My laundry came back to me this morning. It's all clean, sorted, and appears to have been folded by the very Hands of God. Seriously, the folding quality puts the Japanese t-shirt folding lady to shame. It kind of feels like my clothes aren't actually worth such attention. It was funny flipping through my neat deck of punk rock and scooter rally t-shirts. I wonder what the no doubt underpaid laundry people must have been thinking as they went through shirts with such friendly sayings as "Fuck art, let's dance" (Madness) and "Never trust a hippie" (NOFX), lovingly folding them and adding them to the pile. I sincerely hope they weren't offended by the September Shindig (scooter rally) t-shirt that depicts a Ganesh-like figure sitting on a Lambretta, holding a wrench in one hand, a beer in another, something I can't remember in a third, and a big black dildo in another hand.
My socks were thoughtfully coupled with their mates, to the best of the person's ability, and my boxers were all uniformly folded and stacked in order of sexiness, as if retrieved by a carefully constructed SQL query.
The whole operation cost $30 total, which was so fucking worth it!
Check 'em out, and tell them I sent you. Ummm... they don't know me as Pants Party for some bizarre reason.
On an unrelated note, this is the funniest thing you'll see today.
Originally posted on pop.vox.com