! -- have some ))) !!!
• Hooray Hooray **showers Pantsie with confoti and 1000 more socks in bright colors**
• *wild applause* *throws underpants on stage*
• Beautiful, T.U.M! Have some pie.
• Mmmmm, pie!
• Ridiculously good pantsie - i'm at once jealous, dejected, and inspired!
• brava!
• Excellent, Monster of The Pants! *throws more bananas*
• **makes slashing motion with finger across throat** OK, guys, that's probably enough. We don't want that Monster getting to big for her britches! We'd have to call her The too-small underpants Monster Flags, that kinda looks more like a meatloaf pie.
• Ssshhhh, Blue, TUM almost had a bite of it! He he...
• Not britches...underpants!
• In this thread, the subject is always: Who/What? socks, especially missing ones How? the missing ones got to be missed When? they disappeared Where? the disappearance occurred Why? why do socks do this? and why o why do my socks do this? why do they up and leave us wailing of our socklessness, hoppong up and down on one foot, wondering where the damn thing's put .
• "For me, socks are like sex: tons of it about, and I never seem to get any."
• I once aspired to be a fop but no use fooling myself any longer -- some of us are clumsy, born all thumbs, our cravats incorrectly tied, our waistcoats stained and covered with crumbs
• And socks down around your ankles, too. I'll bet!
• I wear garters on occaision. A man's a sorry spectable if he gets gussied up to play the pipes and his Argyles keep sinking and wrinkling. The other remedy for this affliction is to apply spats. The Hot Glue Solution I deem to be overly painful and impractical.
• Garters and gators Argyles and spats Sartorial Bees wears stained cravats Westcots and gloves tails and top hat Sartorial Bees is a mess for a'that!
• Whoa! I want no part o' such 'gators!. What I wear at home for every day resembles what the junkman flings away. They try to pry my rags from me -- the fact is, They don't want the neighbours to see my fuzzy collars nor my frazzled cuffs and shirtfronts speckled as plum duffs. These threadbare jeans have just got comfy -- No, patched elbows don't make me look frunmpy! From all the latest fashions I wish to stay exempt for I find it's far less trouble to be blatantly unkempt.
• Coptic Socks The Victoria and Albert Museum has mounted a special exhibition of knitting ... The exhibits will include a pair of coptic socks from the fourth-fifth century AD ... NEWS ITEM, 1980 Fancy the Copt Possessing socks! -- Elastic-topped, Perhaps, with clocks. What marvellous wool From Coptic flocks To last so well In Coptic socks! Some will get shockls Who cast an optic On knitted socks -- Then read they're Coptic. -- Roy Fuller
• It's still going! [*triumphant shout*] After years of stuffing My feet in too-small shoes I just had tendons rearranged Some bone removed And then they put in screws No glam high heels Nor lovely thongs No footwear bling To dance and sing My happy sarah song Barefoot's not an option And in our summer heat Daggy though it be Sandals worn with socks Is the one comfort left to me I think I need more practise...
• Ha! Coptic people lost socks, too! That predates the washing machine. Well, there goes that theory.
• For I am just a Coptic Sock With little time for intrigue But washing me involved a rock And consid'rable thread fatigue So I admit it, I escaped I saved myself more beatings Clinging to the basket's shape I fell to the river's greetings And now the Coptic Socks agree We'll not be caught by no man We're a Coptic Sock Fun Jamboree A successful sock-led show band!
• Banananas to all the sock monkey poets! A city cop patrols our block, And all he wears is Coptic Socks, And as he walks his chilly beat, He has no fear of frozen feet. The cat leapt from my lap in shock; That cat wore cataleptic socks. He slept all day, arose to play, Then down again to sleep he lay. September sixth, at six o'clock, My aunt wore antiseptic socks. The floor was fraught with filth, but she Had feet that stayed infection-free. In Pharaoh's crypt, inside a box, They found a pair of cryptic socks, But when they saw the light of day, He myst'ry crumbled clean away.
• ))), hurrah for sarah!!! ))), hurray for petebest!!! ))), and, for The Underpants Monster, hip hip -- so underpants won't fall down!!!
• Oh, you and your Monkey Shines!
• monkey shines his shoes not socks he takes the latter for long walks along the trails up in the hills his shoes are scuffed his socks have pills and they are cuffed
• Double Haiku for a Single Sock, discovered in the dryer at 7:32 p.m., February 22 I had you two years. That's a record for me. My favorite socks. You kept me so warm That cold, damp November. Now - one freezing foot.
• Ode to a Single Sock, found behind the dryer at 8:05 p.m., February 22 O Sock! Thou equal warmer of left or right (For thou knowest not discrimination, Thy reinforcèd toe beseamed straight 'cross), I joyfully reunite thee with thy solemate In the middle drawer. And now, thou no longer one, Becomest once more you, my favorite pair of socks. O, Sockadockadockadock! Thou child of Target, Thou hider under Casual-Friday-khakis, Wonderful Cushioner! The only thing betwixt me and the cold, hard reality of floor! Heaven bless your marriage, cotton-rich twins, For it has blessed me inside my character shoes As I learned the Charleston in drafty rehearsal hall. It has blessed me when six blankets were not enough. Blow, blow, thou winter wind! Thou art not so unkind As life without my socks.
• *applauds*
• *stands, whistles, takes off socks* *changes mind, throws undies*
• *stands, whistles, takes off socks* *changes mind, throws granny pants*
• Woohoo! Those are goin' in the scrapbook!
• Where are my undies?! beauty, too, btw!
• *flings banana-filled socks in Pantsie's general direction*
• The first cause of extinction of the great auk, formerly inhabiting water-circled rock, (and thinking safety lies in company of its flock) was that it lost a lucky green sock. The second was the sailors, come to gawk, who carried guns and pistols, albeit flintlock.
• I don't even have that one green one anymore. It's fucking fleed as well. Or is it fleeed?
