If it pleases the court, I would like to offer the following:
If I am guilty of anything, it is over-enthusiasm in the task which I had undertaken.
You see, your honour, I had been employed by a major non-fiction publisher to produce a recipe book for people who like to eat their footwear.
This might be seen by some as a little unusual, but there is a thriving market for tasty recipes for shoes, sandals, boots and carpet slippers, mostly reformed tramps who still yearn for the authentic taste of hobo cuisine.
As my quest went on, I found it harder and harder to obtain new material, and I was forced to go public with my scheme, advertising in public places my need for unwanted footwear.
It was at that point I was caught writing the words "I WILL COOK YOUR SOCK" on the door of a toilet cubicle by an illiterate security guard and subsequently arrested. Sadly, my pleas of "It's not what you think, big boy" fell on deaf ears amid cries of "You're going down for this, melon farmer!"
I throw myself upon the mercy of the court and its luscious footwear.