Socks: History’s Greatest Monster
Socks: what a racket to get into. Those little cotton foot-pouches that stand between your skin and the abrasive inside of a shoe. You can wear them high – even up to your knee with rainbow coloured hipster-stripes. You can wear them low – those little ballet affairs that barely cover the heel. You can wear them just above your ankle, over the calf…hell, wear them on your fucking ears, right? YEAH! Socks, people. What a wonder of modern comfort. What a mainstay of Western sophistication. Indispensable and priceless, socks are the only thing that separate us from the beasts. Without socks, where would we be, right? WRONG.
You are being oppressed.
No one invented the sock – at least no one that I can find on Wikipedia – which is annoying, because the lack of a definite target for the lynching that is sure to ensue after this vitriolic piece of hate-speech reaches the masses is, at best, worrying. I know for a fact my readership consists mainly of crowbar-wielding, high-blood-pressure knife enthusiasts, and I like to give you all what you want. Scapegoats: we hunt them by the dozen. But NO! No traceable lineage for the inventor of this idol of capitalist oppression exists for us to direct our rage towards. But come with me, my people, and we will find our villain.
Socks are shit. I buy about fifty of the fucking things a year. (Okay, probably fifty individual socks, so maybe twenty-five pairs…and to be fair, even that is an exaggeration. But fuck off, who’s counting?) No sooner do I get them home from whichever store was in my line of sight when I realised that my shoes were carving flesh-holes out of the bottoms of my feet than they start to fall apart. Socks aren’t built to last, guys. They’re not long term investments…and yet they cost SO MUCH FUCKING MONEY. Why do you think homeless people spend all their time sitting down, mournfully propped up against shop-fronts on busy metropolitan streets? Is it because they are so weak from lack of energy, and the depression at their sorry situation pervades their souls so completely, that they cannot bring themselves to fight against gravity for another second? NO! WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN? The homeless are no stupid few, they are some resourceful fuckers. They refuse to walk, to stand or even use their feet, because they KNOW that as soon as you put pressure on your three-dollar cotton Bonds they’ll wear through and you’ll be back in the line at Target, forking out another five dollars for a piece of material barely worth half as many cents.
I bought some new socks the other day. ‘Why did you buy socks, Taco? What’s the deal with that? You sit here and rail against the capitalist oppression of superfluous pedalian apparel (pedalian, it’s an adjective, it means foot. LOOK IT UP!) but you can’t even give us a solution? WHAT KIND OF REVOLUTIONARY ARE YOU?’ I didn’t know when I bought them; the lightning bolt was yet to strike me, but strike it did, and from the ground up too – like a huge mass of electrons being discharged from the surface of the earth and dispersing into the atmosphere (oooooooh, clever). I have it, people, it was all so simple.
Why wear socks, which always, always, ALWAYS fucking break or smell or get lost and then you only have one left and your housemate goes ‘Hey, dude, why are there all these odd socks under the couch in the living room?’ and you say ‘THAT’S NOT EVEN MY SOCK, DUDE, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?’ Why let that happen? When there is a perfectly accessible and reasonable substitute sitting just under our noses. I’ll say it once, and only once, and you can all try it for yourselves. Baby Powder.
Just let that sink in for a second. Allow yourselves to be swept up and carried off on the wave of understanding. The tide of knowledge. The inevitable winds of change…they blow, my friends, and they blow for us. Why should we pay eighty fucking dollars a year for socks that will inevitably frustrate and infuriate us when they are lost, will become thin and pathetic after two washes and will smell like SHIT, when you can just sprinkle a little baby powder inside your shoes before you chuck them on every day? I’m not saying it’s perfect, but I’m going to give it a shot. An honest shot. No revolution was won in a day, comrades…I’m willing to take the plunge.
Some people are still slaves to our cotton overlords.
If any of you are still loyal to your precious foot-gloves, then by all means, keep beating your heads against the steel girder of planned-obsolescence and pay, pay, pay to the overpriced overlords that control our society’s sock supply. But if you, like me, and so many others before us, wish to affect REAL, TANGIBLE, PALPABLE CHANGE IN THE WORLD IN WHICH WE LIVE…then throw away your socks today. Go out and buy some Johnson & Johnson baby powder and begin your life anew. And to make up for the sock’s other use, guys…stop being a lonely weirdo and do it into an empty bag of chips like the rest of us.
Aidan Jones, or Taco to most, is a Melbourne-based comedian and writer who wiles his days away eating, drinking and breaking into construction sites. Find more of his regular rants on various topics at tugzytravels.blogspot.com