• fleded
• fucking fleeed, I believe, mate as in fleeewheeeskeedaddled
• The last green sock exited The last red herring wreckededed Fuckall and Hellspit The back of the drawer inspecteded
• a sockling pig will soon grow big if left to munch its siblings' lunch
• *whistles* RAAAAH, YOU GUYS! *takes off shirt, waves overhead* *throws underpants monster*
• I STIL HAF MY BRITE RED SOCKS THO
• We're not from Aberdeen Despite what you have seen All argyles Are guile.
• We've learned to hunt, we check each boot, our sufferings have been acute. Keep a grip on your socks! they sneak into folds of blankets and hide themselves in negligees -- or in the sleeves of shirts somehow get tied. Dark mysteries of the laundry chute, the hamper, washer, dryer -- those which were paired become unpaired as mates dissolve into thin air as if they burned in some bonfire -- ends for which we're unprepared.
• When you lose your sock you bare your sole, there is no defence from winter's toll, a cold foot and trembling toes result most likely in a runny nose.
• Sock it . . . to Me?
• *hands pete that prize you get for, you know, just showing up and being a Good Sport and all*
• they placed inadequate dividers inside my old sock drawer so I don't use the damn thing any more but it's been heaven for the spiders who arrived with all their kin meanwhile I have nothing to keep my stockings in
• Nothing to keep his stockings in-- The spiders weave in Wacky's bin. No more socks of comfy cotton. Bees' dresser drawer's completely rotton. His stockings languish in a box, Whilst Bees sits and sadly talks, Of days gone by when socks were cherished. Bees old sock drawer has sadly perished.
• Whle Beesy sits and spins his rhyme They steal his sockx eight at a time
• they are unscrupu louses who steal men's socks that's why I keeps mine under locks when I carouses
• all I can sing is a sad sock song -- for all my missing ones who should belong back home with me only they've gone on like sheep on the hoof socks can't stay still always trying to find some greener hill but the fool who's been fleeced is not pleased by his bare foot's chill woolly green song where the heck have ye gone? I searched the old pasture and the unmown lawn but there's no sign of where ye can have gone
• what do socks want? freedom now! the absence of the sock chafes the sole
• Monkeyfilter: like sheep on the hoof, socks can't stay still
• Bravo! And well tagged, pantsie!
• Withered old topic Like tears in rain, the sock's gone I got over it
• well meaning satire valid point lost to us now. asinine spelt wrong
• Chy's sock 'spired us Unfortunately, it's gone He doesn't give a damn
• eighty-one degrees Summer, midnight. inert air. still no fucking sock
• One foot is in green, Red is on the other one. Long jeans cover all.
• A sock, a point Lost to us Good is it all
• Say it ain't so!
• *lies through teeth* It ain't so. Better? When I was a little girl I read all the Cherry Ames, Student Nurse books. There was a big elaborate scene in one of them where all the student nurses, who upon reaching their senior year were allowed to wear white stockings instead of black, gathered up all their blak ones and tossed them in the river. I always wondered how may fish they killed that way.
• deep in the mind our craving for socks is balanced by loathing of old smelly socks you wouldn't want to come within blocks of these crusty and threadbare and cheesy darned socks o down by the docks they're burning their socks and tourists come flocking -- the spectacle's shocking!
• How can you rhyme 'sock' with 'sock'?? Who do you think you are, Ozzy Osbourne? :D
• Like a sock to a flame Ol' bees is our Cantor Our sock poems are lame But his - witty banter Huzzah for the sockkeep! His footwear for waxing Or perhaps in his barefeet He rhymes more relaxing
• Chy, I think it's called a poetic lozenge
• Wool, and the sock I sing, which, stitched by hand, and smoothed upon a foot, feels simply grand...
• Mr Spork: Why do you wear those wool socks, Captain? Captain Foon: So I can feel ... sheepish. Doctor Coy: Bah!
• :D
• HAHA! The Klingon sock Is not prounounced Nor even spoke It's deadly lint per ounce Revered Among the warm-footed Cold-hearted Space race with starwool on The Klingon Do Not Lose Socks
• I'd reccommend ye never place worn socks beneath your carapace would I steer ye wrong old Klingon-face? your last decision's up to you whether to trust me or reek and rue
• Sock-face Ziggatsi Sent all stoolies runnin' The sockfia strongman Would be smelt a-comin' And Three-toes Marini Earned his name one night While casing the sock joint He caught himself frostbite S'alright?
• o stocking green as leaf (not bloom) of chicory, have you gone to ground in some formicary? yes, I deem you guilty of sly trickery who once did swing with me in wild Terpsicore
• =Terpsichore
• Without my footsie wrappings I feel quite incomplete The world comes into contact With the skin upon my feet. I'm cold and lonely in the night By day I bear the weather The soles upon my old stump ends Have hardened just like leather. I'm angry with this issue And I cannot quite control My urge to stomp about the place And throwing bits of coal. The thing that now occurs to me And no doubt each of you, How can I go barefoot When I wear me' shoes? What party is responsible? Well folks I blame the Jews.
• Sprrriiingtiiime! For Hitler!! And Germanyyyyyy! Now folks here's a tale Both long and tall About Chy and his farmhouse It's both big and small He stomps about knowing His bad news coal throwing With bare feet a-showing Cause the bad smell a-growing And here comes a big bird Flys over the yard, see It lets out a big turd For Chy's bare ol' footsie And he stomps about knowing His bad news coal throwing With bare feet a-showing And a bad smell a-growing And that big bird a-crowing The bird turd just set there And Chy's just a-glarin' He'll figure a plan To avoid turd a-wearin' So he walks on his hands Right past that big pile To the cheers of his fans For hundreds of miles Still he stomps about knowing His bare foot coal throwing With a big smile a-showing Still that bad smell a-growing And that big bird a-crowing And that Oz sun a-glowing Now Chy's feat completed He sits on the porch His dinner is eated And his J now is torched So we say our farewells To the man and his feet And their unique Oz smells And our tale is complete Still he stomps about knowing His bare foot coal throwing With a big smile a-showing Still that bad smell a-growing And that big bird a-crowing And that Oz sun a-glowing And our song still a-going . . .
