The Beginning of the Campaign.

It's definitely way too early to be alive when you check the dryer that you set the night before and are looking for a specific shirt that was basically the reason you did an entire load of laundry.
I think the damned dryer ate the only shirt I have that fits me.
I think the damned dryer should eat the socks instead.
I think the damned dryer is plotting against me.
I think the damned dryer is holding the shirt hostage.
I think this means war.

The dryer sent out a decoy to distract me via that damned attack chicken that lives on the porch; the dryer distracted me long enough to plant that shirt in my car, thereby attempting to instill upon me the idea that I'm crazy.
No. I am not the crazy one. The laundry may be mocking me, but I know the truth. The dryer is an evil, dirty mastermind, the likes of which no one has ever seen before.