I’ve been sitting here for about ten minutes, listening to old Pearl Jam songs (the only kind of Pearl Jam songs to listen to, if you’re going to do something like listen to Pearl Jam), and wondering how to start this post. The first few false starts I had went something along the lines of, “Greeting card companies never get it right…”
That kind of thought kept getting stuck in my head, so I decided to try to scrape it out by writing these two paragraphs about how I’ve been trying to start this post. That seems to have done the trick, because I finally realized how I should have started this post:
My sister has wiped a lot of butts in her lifetime. If you’re wondering what I consider “a lot,” I’ll tell you right now: more than one. Because if you’re wiping more butts than your own, you’re grossing me out. Seriously.
Her kids are great: they’re funny, they’re cute, they’re smart. But I hear the words, “I need help wiping,” and they might as well be crazy little strangers accosting me in the subway.
Wiping, that’s…well, that’s personal business. And I don’t want to be up in anyone’s business that much.
If you’re wondering why I suddenly started thinking about how many butts my sister has wiped, I’ll tell you right now: I was in the grocery store today and I happened to pass by some “learn to wipe” toilet paper.
(Nifty photo taken with my camera phone; nifty quote for next month’s First-Of-The-Month Quotes from my princess, “Are you seriously taking a picture of toilet paper?”)
This immediately made me think of my sister. She’s great, and I’m sure she’s happy with her three adorable children and her loving husband and her great life, and that’s all fine and good. But me? I’m going to be near-suicidal the day that someone thinks, “Hey, you know who’s been looking to teach someone how to wipe? Ray!” I mean, damn, man. Just…damn.
And this toilet paper, it’s weird. From what I understand, every four squares, there’s a picture of a cute li’l puppy playing with a bird. That’s where you tear and then you use it to wipe feces off of your butt. As much as I love and laugh at the idea of wiping my ass with a cute li’l puppy, I think there’s something strange about having a kid do it.
“This will help little Billy learn how to wipe, darling.”
“But…but that puppy looks just like Fido. Won’t that be psychologically damaging?”
“Never you mind, dear. If Cottonelle wants our son to wipe the shit off his ass with our pet dog, who are we to argue?”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Yes, I always am. Now get in there and make me some pot roast before I have to get abusive.”
Listen, if you want to screw a kid up, why not just put pictures of some horrible spider? Or a giant scorpion? “Every fourth square, wipe your ass with the poisonous arachnid, Bobby.”
“Please, can’t I just wipe with the puppy like cousin Billy?”
“Shut up and put the bug in your ass!”
Sheesh. Like potty training isn’t hard enough without having to poop on the family pet or an evil-looking creature.
By the way, I realize that this toilet paper isn’t really to potty train, but rather to show them how much toilet paper to use before they have the ability to count out squares. And I don’t care. Having a kid wipe his or her butt with an adorable little puppy and a bird is just weird. But it gives me an idea.
Why should we use this ability to put pictures on toilet paper strictly to form mental and emotional issues when we could use this technology to profit off of already-formed neuroses?
What we should do is set up kind of like a Cafepress kind of thing, except with toilet paper. You could take a picture of your boss, email it to us, and we send you a case of toilet paper with his face on it. Or if you have some sort of weird fetish, you could send in a picture of yourself, whatever. We’re not here to judge—we’re here to make money. For a little extra, you could send in multiple images, like if you had a few ex-girlfriends and a lot of resentment.
Look, I’m getting carried away here. I know this, you know this. I think it would be better if I just went to bed. But think about it, okay? Think about it…
UPDATE: Freakin’ internet. I knew something this cool had to have been done already.