• For Chy and petebest -- may ))) of amazement pile high on your plates!!!
• I am moved and humbled. Socktacular!
• those who make a mockery of my sockery shall not be invited to have a daquiri
• hickory, dickery, daquiri, t' world be overfull o' quackery
• hickory, dickery, double daquiri the new collie snoozes in my bed and leaves my sheets all too dog-crackery
• A collie needs socks Like a bear needs a fox hound coat Or I need a lump in my throat
• Yo, I'm Doctor Sock, an' I'm here to Rock I want to rap along about my missing sock They call me Chy C, the ever lovin' man, An' I never got the message bout no woollen plan You scream and you holler bout the fact I'm a scholar But I insist when I am posting that you send me a dollar. Suckers send me socks, But they got holes So I reach into my box For some fresher clothes See I'm the bong cleaner, Chymo the gleaner, Vegie-type guy who never eats a wiener Well I'm as warm as a monkey in a thermal blanket I got the warp and weft for a sock-like banquet So if you're hot to trot, You think your socks are a beast I got news for you dudes, My socks reach my knees!
• *throws it up, says "heyyy" / "hooooo"* )))!!
• Knee socks! Chy! You da man. Socks are teh kewl. Panty hose stink.
• Dr. Sock in da house!
• )))!!! Dr Sock scores again!
• *GramMa works dentures... Dang these newfangled rappers with their bling-bling and their baggy socks!
• A sock like noon I'm a threadbare buffoon Of no consequence I don't make sense to myself But I rhyme like an elf Tiny forrested quips My beat slips through the drawer What I'm lookin for The sock, green hose For me feet, I knows it Seems I shows all concerned Not to get burned but again Open it up, take it on the chin My chagrin begins to my Cold feet Need heat 'Cause my shoes are thin Stepping on rocks Woah damn Where's my socks?
• *threatens to strangle Pete with her support hose
• Wisdom Too Late Never launder a wool sock in hot water or it won 't fit ye like it otter.
• please cancel my appointment for how can I have my portrait painted by you, Vermeer when one foot's bare? it will not do to have me tuck it underneath my chair a fussy fellow I just ain't but I'd rather my barefootedness not be immortalized in paint
• Paint a sock Upon his foot Or make it look Just like a boot
• An oil would be lovely forever after A woodcut, divine to make it last or The true foot image is done in plaster
• Hear my lament This sockless day, A plaster saint With feet of clay.
• to daub mud upon my scrawny toes in lieu of socks god only knows shall never serve to comfort foot though clay dry harder than a steel-toed boot
• What's this I see, are my eyes fooling?
• A feast for the eyes keeps monkeys drooling?
• Found lost socks are sure to please but ain't no find like found lost Bees!
• AH HA!! By cracky! It's our Beeswacky!
• Burma Shave
• Euphonious!
• Hurray! Welcome back, beeswacky!!
• Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!
• A sockless dance Is quite in order For bees returns To the sockless larder More honeyed poems More buzzy rhymes In the Monkey Hoem In the Sockless Times!
• could bee you phoney us just as we phoney you we seem to be the silliest animals in this zoo yet behind our masks there's nothing that we monkeys cannot do I got to thinking yesterday morning (this affliction strikes me without much warning) how if I smear honey on all six sockless feet it won't make them one bit tastier to eat
• I have to envy Pan his hooves which don't wear out, nor disappear -- they're just the thing for climbing rocks unlike my missing wooly socks knit for me by the hands of love and irreplacable, I fear
• The Sock's Yarn: he stuffs me daily into his shoe o I'm but a sock so there's little I can do but think PHEEEEEEEYYYEEEEEW!!! still I will not be condemned although I shrink and flee from such a sorry smelly fate and ignoble end instead I leave him barefoot in the lurch and in any case I do not like him very much
• The Foot's Stroy He was my sole friend.
• Feet can't spell very well.
• You won't need the sock When the weather is hot And the foot's in flip-flops And the other foot plots
• I wear leather sandals sometimes in the summer but having my feet stick to my insoles is a bummer so I wear socks as well when I climb on the rocks or cross the shingle though I wear boots when I adjust a horse's surcingle
• Saul of Tarsus had two feet To tote his bass's parcels A cannibal he chances to meet, Who liked a sauce of tarsals.
• AAARGH! Punning Saul, when he came-us Off his horse he fell on his anus It was a fit, or maybe fungi But he claimed Jebus caught his good eye And there he lay all in a funk Decided to change the church a chunk Til even James, who's Jebus' Bro Said fuck up, Saul, you wretched Ho You didn't even know the bitch you claim Gave your ass a new damn name But whether Saul wore socks or caliga He never summered in sunny Malaga.
• From missing socks to wounded toes, here is a catalog of bootless woes: of socks that, errant, disappear and won't return although men, hoping, call them here; of feet that, sockless, have no choice but lamentation make by way of rhyming feet and human voice. A stocking's both a sad and silly thing since by itself it cannot featly sing.
• You cadre of punning linguists!
• Ye find folks pundittied it, petes?
• This, mentioned upthread by SideDish, would seem after a year, to have run out of steam.
• You've really kept track all this past year, Bees? *astonished eyebrows
• Steamed socks are a dish Best served with delicious puff pastry I ate three and then, on a dare And a whim, declared I wish that all socks would be made free. Viva! Viva! Los Sock Libre!
• Tube socks, or not tube socks? That is the question. Whether 'tis nobler for the feet to bare.
• Spats cover a multitude of sins like who's wearing no socks on his shins.
• Go on, TUM! Take it to the hole!
• Spats?!?! do they even still sell them? Do they require you to demonstrate that you can sing Puttin' on the Ritz to buy them? I think we need to get spats (and hats) back into our fashion sense.
• I have worn spats, but only on stage. You can buy them, but mine have always been homemade.
• If ye play the pipes, ye likely turn out in spats on some occaisions. Businesses catering to pipers still sell 'em.
