Monday, February 11, 2008

The Tale of the Bastard Sock

So I finish playing basketball and I get home. My feet look up at me and yell out (obnoxiously I might add), "Yo homie, these stanky socks are soaking wet! Take those beasts off!" I nod in agreement because it is quite uncomfortable, but I feel like my tootsies could have been a little more polite about it. I guess they were cranky from the 2 hour pounding they just took.

So I head over to the closet and say, "Mr. Closet, will you let me inside so that I may change my socks that you allow me to graciously store inside you?" The closet responds, "Shut up, you little b*tch @$$ h03! Yea I'll let you in, but it'll cost you a half a benny." Why would I have $50 on me right now? Everyone knows I pay with debit everywhere I go. Stupid door! So I grad his jew handle and twist that mother till he lets me in (the door opened). Jeez why is everything so rude to me?

Now here came the true test. I keep my socks in an unmatched pile and then look for matches as I need them. I do this because my socks like to have mixers (the black with the whites, and the ankle with the no-shows). So I grab the first black sock I find. I now need to look for its conjugate. I can't grab just any matching black sock, no sir. I also have this silly habit of looking for left foot socks and right foot socks. Why do you ask? Well the answer is simple, I have OCD. I distinguish left from right by looking at the top of the sock. If it slopes down to the left it is a left foot (because the big toe would be on the right side), if it slopes the other way it is right. I know... I'm sick.

So now here I am on the search for my left footed sock. I grab what I think is a matching sock and say to myself, "This better be a left." I look... To my dismay, it was a right! What the hell?! I toss the sock to the floor. "Ugh, bastard sock!" I declare.

The End

Prologue: The next sock I grabbed was a left, and my feet were warm and happy. Then I slammed that whiny door and taught that sucka who's boss by powderin' up my pimp hand. Gotta keep it strong, I always say (and Jay too). Then I left to tell the remarkable tale to all who would listen, and since you are reading this you really had no choice... SUCKAAAAAA!!!

This story is completely true except for all the fabrications I made up, but all the rest is true. Ok only the sock is true, but the rest could have happened. No you're right, it couldn't have. But the sock is real and this almost really happened. I'm just playing. None of it is true. But it is based on a real event that literally happened like 20 minutes ago. That my friends and family is true. Peace out!

1 comment:

Dad said...

this story is testament to the fact that Lent is getting to you or a
mind is a terrible thing to waste. Love your stories... I think you need some meat son... how many days left??

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