I have never understood why men find a damp towel hanging in a kitchen such an obvious weapon of choice. Even the image of a wrist twisting the fabric into a hellish whip of venom and menace fires me with fear and dread.
It's long since Marcus O'Sullivan whipped a chunk of my buttocks from it's familiar position on my rear, but the scar remains and still causes me pain on particularly cold evenings. He regretted it of course: ones fingers trapped in a heated oven door and then battered with a wooden spoon is obvious and genuine retribution. However, Marcus is not - and never will be - the only man to make such an effort with a passive damp cloth.
My philosophy on this is simple: the cloth is for dishes not for twisting, flicking and inflicting pain. Mess with the dish dryer and ruin the karma of the kitchen.