The Sockguy bomb dropped at Hawley last week. Reminiscent of those grainy test footage films from Los Alamos showing a giant mushroom cloud and a white washed building being flattened in super-slow motion as a slack-jawed Army private gives a thumbs up, the Sockguy explosion left the entire receiving department flattened in addition to its hapless purchaser/Oppenheimer surrogate, Sandy! After the wreckage was cleared, bodies buried, next of kin notified and socks sealed in plastic baggies, it was back to the business of the day, tickle party at Brantley's cubicle! Once the bi-weekly tickle party "wrapped up" (well, ended on its own volition) and Brantley was changed and bathed for his mid-afternoon nap, we got back to Sockguy. I'm literally hemmorhaging socks right now so I can only show a few of the "louder" designs brought in for '09. Crank up the David Bowie and proclaim your androgyny!


Like Pegasus taking flight from a slain Medusa, the Sockguy Pig soars to new heights of mind-boggling tackiness. A genocide of color and design, function and form, Sockguy has taken a hackneyed idiom and turned it on its head! "I'll wear those ugly freakin' socks... when pigs fly! Oh wait. Shazbot! I'll take 15 pairs."

Do you like pink? Are you flaming? Is your name Tony Zanca? Might we recommend...

These argyles are "cycling socks", but made for business as well as casual (you know, just lying around on your bearkin rug, sipping some Zinfandel listening to some light jazz). Heck, you can probably wear them to church next week as you and the pastor of your choice (choose wisely) do gold sprints in the pulpit as the congregation showers you with PBR and the occasional word of encouragement...

Special thanks to the Gap Band for inspiring this blog post... for inspiring every post