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More super-heroic goodness....
This is the opening credits of the 1970's Spider-Man TV show, which I loved as a kid -- I had no ability to distinquish quality from cheese -- and would watch it over and over on VHS, pausing it to see the wires. I especially loved this opening credits music, which is still better than anything Danny Elfman did for the movies.
Okay, here's an idea:
Let's say you're a lady. And you've got a truly sensitive significant other, a guy who is just madly in love with you and he does all he can to make you feel loved and wanted. He does dishes every day (okay, most days), keeps a roof over your head, and pees sitting down. All for you.
Now, let say that despite all that, your significant other boy (or S.O.B.) has one major problem in that he's -- how do I put this delicately? -- "laundry challenged."
Some uncharitable souls might call him a "clothes wash retard."
A wash-tard, if you will.
Now, if you are the woman I describe, knowing how hard your man works to make you feel loved, warm, covered in rose petals and kittens and sunshine, blah, blah, blah, wouldn't you want to do you best to protect that man -- that glorious hunk o' man, that very dude who mows your lawn and hangs your curtains and records Antiques Roadshow for you and drives your ass all over creation -- wouldn't you want to protect him from... himself?
How would you protect the wash-tard, you ask? By maybe (and I'm just throwing this out there, so feel free to through it back, as Ron Burgundy sez), I dunno, just by maybe buying clothes that aren't so goddamn easy to ruin?
I mean, when you ask him to do a simple job... taking the laundry out of the washer and placing it in the dryer, for example.... you'd want that job to be pretty brainless for your average moron, right?
Yo might think it helps if you yell, "I've got bras in that load!" from the other room, but inside you know that's not going to be hard for him, because -- being the kind of man he is, who's desperately in lust with your cleavage -- he knows a bra when he sees one, and he knows that the elastic goodness they bring shouldn't be subjected to the parched heat of an electric dryer. He know, lordy he knows. He may be a wash-tard, but he's able to learn from some experience.
But did you bother to tell him at the same time that there's a shirt in that load with the absolutely ludicrous instruction of "LINE DRY ONLY"? Did you? You didn't? Well, Christ. Don't you feel heartless? After all he's done for you? You know, after all, that part of being laundry challenged -- indeed, the foremost component of this affliction! -- is the inability to ever give tags of any kind any regard whatsoever.
I'd hazard to say that most men, especially those of us who don't have to wear any clothes at all in our day jobs, if we so desire, are very likely to have this problem, ladies. Because we don't buy shirts or pants that can't be throw into a pile and just washed and dried. Its not in our makeup.
And don't give me that crap about towels and t-shirts and different kinds of fabrics that shouldn't mix because they dry differently. I've seen you (uh, I mean, I know that women in general...) throw white towels in with red towels, so I know there are no real rules when it comes to laundry.
Except for those rules that exist on small, hard-to-find tags. Those are the rules I shall... uh, I mean, we men... shall never learn, and thus will wash-tards always exist.