Panty dropper

No one really likes doing laundry. It's time-consuming, labor intensive and often involves you walking up and down the stairs of your apartment complex dropping socks and t-shirts along the way. Sometimes motherfuckers steal shit out of the laundry room when you've walked away for TEN MINUTES BECAUSE YOU LEFT THE QUARTERS UPSTAIRS. Once I found a carefully written epistle in my laundry room on top of an empty box of laundry detergent, ranting in a passive aggressive fashion about the injustices of the world and how it was totally unfair that someone used all of their detergent and how they could just go fuck their mothers because honestly who does that?! Laundry incites riot and unnecessary rage. I waited up until fucking 11 pm last night waiting for my goddamn pants to dry. I kind of hate laundry. With a passion.

The only reason I did laundry last night was because the underwear drawer was starting to look bare. Due to my irrational yet strong hatred for doing this menial task, I try to do laundry very rarely. I have enough clothes to last and I like to think that I don't smell. Possibly I am a disgusting creature, but this is no matter. Whatever, man. If you don't like it, then leave. Underwear is not something you can make stretch. We change our underwear every day, children.

These underwear even have explicit instructions written on them as to when to change. There is a reason for that. Shit is naaasty. However, in my travels yesterday I briefly contemplated relying on an old college trick that got me through many financially strapped weeks when I desperately needed to do laundry but was too busy squandering my lucre on things like cigarettes, magazines, salsa con queso from the C-store and weed. Instead of going to Safeway like a responsible grown-up and getting quarters, I was going to take a little trip to Ross and buy underwear instead of doing laundry. This stroke of genius saved my ass numerous times in college. Once I was invited to an impromptu trip to a friend's house in New Hampshire. I had about three hours to get ready and packed. I had not done laundry in many moons. I was all packed and wearing the last clean pair of underwear I had. My only choice was to walk to the TJ Maxx in Brookline next to the liquor store and purchase 5 of the most shameful pairs of underwear ever. One pair is teal. It says WANNA BE A ROCKSTAR on the ass in rhinestones. One pair has the Easter bunny on the crotch. This was bargain basement underwear, shit that most should not and would not wear. That's why they were $3 each.

Panties in hand, I remember strolling peacefully back to my apartment. Take that stank pile of laundry! I've beat you once again! The rhinestones fell off individually over the years. I still have those underwear. They are my underwear of shame.

Don't be this trashy, kids. Try to keep it together. Do your laundry. It won't be that bad, I promise.