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.
When you have the honor of being one of my t-shirts, your day begins as a wad of clothing on the floor at the foot of my bed. You may be clean, but you're most likely classified as "mostly not dirty." You are then picked up at random, sniffed thoroughly, and then picked as my very special t-shirt-of-the-day.
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 have been ripped and pulled out of shape, you get to join me for breakfast. Breakfast is awesome, unless you are one of my t-shirts. Since it is early morning, I am much more of a disgusting klutz than usual, and I will undoubtedly decorate part of my shirt with a dribble of milk from my oversized cereal bowl.
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.
After your long, hard journey is over you are shunted from off my sweaty back and placed in the other pile of clothes in my room. This pile is for dirty t-shirts, and the like. You are far to dirty to wear again, so it's in the wash you must go. Typically, this could take several days. If you happen to join the dirty pile on wash day, however, you are in luck.
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.
Being one of my t-shirts is terrible. You are mistreated, abused, neglected, and taken for granted every day. Perhaps one day, there is a t-shirt heaven waiting for you. Right now, though, you must go through hell...and that hell exists on the back of a sweating, sloppy, fat man.
When you have the honor of being one of my t-shirts, your day begins as a wad of clothing on the floor at the foot of my bed. You may be clean, but you're most likely classified as "mostly not dirty." You are then picked up at random, sniffed thoroughly, and then picked as my very special t-shirt-of-the-day.
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 have been ripped and pulled out of shape, you get to join me for breakfast. Breakfast is awesome, unless you are one of my t-shirts. Since it is early morning, I am much more of a disgusting klutz than usual, and I will undoubtedly decorate part of my shirt with a dribble of milk from my oversized cereal bowl.
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.
After your long, hard journey is over you are shunted from off my sweaty back and placed in the other pile of clothes in my room. This pile is for dirty t-shirts, and the like. You are far to dirty to wear again, so it's in the wash you must go. Typically, this could take several days. If you happen to join the dirty pile on wash day, however, you are in luck.
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.
Being one of my t-shirts is terrible. You are mistreated, abused, neglected, and taken for granted every day. Perhaps one day, there is a t-shirt heaven waiting for you. Right now, though, you must go through hell...and that hell exists on the back of a sweating, sloppy, fat man.
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