• I have spats sometimes. Fits! Fits. I have fits sometimes.
• If the shoe fits ... well, I hope ye put a sock on first.
• On a related note, I have a picture of Mrs Chy at age 6 or 7 (maybe) doing the Highland Fling (or something). She used to win all those Highland Dancing contests when she was a nipper. Judging by the wet, the piper's spats have come in handy, but I don't think the macintosh is strictly part of the attire, aside from the name! The girls in the back look pissed off.
• If I posted this at MeFi, no doubt some wankers would say "it's photoshopped! her feet aint blurred!"
• That's teh avv3som3! Although I can see the grassy knoll's been brushed out, it's still a great pic. But the Airbus and the rabbit? I call fake. (Bonus points for the socks too)
• Heh! Excellent, lassie! Piping is performance art so pipers have to dress the part. Although these days, with reneactments happening everywhere, ye now get away with more period garments than the military/regimental style requires. Which is great as these aren't nearly so hot in summer as being under layers of wool plaid in a wool doublet and a shirt and undershirt as ye're sweltering for the edification of tourists or whoever.
• An a bra wee bonnie lassie she is! But the bag piper is duck-footed. Duh, of COURSE he is. If it sqawks like a duck... MonkeyFilter: sweltering for the edification of tourists
• O wool ye no come back again? No comfort's here for sockless men and as we limp about the glen we shake our fists at Charlie! Charlie came in a terrible hurry he took socks from Mackenzie and socks from Murray 'Will ye give'em back? 'Oh, yes, don't worry!' now we shake our fists at Charlie
• Socktacular!
• when I was but a sockling babe my mammy said to me 'give coins and cats and cloaks away, but keep thy stockings close by thee' I took them to a sandy beach to let them traipse as stockings will among the crabs and urchins blithe until they'd tripped and trod their fill but then there came a loathly wave and swept my darlings far from me and now I weep upon the shore with both feet bare, as ye can see
• Beautiful picture, Chy.
• ‘The sorrow of socks’ Wendy Cope Some socks are loners - They can’t live in pairs. On washdays they’ve shown us They want to be loners They puzzle their owners, They hide in dark lairs. Some socks are loners - They won’t live in pairs.
• Heh! That woman KNOWS! there is a Monstrous Appetite that comes in silence or the dead of night and steals away those very socks we'd planned to wear so when we attend board meetings lo! our feet are bare
• What is a comfort be thy sock - And ne'er betwixt a toe'en A humid shoe, Hot sandals won't do Thus praise the sock with poems
• Mes pieds? Pas chaud. Et froid est mon tête, Je n'ai ni chapeau, Ni chaussettes.
• no hat have I for my feet no stocking caps my head my enemies filched 'em all away while I lay slugabed
• without me, my sock has gone for a walk! if this hadn't happened to me before with appalling frequency I'd faint from sheer shock and lie stretched on the floor pondering life's piquancy
• The Missing Sock Roger McGough I found my sock beneath the bed. ‘Where have you been all week?’ I said. ‘Hiding away’ the sock replied. ‘Another day on your foot and I would have died!’
• The Joy of Socks THIS IS JUST TO SAY I have worn the socks that were in your sock drawer and which you were probably saving for after a shower Forgive me they were clean so fuzzy and so warm
• O handsomely done, BlueHorse!
• Nicely, GramMa!
• Yay GramMa!
• Them's some lovely sockwords.
• I took my laundry to one of those places that wash and dry and fold for you. Two big sacks. When I got them back, the laundress said 'I washed a LOT your of socks, but damned if any of them matched!' I can't believe this thread is still going.
• What am I thinking! Of COURSE this thread is still going!
• Death, war, taxes, and lost socks, man.
• Fer sure, rilly. *contemplates mismatched socks, like, together*
• I have an easy solution to the lost sock problem. I have a monochromatic wardrobe. All my socks are the same style and color so any two can match up.
• All my identical socks are now 48 different shades of dingy.
• All my socks are the same style and color so any two can match up. *soothing voice: Berek, That's good. Everyone needs something to live for.
• I tried the black sock solution but it turns out all-the-same black socks are an illusion deceitful sock manufacturers have invented too many variations on the black sock theme I have made a study of the variables in black socks which prevent me from being able find two matching socks let alone place them on my feet here is my report indicating variable factors among the 37 black socks currently in my chest of drawers and the laundry hamper: material of which sock is made style weave of sock ribbing on cuff, the number of ribs and the width of those ribs elasticised or non-elasticized emergence rate of snapped elastic strands in body of sock placement of toe seam placement of heel reinforcement intrusion in toe seams of non-black thread, as for instance green, sky-blue, and white blackness that alters after being laundered into blue-black vs red black vs greyish-black etc shrinkablity frayability meaning how fast will fabric of sock develop holes pilling, meaning how soon will theose little whitish linty-looking excresences empimple the sock's fomerly uniform and sleek appearance conclusion: we MUST have mono-pattern and monodesign for black socks! join the Society for the Promulgation of Monopattern and Monodesign in Black Socks today!
• I just spray paint my ankles black and never have to worry.
• Ah, the ol' Spats-O-Matic®.
• But, bees, does it really matter what the part covered up by the shoe looks like, so long as you can find 2 which are close enough around the ankle that casual observers won't notice any different. And, when you're wearing boots, you could use Chy's lucky green sock on one foot and a purple one on the other. Unless, of course, you take your shoes/boots off in the company of others. (Gasp!)
• No, they're not lucky if there's only one.
• Of course it matters, path! I'm Canadian and we remove our boots and shoes when we come inside. Man cannot be well-dressed when his socks are unsightly! And I am happy to say I don't own any purple socks. Not now. Not ever. I have 37 unlucky socks.
• Ah, Bees, Bees! *shakes head If you buy a brand of socks you like by the case, you wouldn't have that problem. Com'on, let a little color into your life! Become enpurpled! You would be surprised what it will do for your feet.* *GramMa would have never worn anything but boring solid socks, but now in her senility, she wears patterns--kittens in hats, frogs playing musical instruments, socks with monkeys and bananas! My feet are happy and dancing when I wear my new socks.
