Mr. Clean X Old Spice Comerial Guy

The S a c r e d Mop

Mr. Clean was a man of fame, fame for his wonderful cleaning skills, fame for his oddly seductive dancing while mopping the floor. How else was he supposed to pick up all the sexy depressed housewives??? But lately...he had felt...off, and .... dirty.
"What is happening to me?" He asked his dear friend, Phil Swift.
"I have no idea bro, you look awfully dirty lately though," Phil swiftly (bu dum chhhh) replied.
"I have no idea what to do Phil, nothing has helped, even talking to the Oxi Clean guy did nothing for me..."
"I know what you should do!"
"What? I'll do anything!" Veritably (yes that is Mr. Clean's first name) replied.
"We could..."
A silence, Mr. Clean was on the edge of his bucket full of soap.
"Go...."
Crickets...
"Saw...."
Mr. Clean started to bite his well manicured fingers. They were probably covered in bleach that should've killed him, but then again, Mr. Clean is god and cannot die.
Phil took a deep breath.
"Aboatinhalf," he finally spit out.
"REALLY?! THATS YOUR ONLY SOLUTION?!"
Mr. Clean was outraged! How could his trusted freind betray him like that? Phil was never any help though. He just liked to destroy things to promote his Flex... whatever fucking product he decided needed to be made.
"I'm sorry that's all I have," Swift sighed sadly and sheepishly.
"Dude, that's all you ever have."
"I know, I know."
"Wait!" Veritably exclaimed, a wonderful idea comming to him, "I know what will help!"
Now Phil was on the edge of his seat, he needed to know what stroke of genius graced the bald man before him.
"I need to find the sacred golden mop!"
"WHAT THE FUCK VERITABLY?"
"I know it sounds insane but, hear me out," Mr. Clean started to explain himself.
"I'm reluctantly listening," the Flex Tape spokesman said.
"Well..."