The mythical, benevolent being who invisibly swoops in and magically changes the stinking mountain of dirty laundry into freshly
washed, dried, and
folded garments, artfully stacked and organized, and, possibly, even delivered to the bedrooms of the actual owners/wearers of the clothing. This is done for the sheer delight and personal gratification of the Laundry
Fairy, who has absofuckinglutely nothing better to do in
life, so no thanks or reciprocity is necessary. Really. However, Laundry Fairies have been known to file for
divorce, kick children out of the house, and shove random baskets of laundry up the rectal orifices of housemates. Extreme Caution, and doing your own damn wash, is strongly advised if the Laundry Fairy begins mumbling about power chainsaws.
Q: Why are all John's clothes suddenly that
weird pink color?
A: He didn't know how to sort his wash, dude, and apparently the Laundry
Fairy finally went postal - he's lucky to not be in a body
bag.