• MonkeyFilter: Become enpurpled!
• green socks bring us thoughts of spring and leprchauns hiding in the Irish hills abiding socks that are blue when they stay in the shoe are a main cause of blisters for missuses and misters socks that are red are unspeakably sad socks that are scarlet are fit for a varlet socks that are yellow cheer the heart of every fellow socks that are gold keep your feet from getting cold socks of emerald socks of jade are the luckiest stockings ever made socks of celadon socks of beryl won't let you with the fairies quarrel socks of purple are not made in men's sizes the salesman said so BlueHorse here is quite deluded her vision blinkered, eyes are hooded
• A purple sock is fit for verse - A besotted bard could do no worse. But should it be compared to green? Religious nuts would make a scene! But who shall tout the perfect white? The sock of basketball, and of night? A simpleton? A poet-lite? Perhaps I may, try as I might.
• a purple sock I would esteem much more lucky than even green in fact I'll peruse the Ebay wares to see if I can find some pairs
• sing us the song of the sock that's white a glaring horror throughout the night main cause of linting my new black socks and causing the poet to out with vile squawks so fie on ye, fie! no more will I buy
• The world of the socks Is not quite as equal As the lofty ideal Of the world of we people - When washing their odor Away sort by color or have Grey, pink, and polkadot Socks to pore o'er.
• As a girl I fancied handsome Mr. Osmond on TV; His socks were just as purple, well, as purple socks could be. I begged and begged my mother, "Can't we go to J.C. Penney? For I would love some purple socks; let's see if they have any!" Mr. Penney's taste was not as good as handsome Mr. Osmond's; He had no violet Haneses or vermilion Hugo Bosses. He had some purple-pomponed Peds, like tennis stars cavort in, But not the orchid Argyles that the toothy lad was sporting. Neither Sears nor Roebuck had those knee-high tubes of plum; Though still a wee bit rock and roll, I felt so sad and glum! I put a pair of blue tights overtop my tights of red, But it didn't come out purple, like the crayon box had said. "Mr. Osmond," I indignantly addressed the TV screen, "You've led me down the garden path. Sir, you are quite mean." He'd teased me with his lilac hose, and raised my girlish hopes Of having legs the vibrant shade of summer heliotropes. Then, my mother filled my day with wild, ecstatic shock: "They had them at Montgomery Ward's. You've got your purple socks." I danced around the living room in stocking-footed glee, For now I could be just like Mr. Osmond on TV.
• *stands on chair, applauds*
• *throws shoes in appreciation of the poets! Bees: Of COURSE there are purple socks for men. They even come in argyle
• NO NO NO NO NO. They must be a SOLID COLOUR to be proper lucky socks. None of this fucking pattern nonsense (although I did find a pair of purple socks with monkey heads on them on Ebay.... GET THEE BEHIND ME SATIN)
• My lucky socks are black! Well, all my socka are black. And all my underwear. And all my shirts. And all my pants. I have a mono-chromatic wardrobe. That way everything I wear is lucky!
• Are uor lucky socks at lease particularly black? What about your lucky pot and fortuitous kettle?
• OHHHHHH YEEEEEESSSSSS, they are so very black, black like Chyren's soul!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
• I can see you don't know Chyren very well. Chy's soul is the color of dawn, and sometimes sunset.
• More of a chartreuse, really.
• Taupe.
• whenever I'm in the mood to mope I chew a while on a bar of soap and gaze at my socks without much hope they'll stop being grey or charcoal or taupe because black socks just won't stay black and emerald socks go on long walks all by themselves and without permission just like I do when I go fishing I want a sock with other strings a thing of woolly yarns, no fancy things a sock that will stay on my foot once that is where I have it put
• To have a soulful sock is fine A lucky sock, the better Some like chartreuse, and some the taupe And some teh pink, or redder.
• I have one sock as white as snow, One black as Coca-Cola, And one of each color, Some brighter, some duller, Invented by Crayola.
• Heh. Monkeyfilter Exclusive: Where the world's most SOCKsessful poets spin yarns for your diversion Pssst, guys: somebody pass a hat, eh?
• Sock it to me?
• I wear one sock I wear a unitard I write sock poetry it isn't avant-garde
• You bet your sweet bippy, Berek.
• You know, I used to think you had a weet bippy, but then I realized that you are one of the distaff members of the monkey elite. Imagine my disappointment. I thought the clubhouse sign said no girls allowed!
• the hills are alive with the cries of socks who wander these sere hills in lost knotty flocks from the valleys below come the shrieks and the bellows of sock-forlorn travellers lamenting with their fellows 'o my sock was here but now it is gone and I haven't another damn sock to put on'
• In wintertime I fill a sock Halfway with uncooked rice, And put it in the microwave 'Till it is hot and nice. I take it into bed with me To keep my carcass warm, But even in that state it holds A rather foot-shaped form. So they call me Snuggles Three-Feet (They don't, but hey, they could). A mismate sock's still useful, And rice ain't always food.
