Mr. Happy Puppet Head wheels out a washing machine and a dryer. I walk out carrying a garbage bag full of dirty clothes.
And I wash my dirty laundry. About a week's worth. I don't separate the colors and instead of detergent I use rancid milk. While the clothes are being washed I sit on top of the dryer and stare into space. I repeat over and over "I'm good, I'm clean." A hidden microphone picks it up and amplifies it painfully loud.
After a long time, maybe half-an-hour, I take the damp clothing out of the washer and put it into the dryer. I don't check the lint trap. That's what suckers do. I turn on the dryer, perch myself back on top of the humming machine, but this time my mantra is changed to "I tumble and cry," also amplified far too loud for comfort.
Eventually the clothes are dry, and I fold them. Not very neatly, though. Paying attention to neat creases and proper folding etiquite is for suckers.
Doing my laundry is a metaphor for facism.