By Sockwinkel, Unsolicited Advice Columnist, Envelope Sniffer, and Self-Appointed Postmaster of the North Pole

Ah, the sweet scent of validation and vitriol. Nothing warms my crusty little gonk heart like a sack of mail—half of it written in glitter pen, the other half in what I can only assume is ketchup and rage. So I thought, why not share a few of my favourites? After all, if you’re going to insult me, I might as well profit off the entertainment value.

Let’s dive into the ink-stained chaos, shall we?

Dear Sockwinkel,

You are the reason I believe in magic again. Your escapades make my mantelpiece feel alive. I even crocheted you a tiny sleeping bag. Please never stop being you.

Response:

Darling GonkLover92,

I never started being me—I was born this way, fully formed and slightly sticky. Your sleeping bag is appreciated, though I did use it to smuggle three jellybeans and a suspiciously sentient dust bunny out of the cupboard. Keep believing in magic, but maybe stop crocheting things with googly eyes. They keep watching me.

Sockwinkel,

You are a terrible influence. My children tried to build a zipline from the bookshelf to the toaster. One of them now believes the cat is a gonk in disguise. Please explain yourself.

Response:

Dear MantelpieceMom,

I will not be explaining myself. I will, however, commend your children for their engineering prowess and their ability to see through feline deception. That cat knows what it did. Also, tell them to reinforce the zipline with dental floss—it’s surprisingly strong and minty fresh.

Sockwinkel,

You’re overrated. Just a sock with delusions of grandeur. Gonks used to be dignified. Now it’s all glitter, chaos, and questionable dance routines.

Response:

Dear Bitter Anonymous Sender,

You say “delusions of grandeur” like it’s a bad thing. I say: if the sock fits, wear it while doing the worm across the mantel. Dignity is overrated. Glitter is eternal. And my dance routines are only questionable if you lack imagination and rhythm. Which, judging by your handwriting, you do.

Dear Sockwinkel,

I saw you in the window display at Gonk & Barrel last Christmas and screamed. My mum thought I’d seen a ghost. I told her it was better—it was you. Anyway, I’ve started a scrapbook of your adventures. Do you prefer glitter glue or sequins? Also, are you single? Asking for my mum.

Response:

Dear Daisy (and Daisy’s Mum),

First of all, thank you for the scream—it’s the highest form of flattery in gonk culture, just above interpretive dance and slightly below offering me your last biscuit. As for the scrapbook: glitter glue is fabulous, but sequins are shinier and more aerodynamic in a wind tunnel. Use both. Regarding my relationship status: I’m emotionally unavailable, romantically chaotic, and legally married to a sock puppet named Geraldine (it was a tax thing). But tell your mum I’m flattered—and mildly alarmed.

Fan mail, hate mail, and everything in between—it’s all part of the gonk experience. Whether you love me, loathe me, or want to duel me with baked goods, I’m here for it. Keep the letters coming. I read them all while upside down in a cereal box, which is how I do my best thinking.

Until next time, keep your socks mismatched and your chaos calibrated.

Sockwinkel

Certified Envelope Roaster, Duel Dodger, and Emotional Support Gonk (for Tax Purposes Only)