• mice think rice is rather nice they eat it neat like corn or wheat if you have corns upon your feet they may consider you a treat
• A bit of MoFi history for benefit of the newly arrived, the inquisitive, and/or the hitherto-baffled: 'Twas Nostrildamus started this thread. As recall at the time Uncle Nostril was a wee bittie irked by a profusion of what he considered to be nonsensical posts. Posts that were insulting to the high carriage, rational processes, and innate dignity of monkeys who had not yet grasped more than the rudiments of flinging poo with wild abandon. (O we were young!) He therefore decided to produce a thread of his own -- this one -- that would be so outrageously and exaggeratedly ridiculous that only mockery and woe would greet any such subsequent posts. He is uncommonly articulate, and if any monkey could have accomplished the feat, Nostril would have. However, Nostril had not then become fully attuned to the True Nature of Monkey, who blunders always to the west, and respects only those things which shall be jeered at tomorrow. Anyhow, faithful readers of this thread are aware Nostrildamus vanished for a time, only to manifest among us again as Chyren. But now Chyren has vanished. The acute eye of path I believe was first to spot this appalling subtraction from our midst. Chy's computer, its fan faltering for too long, has now apparently given up and fried itself. I refer interested readers to Chyren's profile page so they may take whatever action/inaction seems to them most appropriate. And now for an infliction of poetry, close to but not quite about socks: My Shoes Shoes, secret face of my inner life: Two gaping toothless mouths, Two partly decomposed animal skins Smelling of mice nests, My brother and sister who died at birth Continuing their existence in you, Guiding my life toward their incomprehensible innocnece. What use are books to me When in you it is possible to read The gospel of my life on earth And still beyond, of things to come? I want to proclaim the religion I have devised for your perfect humility And the strange church I am building With you as the altar. Ascetic and maternal, you endure: Kin to oxen, to Saints, to condemned men, With your mute patience, forming The only true likeness of myself. -- Charles Simac
• I believe St. Nostril also lost a sock. As to how the other was lost, alas I cannot speculate. Perhaps it is that which keeps the magic X-ray Fez aflate.
• shrunk sock at night flapper take flight shrunk sock at dawm I can't pull it on.... in winter when my socks were white I washed 'em both by candlelight (the soap I used was old Sunlight) but when I went to hang them up one had been eaten by the pup after a Squalid Interlude I washed that sock I did it nude eight times I dipped it in the water but it still didn't smell just like it oughter
• Lost sock! I have a mission for you. Go find Chy and tell him that there are internet cafes where he could check in.
• Sounds like he may be a bit too infirm to get out to a cafe. I hope lot's of monkeys can help our dear Chy.
• I'm not *that* bloody infirm! I'm posting from Bayswater library. I hope I can get away with it. I will be checking in soon using my uncle's computer, but I will only have it for a day or so.
• Rather thought that would get a rise out of ye once ye clapped eyes on it.
• YEAH CHY!!! You go, daddy!
• YEAH CHY!!! You go, daddy!
• Woot! So happy to see you posting!!!!!!!
• hi, Chy!
• *knits virtual socks for Chy*
• Yo Chy, your voice is missed.
• Missing you mucho, Chymo.
• they pack no bags before they flee and where they go is mystery they ignore the pleading of the feet to hasten down some secret street leaving their owners in defeat come back, dear sock does not suffice for a sock's aloof as a bag of ice and once it goes it won't come twice
• Afraid So Jeanne Marie Beaumont Is it starting to rain? Did the check bounce? Are we out of coffee? Is this going to hurt? Could you lose your job? Did the glass break? Was the baggage misrouted? Will this go on my record? Are you missing much money? Was anyone injured? Is the traffic heavy? Do I have to remove my clothes? Will it leave a scar? Must you go? Will this be in the papers? Is my time up already? Are we seeing the understudy? Will it affect my eyesight? Did all the books burn? Are you still smoking? Is the bone broken? Will I have to put him to sleep? Was the car totaled? Am I responsible for these charges? Are you contagious? Will we have to wait long? Is the runway icy? Was the gun loaded? Could this cause side effects? Do you know who betrayed you? Is the wound infected? Are we lost? Will it get any worse? To which I add with Chy in mind: Do I have one green sock missing?
• We count our socks in twos, A conceit of having two good eyes and two good hands. The sock does not know of our pairing. Twos? The sock is the sock. Unique. It is its own sock. And yet the sock likes other socks, and seeks them. Some socks put the sock right off, some socks have their heroic deeds sung to the heavens by a joyous, appreciative, applauding sock. Socks that we still have are easy to count, are precious, and can go on being their old socky selves. But socks we have lost become countless, our memories wear out more quickly than they. Let's not forget our lost, green sock.
• Hey, Ralph, have a banana!
• Sockulicious, RTD!
• Sockulicious, RTD!
• My daughter has a whole drawer of unpaired socks. It's like a support group for widows.
• Well said, RTD!
• I'm going! I'm going! Though my pace is halt and slow. I hear their gentle voices bawling Sock, damn you, don't go!
• I sing a sock A sock I sing A thread's a many-tangled thing A footwear thought A thought for feet A poet's many-tangled treat Four four oh-five Alive and more With missing sockey tales galore
• Socks Choose Their Own Mates

  Oh, my voice is sad and low And with barefoot step I go For with laundry load o'er laden, All my colored socks are fading. Will you pair up, little woollies? Will you fill my sock drawer fully? Little sockies answer "No! Thank you for your kindly proffer Though you added Downy soft’ner Yet I must decline your offer-- I'm engaged to So-and-so!" What rebellious socks to taunt me! Leave me in a mismate quand’ry Every stocking in my launry Is engaged to So-and-so!
• single socks in droves march by none are mine; this makes me cry these are black and grey and white I count the darned things every night
• Sock Wars!! The Rules 1. The first rule of Sock Wars is, you must talk about Sock Wars 2. The second rule of Sock Wars is, you MUST talk about Sock Wars. (no really, for this to be a success we need as many combatants as possible) 3. Two socks to a fight 4. One fight at a time 5. No shirts, no shoes, just socks 6. Fights will go on as long as they have to 7. If this is your first time in Sock Wars, you have to fight.
• The Revised Rules, or I Am a C.O. in the Sock Wars 1.The first wisdom about yarn: 'tis easily snarled. 2.The second rule about yarn: no two lots match in colour. Even though the label says they do they don't. 3.Two needles to a yarn to knit or thumb and a finger for sprang. 4.Tell only one yarn at a time. Otherwise the characters in it get hopelessly muddled. 5.No yarn, no socks; no socks, no luck. 6.Some yarns are never-ending. But the ones you knit with have to be tied together. With a knot. 7.If this is your first yarn use a double knot. It will make a great ugly lump and come untied in the third chapter.
• woolgathering by the windbreak I lay down the socks from my feet were all windblown I went to wash them in a windburn and my windpipe played another turn my windbag drones among the rocks where breezes fill my old windsocks
• Hee, hee, hee, I love that Bee!
