Imagine, if you will, a world where the only constant is change, and the only thing that truly exists is the fleeting nature of socks. This, my friend, is the absurdity of existence.
But what about the inherent value of a well-placed argyle? Is it not the pinnacle of human achievement, to craft a pattern so intricate, so divine, so fleeting?
Join us for a discussion on the meaninglessness of life, and the meaning of it all, one perfectly imperfect sock at a time.