There’s nothing like a good shit- especially if you’ve secured the handicapped stall. I mean, you’re not a jerk for parking your ass in there, you don’t need a special permit or anything, and you won’t get a ticket from the poo-police.
But then, the wrong kind of shit comes along and fucks everything up. If you get the clean kind, it’s a one-wipe-and-go operation.
But what about when for some reason or another, one of the other kinds come along? I had a fucking hotdog for dinner last night! Does that really warrant the pasty, play-dough consistency (no, I haven’t actually molded it with my hands or anything), ass-putty that smears around like spackle trying to seal your ass up for some sort of ass renewal project? Is it fair to have to keep pushing your sleeves up as pre-emptive assurance that you won’t get anything on your shirt sleeves? Should we really be drawing on toilet paper like there’s a brown crayon poking out of our asses? Is it really fucking necessary for a shit of average volume to demand a double-flush?
I don’t think so. Here’s to bidets…
(The above message was a pointless rant brought on by too much caffeine and too little to do. I apologize to those who may feel I wasted theur time.)