Sock badger felt for the perforation on the corner of the cardboard box then used his trembling sock badger paw to rip open the tab. He shoved his sock badger face in the opening and took a long deep drag with his damp sock badger nose. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and his whole body relaxed.
It was like cat nip for cats. Nips for an alcoholic. An alcoholic for AA.
A sock badger would get a rigid hard-on simply thinking about rimming a fresh box of GOLD CUP SOCKS with its nose. Sock badger tenses. Sock badger craves. Sock badger want. Sock badger sell personal belongings for fresh sock.
You see, sock badgers love fresh socks. The texture of them. The smell of them. The taste of the different cotton dyes intricately woven together by an asian-operated piece of mechanical machinery. Also, when you smoke a sock your brain releases an incredible amount of dopamine. I think it's the bleach.
Sock badger pulled his nose out of the cardboard container and leaned back against the side of the back alley and closed his bloodshot sock badger eyes. He sat there for a few moments then reached into his sock badger pocket and grabbed his sock pipe.
Fuck, Sock Badger realized that he didn't have a light.
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