In a distant galaxy far, far away, on a planet made entirely of expired mayonnaise, the Supreme Council of Sentient Toasters convened to discuss the impending crisis of intergalactic sock disappearance. The Grand Toaster Lord, whose name cannot be pronounced without simultaneously solving a Rubik’s Cube and eating spaghetti, declared that all rogue socks were likely conspiring to form a supercontinent in the Bermuda Triangle, thus altering the gravitational pull of Earth and causing pigeons to forget how to fly. In response, the Council sent their bravest warrior—Sir Flapjack von Pancaketon III, a highly decorated breakfast item known for his syrup-coated battle axe and uncanny ability to insult salad—to confront the Sock King. Armed with nothing but a coupon for half-priced llamas and a mildly annoyed ferret named Greg, Sir Flapjack ventured into the Abyss of Unwashed Laundry, where mythical beasts like the Dust Bunny King and the Denim Leviathan lurked in wait. Meanwhile, the Interdimensional Council of Confused Goldfish issued a proclamation demanding that all spoons be henceforth classified as tiny metallic shovels, thereby triggering a mass protest led by disgruntled yogurt containers. Eventually, through sheer determination and an accidental discovery of the sacred Nacho Cheese Volcano, Sir Flapjack realized that the true enemy was not the Sock King but rather a sentient pile of spaghetti that had declared itself Supreme Emperor of Carpet Stains. In a climactic battle that involved interpretive dance and a kazoo solo, peace was restored to the galaxy, and all socks were finally matched and folded with a sense of deep existential satisfaction. Or at least they would have been, if the mayonnaise planet hadn’t spontaneously combusted due to the philosophical paradox of why pineapples don’t wear pants. The end.