Pleased to meet you …

Washington Post Writer Joel Achenbach mentions going on Aussie Richard Glover’s Radio Show in his Achenblog item (aka Kit) for today to discuss the latest ”revelations” regarding the Roswell Aliens and a deathbed confession from one retired Lt. Haut.

I have some firsthand experience with the sock-eating Aliens from Another Dimension that inhabit the portal to Calibi Yau space via my laundry chute.

I’ve kept quiet about it until now, but as long as Haut has had his say, I’ll make my revelation now as well:

The Roswell Aliens were an advance party for an invasion from the Dimension of Lost Socks (DoLS).

Since they were used to dealing with matter in their dimension no harder than your average piece of clothing, their silvery balloon-like spaceship was unable to withstand an impact with a clothesline in rural New Mexico, which wrecked their scout ship and fatally injuring the Aliens. [Yes, they were clotheslined, which later became a popular defensive tactic in NFL Football during the 1960s.]

The US military recovered the bodies and quickly flew them to Fort Worth in refregerated containters, but in this dimension, the corpses quickly decomposed into their constituent piles of dirty socks (singles, unnaturally).

Of *course* the government would do almost anything to cover up the fact that the Greatest Discovery in the History of Mankind was two piles of dirty laundry.

Due to a housecleaning accident, the Alien remains from the Dimension of Lost Socks (DoLS) were washed and distributed to perplexed members of the US Military in Texas.

To this day, secret groups gather in New Mexico and Texas to privately commemorate the events of July 1947 with sock puppet reenactments.

I think I understand the Aliens in my Laundry Chute a little better now; their hunger for socks may be a matter of sustenance, but they may also be trying to recover the remains of their fallen heroes.

For this, I salute them.

And I wonder, if I send the right socks down, perhaps they’ll release my friend Dave.

Perhaps it’s only fair.

bc

Copyright by the author 2007, all rights reserved.

Longtime readers of Joel Achenbach’s dreaded, er, I mean, wildly popular Achenblog may remember that there is an interdimensional wormhole to Calabi-Yau space in my Laundry Chute.

This laundry chute, while a seemingly modest tin duct that leads from the upper floor of my house to the basement, is actually a spacetime anchor for the wormhole to the Dimension of Lost Socks (DoLS), so named because it is inhabited by sock-eating aliens who craftily pluck one sock at a time from the Dirty Laundry stream that runs through it.

For those that don’t believe me, I’ve done nothing more than ask noted writer Whitley Strieber to document the laundry basket full of incontrovertible evidence I have; lonely, single socks that pose questions about my place in the WhateverVerse. With each load of laundry, I discover that more socks have been dispatched to the DoLS, and sadly drape those that remain in this dimension and in this time frame onto the overflowing laundry basket. This laundry basket mocks me, reminding me that parasitic sock eaters - SOCK EATERS! - are getting the better of me. You will get your answer, and it won’t come from Match.com.

The only way I can communicate with them is by writing short notes on 3″ x 5″ index cards, and stuffing them into both socks of a given pair. 

I’ve sent them messages of peace, asking them to leave the socks alone, asking for them to negotiate, asking why they are doing this to me.

I’ve threatened them, saying that I would rip out the chute, or worse, send down a pair of my brother’s socks after a day of yardwork and a softball doubleheader (without filing an EPA Environmental Impact statement, I might add).

The answer, written on the back of the card in the sock that they didn’t take, is always the same:

“Two go in, one comes out.”

I have resorted to buying socks with Gold Toe Quantum Entanglement, and the CY Aliens leave them alone. However, Disney still does not produce Tigger socks with GTQE, even though I’ve spammed their Product Inquiry mailbox with thousands of emails requesting that they do so.

A good friend and I discussed going into the laundry chute, to try to confront the aliens face to face. He’s a bit smaller than I, and his shoulders can actually fit into the chute door (mine are too big) so it was decided that I’d hold him by the feet, and lower him face first into the chute, holding a dirty sock as bait, and a flashlight so he could see what he was doing.

He was pretty far down there when I heard a strange noise like a clothes dryer full of Gregorian chants powered by a million bumblebees, and felt a draft as air was drawn into the chute.

My friend narrated as he approached:

“I’m right above it, about five feet up. Still no sign of activity. No sign of an opening, either. Just a minute - that’s odd…”

Suddenly, the chanting and the bees picked up, and the wind - I think it was the wind - started pulling my friend into the chute. I held onto his shoes for dear life now.

“My God, it’s full of socks!”

And then I was left holding a pair of empty Vans, the wind and the noise gone as quickly as it came. A square of toilet paper drifted into the hallway from the bathroom five feet away.

Still holding the shoes, I ran down to the basement, hoping against hope that my friend had done a face plant into the week’s worth of dirty laundry under the ceiling chute exit.

And all we found in the basement was one of his socks, still warm.

I walked back upstairs in a daze, with the Vans and Dave’s sock, and sat down at head of kitchen table, not quite sure what to do next.

But I would think of something.

bc

P.S. For those of you who suggested that I send the basket of socks to Heather Mills, I say: NOT FUNNY!

I’ve had a difficult time getting over the loss of my friend. Every time I hear a knock at the door, I leap up thinking it’s him. But before I get there, I remember:

Dave’s not here.

He’s there, and he’s not going to like it. Dave hates proctological exams, and we know how those abductions go…

 © Copyright by the author 2006, all rights reserved.