Being one of my t-shirts is not an easy task. You get beat up all day long and then washed improperly at some point, if washed at all, before being thrown in the "clean" pile on my floor. One of the advantages of living a completely disorganized existence is that things like laundry are really simple.
There is a massive monument dedicated to the Greek god of sloppiness at the foot of my bed in the form of two giant mounds of t-shirts. Instinctually, I know which one of these mounds is loosely dedicated to "clean" and which is for "dirty." It may seem completely random when I grab a rumpled fistful of t-shirt, but I know what I'm doing almost part of the time.
One of the absolute worst parts about being one of my t-shirts is that I am, unfortunately, a giant fat computer nerd. This puts something of a nasty strain on my t-shirts everyday, and everyday they have to be stretched out of shape. Yeah, I put on some weight over the course of the last year. Does that mean I stop wearing my t-shirts I bought a year ago? No sir! They get the stretch-treatment.
Once you're completely stretched out of shape, you are then smoothed over with my hands...as if that ever has worked to get wrinkled out of t-shirts. You then get to enjoy breakfast with me, as it is almost certain that you will have part of it dropped down onto you. You'll be marked with a dark grease spot for the rest of the day, and I really won't care that much at all.
Just because you're a t-shirt, doesn't mean that's the only role you're going to serve all day long. I am constantly in need of something to wipe my hands on after I do such mundane tasks as pump gas, change the oil, or just eat lunch. I may be messy, but I like for my hands to stay nice and clean and t-shirts are just so...convenient.
If you are a very special t-shirt, you may get the honor of being returned to the pile of clean t-shirts at the foot of my bed. This only happens when I can convince myself that I didn't stain my t-shirt to the point of ruination during the course of the day, and let's face it...that isn't very likely. One of my friends tells me that my super-hero name is "Salsa Shirt", after all.
Your experience in the washing machine with the other dirty t-shirts is not a pleasant one. I have learned a long time ago that it takes really hot water to get out most food stains, so you are punished severely for my sloppiness. You will most likely shrink, but your ritual morning-stretching will return you to the appropriate shape and size.
If you believe that everything has a soul and that you may one day be reincarnated as something awesome, like a cheerleader's bicycle seat, then you want to live as chaste and pure of a life as you possibly can. In a world like that, hell is awaiting at the bottom of a pile of my gross, dirty t-shirts.
There is a massive monument dedicated to the Greek god of sloppiness at the foot of my bed in the form of two giant mounds of t-shirts. Instinctually, I know which one of these mounds is loosely dedicated to "clean" and which is for "dirty." It may seem completely random when I grab a rumpled fistful of t-shirt, but I know what I'm doing almost part of the time.
One of the absolute worst parts about being one of my t-shirts is that I am, unfortunately, a giant fat computer nerd. This puts something of a nasty strain on my t-shirts everyday, and everyday they have to be stretched out of shape. Yeah, I put on some weight over the course of the last year. Does that mean I stop wearing my t-shirts I bought a year ago? No sir! They get the stretch-treatment.
Once you're completely stretched out of shape, you are then smoothed over with my hands...as if that ever has worked to get wrinkled out of t-shirts. You then get to enjoy breakfast with me, as it is almost certain that you will have part of it dropped down onto you. You'll be marked with a dark grease spot for the rest of the day, and I really won't care that much at all.
Just because you're a t-shirt, doesn't mean that's the only role you're going to serve all day long. I am constantly in need of something to wipe my hands on after I do such mundane tasks as pump gas, change the oil, or just eat lunch. I may be messy, but I like for my hands to stay nice and clean and t-shirts are just so...convenient.
If you are a very special t-shirt, you may get the honor of being returned to the pile of clean t-shirts at the foot of my bed. This only happens when I can convince myself that I didn't stain my t-shirt to the point of ruination during the course of the day, and let's face it...that isn't very likely. One of my friends tells me that my super-hero name is "Salsa Shirt", after all.
Your experience in the washing machine with the other dirty t-shirts is not a pleasant one. I have learned a long time ago that it takes really hot water to get out most food stains, so you are punished severely for my sloppiness. You will most likely shrink, but your ritual morning-stretching will return you to the appropriate shape and size.
If you believe that everything has a soul and that you may one day be reincarnated as something awesome, like a cheerleader's bicycle seat, then you want to live as chaste and pure of a life as you possibly can. In a world like that, hell is awaiting at the bottom of a pile of my gross, dirty t-shirts.
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