• An evil sock-fairy has charmed them away; I haven't worn a matching pair since last Saturday. I've searched the laundry and the pantry and even tried the kitchen entry in case by some odd mischance they were flung in a pot but it seams they were not.
• O 'tis no idle chatter but a fact that's sweet: socks really really MATTER! Scientists discover when socks lie over chilly feet it's easier to have an orgasm.
• a pair of socks allowed 80 per cent rather than 50 per cent to reach a climax Poor p_b, I wonder how long it has been for him now? Excellent prose and post, bees.
• Prose?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
• I've forgotten everything I ever knew about windows.
• Well, well, well. Look what the socks dragged in.
• Hurray! Chy, are ye back with us now, or is this another quick look-in?
• Yeah, I finally got back. And a new sleek computer thanks to the generosity of certain wonderful simians! I am still tweaking it and trying to figure out how to get back all the things I had before. I saved all my data (this time, remarkably!), but I have literally forgot how I tweaked windows xp to be how I like it. WTF? my memory is like a seive. I backed up my firefox profile and for some reason when I put it back nothing took, I gotta remember all the extensions I had. I forget how to make hidden folders visible & can't find my application data folder! I suppose smoking all that dope over the years really has destroyed my ability to lay down memories or something, like they warned me.. whoever they were. I am not sure this floor is entirely stable. [bleep doop bleep] I got a new neck brace & a fez. And some beer. My old loyal computer, my old interface with the world, my old brain, sits like a rotting hulk on a table, its innards gutted & forlorn. I had literally driven it to the last possible stages of use, the getaway car driven to the last mile, it threw a rod. Dead. The only data I lost was my Ella Fitzgerald sings Cole Porter files - the HD had bad sectors on that part. I musta burned 4-5 coasters & wasted a whole bunch of dvd disks trying to figure out why they wouldn't finish burning. Anyway, I'm back. I have to catch up on everything. Apparently the world ends soon?
• Belcome Wack!
• The Chyman's back and there's gonna be trouble... (Hey la, hey la, the Chyman's back!)
• Buddhists like drinking pee!
• I also hear they like to pull their intestines out and wash them in the river. Those crazy guys.
• They need washing. sometimes you have to move your bowels. I generally keep mine in the same place, just here, above my arse.
• Have I ever mentioned that Rolf Harris is Satan? Literally. He is EVIL.
• Woo0T!!1! Welcome back Chymo! Tie me kangaroo down, sport.
• Eh?
• Cheesy great electric donkey bottom biters
• Once, in the darkness, Danny LaRue frightened me
• Would that be donkeys that bite bottoms, or people who bite the bottoms of donkeys?
• me, perhaps?
• Cheesy? Check Great? Check Electric? Double Check Donkey bottom biter? Hmm...I'd need to examine the photographic evendence to be sure.
• The sky is falling! The sky is falling! Hey! Chy's back! Whadda say there, ya' ol' chicken plucker? *resumes running in circles, flapping arms, screeching
• somebody give GramMa her stash back!
• Hola, brave Chyren.
• btw somebody's probly a hit-list of new monkeys whose virtual kneecaps you'll probly want to break for their noobish sins.
• Yes but I've been thoroughly emasculated in that regard, methinks!
• Say it isn't so! You don't want to abandon me to the task of trying to get the Noobs in line. I'm so bad at it.
• Yeah, but I read on the log that Monkeybashi doesn't like my satirical use of funnay images as a n00b LART. Maybe after I send her her pwesents, I can gain some points. ;)
• *snkk* - He thinks Trycicle is a "she" :D n00B!!
• Thought Tricycle's a collective.
• Hurr-rye! We have a Chy!
• I like socks.
• Psst! Chy! I think she did it! *hums quietly, glances furtively*
• /not being drawn The other day I thought of something that is like socks and ballpoint pens in its nature of disappearing, into some n-universe or braneworld, never to be seen again. So, dutifully, today I sat down to mention it right here in this very thread. But I could not recall what that item was. This leads me to believe that the quality of an item that leads it to become missing* exists in this particular object in so much abundance that even the concept itself becomes lost from the brain. Then, mere seconds after I started this post to explain my shameful memory loss, I remembered: Forks. I have plenty of knives, and a myriad of spoons, particularly dessert spoons, but I have seemingly less and less forks. This is a pity, as they are my favorite utensil. Apart from that indefineable old victorian utensil from the back of the cupboard, for which no adequate descriptive term exists. *I propose that this n-quality, the propensity to go missing, should be given a name. I have no clue as to what this should be, thus I submit the proposition of naming it to the distinguished and learned group of gibbering simians here gathered.
• Sorry guv, no forks in this one. This 'ere's only socks and sock-related serendipitous disappearance rumination. Though you're welcome to look 'f course. Ah, and one "Underpants Monster" which 'as been allowed in.
• *dances about wearing garland of stray forks*
• I believe the quality should have a name with the same venerable quality of terms such as "phlogiston" or "caloric." I propose we henceforth refer to it as "kleingrok," or perhaps "Steve."
• I have the same problem with butter knives. We have heaps and heaps of spoons of all sizes and forks and chopsticks (quite enough for a party of twenty and more), but barely a handful of knives. Sometimes the number drops to a dismal one or two. It's weird, innit?
• I wholeheartedly agree with middleclasstool on the need for something that sounds like phlogiston or caloric. (Perhaps the place whence socks disappear is into the Aether?) Alnedra, what you report is very interesting.
• Absens? Disappearum? Aetheric?
• Prestochangeomeric?
• Abracadabric?
• Vaporiston?
• Perdiquity?
• Forkonicaligistical occurences
• I used to have wine glasses go missing every so often, but remedied that particular mystery by drinking it straight out of the bottle.
• OK, that did make me LOL, rocket88. Nice one. :)
• How about Avolaton, from the Latin avolatus, to rush away; flee or vanish? Or even better, Abolaton (because it sounds a bit like abolish), from abolesco, decay gradually, wilt or disappear? So you might have, abolatonic or abolatonism. "It was full of abolaton, so I couldn't see it even though it was right in front of me," - as for your reading glasses or my wallet.
