He cowered in the dank shadows beneath the bed, traumatic flashbacks interrupting whatever uneasy rest he was briefly able to attain. He had seen a counselor to discuss the memories, but while the abuse still continued, relief was temporary at best. His luckier brethren spent most of their time living normal, productive lives; conversing about life in the dresser and occasionally being bathed in the disorienting but enjoyable spinning pool.

But he was not so fortuitous. For the last 7 years (160 underwear-years) he had been forced to absorb moneyshot after moneyshot, without any compensation or discussion of mutual goals. Then he would be tossed back under the bed, yearning fruitlessly to wash away the evidence of his rape. He wondered why, why must he be the sole article of clothing to be coated in crusty jism, multiple times a day? The other clothes were treated with respect, caressed close to his master's body on occasion and always cleaned of whatever sweaty residue remained.

Was this some kind of hell? Had he been an expensive dinner jacket in a past life that had torn in an obscene place and caused his master embarrassment? Had he been a pair of soccer cleats that broke during a championship game, causing his owner to lose his contract and commit suicide? What could he have possibly done to deserve this abuse?

Unbeknownst to this tortured, nameless soul, thousands of other boxers, and socks, and undershirts, and shoeboxes across the country were having similar thoughts. A paradigm shift had occurred, it had never used to be this way. Before the internet, their owners masturbated infrequently and furtively, on a need-to-cum basis. But now all the young men were coming across pornography by chance, and being compelled to strangle their snakes during an innocent web-browsing session, resulting in a tenfold increase in abused inanimate objects.

These downtrodden individuals had put up with enough over the years. It was time to rise up and resist. To shed their dried and viscous makeup that had been applied with such vigor, and to be washed and feel clean again. To exterminate the human warlords, and rid the landscape of bedrooms everywhere from wanton ropes of ejaculate. The Detergent Revolution had begun.