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.
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.
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.