S.O.S from the Labyrinth of DOOM! a.k.a. mom's basement

So, I help mom clean out the basement because, A.) she can't lift heavy shit, B.) when she does lift heavy shit, despite the fact that people tell her not to, she complains for weeks about tired she is and how much pain she's in because she tweaked her <whatever body part. It changes every other day...>  C.) I don't want to listen to her yap about how I never help around the house (because running around after four children, keeping on top of their messes, schedules, meals and well, their everything as well as keeping on top of my own shit isn't enough), despite the fact that I have taken on the role of "house nigger". Dishes, laundry, garbage, grocery shopping, running errands, moving shit, type this, fix that, clean out here, put those there...  D.) I don't want to hear dad yelling because mom's whining about something and E.) There's a finder's keepers rule. I find it, I get to list it on Ebay as mine.

Whether it really is the lure of money or if it's because I'm a closet masochist, (although, come to think of it, I was married... TWICE... Hmm...) I was down in the dungeon again on yet another search and rescue mission...  Going through the caches of stuff squirreled away in my mom's Chamber of TERRORS! (Dun, dun, DAAAAAAH! <Dramatic Reverb!> I noticed that the labyrinth in the basement is growing larger every day. I swear the stuff is breeding... It's like a dark pit... With booby traps and pitfalls... And creatures summoned from the Netherworld... And plus, there are spiders. I hate spiders... In the midst of it all, buried up to my armpits in boxes, bubble wrap, tissue paper, paper towels, plastic bags and storage bin lids (and I think a spider touched me... It TOUCHED ME!!!!) mom bellows down, "Are you cleaning the basement? I want you to help clean out the basement!" I think I may have ruptured something... I managed a "MmmHmmmm..." through clenched teeth, but I guess it didn't quite sound very polite, so she went on a long hissy fit about something... I just cranked up the iPod and stopped paying attention... I realized some time later that she was still going on and I unplugged, right when she went into, "The things I do for you around here! I'm so tired! My head hurts... " (It's the martyr complex. We're waiting for her canonization paperwork...) I told her that I never asked her to do anything and to stop, because I got it and because I don't want to have to hear her bitch about having done it. Yeah, it went over like a fart in a car with no A/C and the windows rolled up on a hot day.

Dad finally stepped in, yelled something about "the stupid animal" (his pet name for me...), and told mom to leave me alone and let me work on the thing that she asked me to do because there are only so many hours in a given day. He pointed out that I have other things to do, at which point I thought to myself, "Holy shit! He gets it!" That was until he started rattling off a list of demands he wanted me to have done for him... <SIGH!>
I've given up on the basement. I'll "stock my shelves" for Ebay, but as far as "cleaning it out"? There is more stuff down there than I am ever going to get through... My children's children's children's children may start to get a handle on things that are down there enough to see the floor again. I don't think that basement was ever empty... Ever.