Mom vs Mt. Washmore

I am a psycho about laundry. I have no choice. With the dirty socks of 9 people piling up (quickly, mind you) my laundry room either smells like teenagers' feet or Bounce. The sad fact is that I prefer Bounce. Teenagers stink. And for all the showering they do, they should be relatively clean. My water bill says they should be clean. And yet they smell like an odd combination of stale popcorn and wet dog. GAH! So back to the laundry...
We have a laundry chute, so the wash piles up on a daily basis to form what I affectionately refer to as Mt. Washmore. I do at least a load a day, just to keep up on things. If I get behind, I get waaaaay behind, and digging out is a terrible task. So when Mt. Washmore didn't seem to be growing in stature, I inquired about the status of everyone's laundry. Yep, they were putting it down the chute. But oddly, they were running low on jeans.
I was still washing on a pretty regular basis, so I just thought that I was ahead of the game. Maybe they were using their towels more than once, and actually were hanging them up in the bathroom to dry. Maybe they were wearing their sweatshirts and jeans more than once, and putting them away in between uses. Maybe I was DELUSIONAL!!!!
Mt. Washmore was definitely shrinking, though. Until I went upstairs and saw the clothes pouring out of the top of the chute. Apparently someone who shall remain nameless (Zane) had stuffed a basketball into the chute. I was perplexed. I was afraid. I was furious that no one informed me the dirty clothes was coming out the top of the chute.
I donned my best attitude and went downstairs. I jammed a broomstick up the chute. The basketball was wedged up there, oh yes. I jammed it again. Nothing. FUCK.
I, being the child of an engineer, was not to be daunted, however. I fashioned a bayonette using a steak knife and duct tape on the end of my broomstick. Die, basketball! And I think the dirty clothes is still falling from the chute as we speak.