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Suds n Fluff

If I believed in a Christian God (which I don't) it seems likely that I would say some nightly prayers. I would brush and floss ("if I wanna floss I got my own"), give the cat a treat, take off my pants and get down on my knees, hands folded, and speak quietly to our lord and saviour Jesus H. Christ. If I believed in a Catholic God I would be kneeling on pencils or peas. Then I would pray for the following things in this order:

1. The health and safety of my family

2. The health and safety of my girlfriend

3. The health and safety of my girlfriend's family

4. The health and safety of my friends

5. A more enjoyable laundrymat (laundromat? is it Italian?) experience

We had a washing machine in our apartment. Then one day our landLord (not Jesus Christ, just the guy who owns our building) called and in broken English we had the following conversation:

landLord: hello, christine?

me: no, it's Klutch

landLord: o.k., christine, there is water downstairs

me: really?

landLord: oh, no, there is water

me: great!

landLord: is a problem

me: I'm sorry

landLord: maybe we fix it

What he neglected to tell me was that there was an actual stream of water rushing into our neighbors apartment everytime we used the washing-machine. It ran down the wall and over an outlet crowded with plugs for toasters, hairdryers and TV/VCR combos. We only learned this months later when a tearfull neighborlady knocked on our door begging us to stop with the water.

where am i going with this . . . oh . . . yeah . . .

So now we go to the laundry-matt. And it's never like it is on T.V. I'm feeling kind of "listy" (the opposite of listless) so here's a list of things that never happen while doing laundry:

1. There is never a supple 18 year old sucking a lollypop while riding a vibrating machine.

2. No one ever pours in too much soap on purpose to host an inpromptu foam party.

3. There's never a South American beauty, so destitue she must unrobe right there in the laundrymat in order to wash her only set of clothes.

4. No one ever has sex by the warm glow of a dryer set to permanent press.

So, kids, take off the 3day-old undies (the Fabreeze is no longer doing it's job) and party it up at your local "Suds n Fluff." I could use some entertainment please.

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