So a couple of weekends ago- back in the sunny, happy days when I thought I was about to have money rolling in- I stumbled upon the Skeechers outlet store and bought myself some cool-ass, totally blue, Skeecher sneaks (yo). They're oh so hip.

Today's big event is laundry day, which means I'm back at the Worst Laundrymat in San Francisco. My first mistake. But since I had so much frickin' stuff to do, as it's the closest place, it's the easiest place to go to.

As usual, all the washers are broken, except for these one's where you have to load your clothes sideways and then drop the bleach/detergent in through a small, narrow tray up top. As I'm putting in my whites, all huffy because it's looking more and more like my typical laundry experience there, I somehow spill drops of bleach onto my brand new, just getting cozy, totally blue, and oh so hip Skeecher shoes. So now my brand new, just getting cozy, totally blue, and oh so hip Skeecher shoes have maroon splotches all over them.

Repeat after me:
"I will no longer go to the Worst Laundrymat in San Francisco."
"I will no longer go to the Worst Laundrymat in San Francisco."
"I will no longer go to the Worst Laundrymat in San Francisco."

The place is not only just completely broken and run down, but malevolently evil. It is a Laundry Mat right out of a Stephen King novel, taunting me and harassing me, pushing me, and striking it's revenge for my dissing it.

Bastard. This time, it's personal.