Disclaimer: I don't own Psych.
A response to the "When Shirts Attack" challenge because, apparently, I am a crack! addict.
It was a cool, fall evening when Henry had to skip town for an emergency, leaving a load of laundry sitting in the washer for several days. "I'll just rewash them when I get back," he had told himself before hopping in his truck and driving down the California coast. Little did he know what effect would soon sprout from that seemingly innocuous action.
"It is time," Kokkopelli-and-Cactus murmured in the dankness.
"Yes," Floral Print agreed.
Green Thatch frowned. "He's not that bad."
"Are you deaf?" Flamingos-on-a-Midsummer's-Eve questioned, "Never has he had anything but harsh comments for us. No. There will be no mercy. By this time tomorrow, we will have our revenge." With this heartfelt statement, the flamboyant shirts settled down to wait for the youngest Spencer to arrive.
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Meanwhile, Shawn stared at the mysterious note he had received in the mail. The paper was crinkled and the ink blurred slightly. "Did this thing go through the wash?" he mused absently, before reading the barely legible message.
Deer Shaun,
Eye hav a present four ewe. It gos with ur motorbycicle. Pleas cum bye mai haus at for tomorow. They're will bee pinaple.
Luv,
Dad
P.S. Im reely ur dad, not hiz cloths out four reveng. Honest.
He blinked at the note for a moment before snorting. It took exactly three minutes to file the paper away for blackmail purposes. His father really shouldn't write letters when drunk.
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Three days after the appointed time, Henry Spencer was shocked to find his unfinished load of laundry strewn about his house. He gathered them up and replaced them in the washing machine. After starting the cycle, he stalked to his phone. "Shawn?" he asked into the receiver, "Why were my shirts in places no shirts should be? Well, on top of my chainsaw, for instance."
Writing that not killed me a little inside...
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