It started quite normally,
When I told sis
"You take the underwear, see, I'll take the rest."
Unnaturally, she replied,
"No, I'll take the socks, you take the rest."
Trying to convince her, I say,
"But it's pastuerized and sanitized,
and blow-dryed, and washing machinized,
and ironed and flattened,
and made in Borguas!"
"It's underwear! And you know where it's been!"
After that the real war started, when I threw underwear at my bro.
He skimmed my head with a neat throw.
I threw and missed,
and he said, "You missed me! Gonna kiss me!" (He never gets it right.)
I made kissing motions right away,
But he threw the underwear right,
well you know where.
After the war had finally ended,
we told mom we were done with the laundry,
and she replied, "Oh, no, you're not, laundry is never-ending."