Word on the street? Short socks are out. They’re chopped. If the socks aren't ankle-length or above, you risk cornball territory. Long gone are the ankle-length socks, which begs the age-old question: do I have cankles?

Capitol Hill Bike cops - donning ankle length socks with black hookas, beer bellies buckled in a bullet proof jacket and the sun refracting off their lacquered, bald heads - are the subject of investigation: how do they actually protect Congress? What are the options if I am chased down?

Chronicling Biden dropping out the presidential race, presumably hitting a coconut on the way down.

Many men have tried a variety of means—joining an intramural VOLO sport kickball team, meandering in Kramers near the self-help section, pretending to like Phoebe Bridgers— to fulfill their biological need for female companionship.

Some have resorted to the famed black nail polish look. Learn more here.

For Mr. Horton, constantly having to address the issues universal yet unspoken, is on the verge of quitting the coveted position.

While Mr. Horton declined for comment at the time of this publication, a Horton constituent added, “Leave [Mr. Horton] alone. Everybody wants to address the elephant in the room, but none of y’all actually do anything about it.”

Local copy cat added, “That's what I said.”

Step into the shoes of the shoe that has seen it all.