How now, foul monster of cloth?
Thinkest thou hast defeated me?
Behold! Thine piles do wan and thy stench dissipate!
Mine hands threw thee down into the machine.
With mine digits, I folded thee.
My detergent was poison to thee, and my spin cycle fierce.
I didst fight back thine iron by pulling thee quickly from mine dryer;
My folding was fast, and I put thee away hastily.
Alas! The battle was long and arduous, and the war is never done.
I grew weary and didst consider throwing in the towel, mine body ravaged by flu.
But I have weakened thee, yeah, even in mine sickness.
Nought but procrastination can strengthen thee once more.
But nay, foul monster of cloth, hope not for help from vile procrastination.
I have defeated thee, and mine washer shall be ever vigilant.