• Have you seen my car keys? They seem to have abolesced. I like it!
• Hoffacularity awolly thinairity decamperous elosticity gonitude fleebitten?
• Those blasted gonitudinous forks!
• I second Steve. Steve is always a good name choice for something, say a dog, that one cannot come to agreement upon naming. For our purposes, some sample sentences: "I just put that fucking pen down someplace, and now it's gone Steve on me." "Has Chyren fucking Steve'd this joint? He hasn't posted here in months." "If I Steve one more half-empty pack of cigarettes, I'm gonna go ballistic." "Sorry, love. The damn thing just Steved on me. It's not you, sometimes this just happens. Really."
• Political usage: "You can't just cry Steve on this. The whole fucking war was based on their having WMD's." Artistic usage: "Paradise Steved" Business usage: "Enron stockholders were left with little but Steve in their retirement accounts."
• Supersubtractionism. Boojumic. Cheshirescattyness. Gategateparasamgateslamism. Amscrayedandawaystayed. Flude.
• I do like Supersubstractionism. T'others have tied up my tongue!
• Disappositioned. Miswent. Invisiblated. Missocked.
• Spectrized. Utensibout.
• Now, what the Steve were we talking about?
• Utensibout! hear hear!
• *bows, faux-modestly*
• mesocked methought the left the right all in the darkness of the night when morning came I scratched my head as feet in meters off did tread
• John Sockling a poem: Tell me not, Sock, thou'rt unkind when in the dim of day I cannot find thy wretched mate and wonder wot the dachsund ate.
• horses walk upon their toes men don't, our feet much more like those of bears that trek on ice or shuffle fallen leaves and don't wear loud striped socks like these

• I'm wont to find 
    that sock 
  Though filthy,
  But mostly won't or can't
  
  These indicted dogs
  Are found 
    not guilty
  Although they did chew the plant
  

• Sock-net #2 Sock weather comes upon us once again, As unshod summer stretches out behind. The time has come to dig them out again And see which ones have mates I cannot find. If I were smart, I'd wash them all in May, Dry, mate, fold, and diligently store Each pair, not needed in those warming days, In the sepulchre of the bottom drawer. But no, the springtime rushes to my head, So in the hamper's bottom lie the socks Until September's lingering warmth is dead And bathroom floors are far too cold to walk. June days spent washing winter clothes are lost; Forget your socks until the autumn's frost.
• I loves socks. I hate winter.
• NO! NOT WINTER! Toes...so cold. But my flip-flops make me free!
• Nice one, Monster! the young hen broods for days and dreams of future flocks but my groans I can't suppress when I purchase brand-new socks for thinking of the ones in days to come who'll disappear while around my shanks I've only unmatched pairs for men to jeer
• socks are finite and allotted to darned folk who sock-besotted try to pair a black with blue or cram the cringing things into a Wellie or a boot but such folk are not acute can't see ahead for before the week is fled their socks will all be vanished
• more sock loss! the collie never touches them the Oz-dog leaves them well alone but the dachshund is a wicked beast she raids the bedrooms, then she feasts she eats the toes she eats the heels ignores the cuffs at these illicit meals
• A thick white sock above My soft white flesh beneath It keeps my tender ankle From the kitty's teeth
• how sock searches broaden the mind in Indonesia they wear a pair of kaus (no, no, not cows!) but rarely and when one disappears they say life's treating them unfairly in Hungary folks look for missing zokni and when one cannot be found they fling (no, no, not poo!) but themselves roaring on the ground and say a devil's stolen it to mock me
• A devil may that dachshund be, A sock-ssesful footwear bandit But I've a beagle-mix, and me I cannot understand it He knows the rules and boundaries And times I would not care I find the pilfered socks but these Are pilfered underwear! How many times have I exclaimed A hundred rhymes are said The sock absconding still remains But underwear! Well, that's a different thread
• could it get worse? I lost a sock and I lamented I wrote in verse my other garments now resent it my hats keep falling off my head my winter boots have lost their tread my flies won't open or won't close high time I bought some new ones I suppose
• Noble Socks o' Nova Scotia ye banks and braes do not be dour oh though I sing in praise o' bonny Truro wi' blithesome tread I step lively to Truro from the Bay o' Fundy both feet in Argyled socks are clad and wow! but I'm the lively lad let lasses wonder did we or didn't we as we yarn our way due east to Sydney
• northeast [unless you were heading to the Strine one?]
• pedant-tick?
• Ouch! Ooooh! Dangit! *grabs punny-bone, hops around*
• Socks disappear throughout the year but in winter it seems clear some do not scruple socks to steal. They raid my closet and my drawers and argue: this is mine not yours! The largest socks they like to hang yet back again they do not bring the woolly or the argyled ones but hang my socks till Santa comes.
• "Why has MoFi turned into a site where we help people find their fucking socks?" September, 2004, and MoFi was on the fast track to Hell. Now, back to your regularly scheduled Pablum. Bye, Chy.
• Hey, RTD, he's been reincarnated before. I'm hoping the next one will be less caustic but just as silly.
• If this Christmas is like others, What was lost will soon be found, For sisters, aunties, Mom, grandmothers, Soon will gather all around. We'll celebrate the usual way, The merry, chilly Christmastide By filling the socks we hung that day With many smaller socks inside
• .
• Someone please help me, I've lost one grey sock puppet with a toe hole! Have you seen it??
• You're the toe-hole! tee-heee *runs away*
• for information on your socks
• im in ur sox
• Ah-HA!
• Thread title check one. Testing. Testing. Have no fear, RFID socks are here! Meh. How'z about Wizpeg? Nah, I'll pass on that too. Life just wouldn't be the same without a missing sock. This one was too obvious, but I just had to check... Almost one year! The humanity!
• Thred title check one is complete. You may carry on.
• Where the socks go!!! (video)