Let me paint you a picture. You wake up in the morning. The rooster’s crowing. The birds are barking. The dogs are running around. You jump out of bed, ready to plunge headfirst into another beautiful day of your beautiful life, and what better way to start it than by slipping a couple of cotton toe-toppers on those stinky, little rascals you call feet. Yup, I’m talking socks. But as you go to cover up your tootsie-wootsies, you come to a startling conclusion: Your left sock went to the grocery store for a gallon of milk! Vanished! Poof! Disappeared into thin air like Thanos snapped his fingers with a foot fetish.

If you or someone you know has experienced a similar kind of catastrophe, I want you to know that you are not alone. I repeat. You are not alone. However, you are dealing with a grave threat. Your home may be infested with gnomes. 

Now, the origin of these pesky creatures dates back many centuries to the regions of northern Europe, and while they’ve gone by a plethora of names such as bergmännlein, nisse, and Brian, they were all characterized by the same defining features and personality traits. They all have pointed beards, pointed hats, small frames, and a penchant for gardens, socks, and squatting—and I ain’t talking about the kind for building glutes. 

No. You see, gnomes have relatively flat asses compared to other supernatural beings classified under the “little shits” umbrella. They aren’t to be confused with mischievous goblins, riddle-telling trolls, or axe-wielding dwarves. Gnomes have only two goals: To live in your home rent-free and to swipe your socks while you sleep.

This may sound an awful lot like rats, but unlike rats, gnomes aren’t rats. Any attempt to reason with them will be met with high-pitched, cutesy giggles and the sound of wooden clogs clonking around in the ceiling as they run amok inside your walls. 

Suffering from such unwanted houseguests for the better part of the last four years—of which my left foot has been left disgustingly nude—I’ve tried hundreds of methods to get them to leave, from opening a skunk rehabilitation center in my living room to going on a full-fiber diet. I even played a Dungeons & Dragons campaign as a stone gnome bard named Soop McSlapister to learn about the enemy, but no amount of lutes nor toots could evict the intruders from my property. 

So, for the sake of all experiencing this increasingly common issue, I’ve decided to do some digging to find the answer to the question I believe could give us the upper hand in this turf war: What the hell do they even use the socks for in the first place?

A simple Google search for alternative sock uses yields a slew of senseless results like dusting mitts and dog toys, and while these maverick repurposes of the famous footwear may prove beneficial to some humans, I reckon they’d serve little purpose in the daily lives of gnomes. I needed something different. Something underground. And for that, I traveled four decades into the past to California’s alternative music scene and set my sights on a little band known as the Red Hot Chili Peppers. 

The Chili’s have maintained a successful career over the years through their unique blend of funk, alternative rock, and rap, along with philosophical lyrics such as, “Standing there with my hard on bleedin’, there’s a devil in my dick and some demons in my semen.” However, what many people don’t know is that their formative years were actually quite juvenile, and one on-stage antic stands above the rest: The placing of socks over their genitalia. 

While this may seem like an ill attempt to generate shock, it’s actually quite genius. Not only did it create a media buzz (no press is bad press, as they say), but it strategically obscured the lengths and girths of their peppers. Could gnomes be employing socks in the same fashion? According to behavioral scientist, Marsha Thornside, no. 

According to her, gnomes are unlikely to use socks for such purposes because gnomes do not actually exist. She then seemed to take a great interest in what led me to believe my home was infested with gnomes, but her skepticism was clear, and I had no time to be belittled. I’ve seen their traces, I’ve heard their songs in the night, and I was determined to evict them with or without the help of modern science. If one is to truly catch a gnome, one mustn’t be a stranger to violence. This is when I began building the trap.

I assumed the method of trapping a gnome was similar to trapping any other creature, whether they be human or otherwise, and as soon as I got back from Hobby Lobby, I wasted no time crafting the sex doll. I made sure to purchase the sexiest gnome they had in stock, and made sure to get the opinions of the workers and other shoppers. Everyone agreed that the gnome I chose was at least an eight out of ten, and after dolling him up further with a little make-up and sick shades, his sex appeal was off the charts. I then dangled the cage from the ceiling, placed the sock over his prosthetic dong, and hid in the closet, waiting for one of the tiny bastards to fall victim to their primal urges.     

However, after twenty-seven grueling hours of waiting, not a single gnome had sprung the trap, and eventually, I grew tired of listening to the mocking laughter in the walls. If they were so determined to hide themselves away, I would simply employ another method, courtesy of the large sledgehammer also acquired from Hobby Lobby. 

I began smashing and bashing all the drywall in the house, tearing out the insulation until only the exterior walls remained, but I didn’t stop there. Anything that could become a hiding place for gnomes had to go, including furniture, appliances, and any kind of door or window. Curiously enough, when smashing up the dryer in the basement, I discovered its inner housing to be stuffed with socks! Left socks nonetheless. 

While standing in the wreckage of my once beautiful home, I had finally uncovered their stash, but it was without a gnome. Was this a victory, or a message? I had retrieved my socks, but for how long? I had destroyed their hiding spots, but the laughter persisted. 

So, my fellow intellectuals, through my agonizing ordeal with gnome infestation, what kind of advice can I give on dealing with such problems? None. There is no way to evict a gnome once they take up residence in your home. No matter what methods you try, whether they be psychological or physical, gnomes are quite literally unbeatable. Spare your socks and heed these words. The American homeowning dream has run its course. Put it on the market and get away while you can. Far away. 

Walls are crevices where tiny men commune in darkness. Ceilings are cages that keep the laughter locked inside. Closets are voids where eyes stay watching. And windows are portals that tease of the sky.