I'm not just talking about any old sock, I'm talking about the one and only. The Sock of Socks. The sock that's been with me through thick and thin, through the washer and dryer, through the sock drawer and the lost sock graveyard.
It's not just a sock, it's a way of life. It's a symbol of hope and despair, of comfort and annoyance. It's a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there's always something to hold onto, even if it's just a threadbare, holey sock.
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