Murder. Death. Kill.

The fucking dryer is broken. AGAIN. Of course, none of the illiterates in this god-forsaken building bother to put up a note on the door, or on the bloody machine saying this. Oh no, it is evidently left for me to find out AFTER I'VE WASHED A LOAD OF LAUNDRY! Including, naturally, the stuff I was going to wear to work tonight!

How the hell do these people keep breaking the bloody dryer?

It must be mine!

( From the most recent Pyramid Collection catalog )