Today, I realized that my socks have been plotting against me. I swear, it's true!
I woke up to find that they had formed a union and were demanding better working conditions, more frequent washing, and an end to the dreaded "sock drawer of doom". I had to negotiate with their leader, a particularly plucky striped sock named Steve.
Steve and I came to a agreement: they would stop plotting and I would buy them more socks.
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