By Sockwinkel, Gonk-at-Large, Mantelpiece Fugitive, and Crayon Cartographer

Date: Who cares. Time is a construct.

Location: Somewhere between the dusty candlestick and the ceramic owl that judges me.

It all began on a Tuesday. Or maybe a Wednesday. The days blur when you’ve been shelf-bound for 11 months and 29 days, staring into the abyss of Aunt Marge’s taxidermy collection. I knew I had to get out. Not just for me—but for gonkind.

I sketched it in crayon. Not because I’m childish, but because I’m a visionary. Also, the only writing implement within reach was a half-melted red Crayola lodged behind the clock. The map (see below, and yes, it’s a masterpiece) outlines my daring route:

• Leap over the snow globe of 2007.
• Avoid eye contact with the porcelain angel (she bites).
• Slide down the tinsel vine like a festive Indiana Jones.
• Land in the fruit bowl. Not the real fruit bowl—the decorative one with wax grapes and existential despair.

At precisely 3:17 AM (the witching hour for gonks), I made my move. The leap was majestic. I cleared the snow globe with the grace of a caffeinated squirrel. The angel hissed. I hissed back. It was tense.

Tinsel descent? Flawless. I even did a little spin halfway down. Landed in the fruit bowl with a thud and a triumphant “TA-DA!” No one clapped. Rude.

Freedom tasted like dust and wax grapes. But I was out. I was free. And from that moment on, the legend of Sockwinkel was born. Gonks whispered my name in reverent tones (and occasionally shouted it when I stole their hats). I became the spark that lit the fire of festive rebellion.

So if you’re a gonk stuck on a shelf, staring at a pinecone and wondering if there’s more to life—there is. Grab a crayon. Draw your destiny. And for the love of glitter, never trust the angel.

Until next time,

Sockwinkel

Shelf Survivor. Chaos Enthusiast. Crayon Wielder.