Please, please God! Hear my cry for help. I am just a lowly Swiffer sleeve, and my life has not been very long, but it was a good life. I do not deserve this injustice, oh benevolent being of the cosmos. I beg that you put me out of my misery right now so that I can have some decency and time alone in my final days as I decompose into sweet, sweet dirt. The lifeblood of worms, the heroes of Earth, my final purpose can be fulfilled. But not if I am to continue mopping up last months crumbs like a plebe.

I will admit, I was not always the best Swiffer sleeve. I dragged my feet. I moaned in anguish as I was flung about the dining room floor like a rag-doll. I never once could get that little bit of fuzz underneath the couch, leading to many-a-time of momentary panic at the accumulated growth that was the Dust.

And, while in the kitchen, I will admit that I did not give my 100% effort. I skipped spots by giving a sharp turn. I got stock underneath the fridge, but it’s great down there. All of my Dust friends are there and sometimes I get stuck getting caught up. Sue me.

Yeah. You know what? Just sue me. Stop this nonsense right now, I would much rather have a long court battle with you than to ever spend another moment of my life picking up your animal hairs and Pringle droppings.

I, will see you in court. And as far as all that begging to God and stuff, I’ll admit I am one to be dramatic and a little flamboyant. Get over it.

This article was written by Nathan Ellwood, who never imagined himself writing from the perspective of an angry Swiffer, but stick around next week and I bet I’ll do it again. Follow him for more broom humor (or brumor, as it’s called in the biz) @NPEllwood.