After seeing the murderous reality of my murdertastic situation, I could no longer allow it to continue. No socks, no matter how comfortable, were worth this many innocent lives. Maybe a handful of innocent lives, but this was more like a bucketful, and that could not be tolerated.
Given that it was only 10:40 when I awoke from my sleepiforous vision, I had plenty of time to think before morning. And think I did.
I already knew that taking the socks off was impossible. I had tried it.
Cutting off my feet would probably be similarly blocked by their murderously socky influence. Plus, I liked my feet and didn’t want to do that anyway.
And then I got an idea.
I now knew from the dream that the actual murdering was carried out by an actual murder of crows. If I could somehow take away the crows, the Socks would be powerless and demurderonized. But how?
Attempting physical violence on the crows would surely trigger the same reaction as an attempt to remove the Socks. I would have to think of something else.
What would Grandpa Roderick Lentilstein Smythe do?