Thread: Humor?
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Old 02-13-2007, 02:22 PM
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Red_Chili Red_Chili is offline
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Join Date: Aug 2005
Location: Littleton CO
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I thought I would lift this off another board. The guy has a talent for writing.
Hmmm, on second thought, should this go on the OutbackToilets thread?
Non-family-friendly language cleansed...
Quote:
So my wife and I have been on this deal lately since I went back to a suit job where she does all the grocery shopping since she’s a night shift person that can’t sleep during the day and such. Usually this isn’t much of an issue. She does forget to buy certain things that I want and sometimes buys a brand here or there that I wouldn’t buy (reminds me of the scene in Pulp Fiction, "I don't need you to tell me how f***ing good my coffee is, okay? I'm the one who buys it. I know how good it is. When Bonnie goes shopping she buys S**T. Me, I buy the gourmet expensive stuff because when I drink it I want to taste it.") but overall it works ok. Well, it did until last night.

Me, I’m one of those regular, right as rain kind of guys. I won’t get into all of the gross details of the BM, but let’s just say you can set a clock by me. The dudes down at NIST set the correction of the Cesium Fountain Atomic Clock based on me. If you’ve been to my house, that’s why there’s a red phone in the master library, right next to the Petersen’s and the US News. Music is piped in through the server in my office and the little 15" plasma does receive Speed Channel, news and Discovery. The way I figure it, this is a part of being a human that is, well, just one of those things you want to make as comfortable and as expedient as possible.

So there I was.

Fan on, got my new issue of Petersen’s, reading and doing my deal and I look over at the TP roll and then it begins…

This is not a regular roll of the soft, downy, pillowy goodness that we all crave to have on our TP holder. You all know what I’m talking about although we really don’t like to speak about these kind of things, but let’s face it, the roll of triple layer, puffy Super Charmin is like a cup of hot chocolate after shoveling the snow off the driveway all morning or an ice cold beer after doing yardwork during a long hot summer day. It’s just the way we like things to be. No, this TP LOOKED dangerous but searching the house for the roll of nirvana was not to be, the MIL is visiting and even a walking wipe to go searching wouldn’t cut it as cruising the house “au natural” would make old women faint and little kids cry. Nope, the TP of DOOM was the only option.

Cautiously and with much trepidation, I decided that my only option was to use the papyrus appearing material. Now, mind you, I’m in a very vulnerable position here and between the need to clean and the fear running through my soul, the ONLY option was not looking like it was a good one. So, I reel off a hunk and pull. Damn, not tearing off the roll. Luckily for me I’m wearing my trusty 50 pocket utility jeans and find my Boker Damascus, which can cut through carbon fiber layup sheet like butter, and cut a hunk of this stuff off the roll. After barely making the cut, the fear is now at an all time high. Homeland Security is adjusting the Terror Alert to red, NORAD is scrambling fighters and calling B52’s out of mothballs and W has his hand on the red button. I’m going in.

The first pass reminded me of the time I was in an accident and ended up with road rash that had to be scrubbed clean. Please pass the Demerol! Tears rolling from my eyes and gritted teeth, the job MUST be completed. What happened next is barely describable, but since I started reliving this nightmare I shall continue to cleanse my being of this scar on my psyche.

Pass number two can only be described in graphic detail. Please don’t let children or the faint of heart read this part or they will be scarred for life causing exorbitant therapy bills and difficulty maintaining healthy relationships! I went back in for another piece of what can only be described now as 60 grit carbide paper and shuddered as I aimed for the nether regions. I remember screaming like a wounded caribou that just got its testes caught on a barbed wire fence hidden in the snow and seeing what I now believe was the devil itself entering my inner sanctum, as it were, and wreaking havoc on both vital internal and external organs. All of this happened milliseconds before passing out from the intense pain. My next recollection of the event was waking up with a terrible headache, a longing for Tuck’s pads and a strong shot of tequila. Calgon, take me away.

My friends, if you care for your loved ones and for the sake of humanity, DO NOT BUY THE SAFEWAY BASIC RED BRAND OF TP. In the words of Kramer, it will mess you up.

Sore assingly,
Mike
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I'm that gun-totin', farm-raised, evangelical, pro-environment, OHV ridin'/drivin', Southern civil rights pro-labor Liberal yo' momma told you couldn't possibly exist.
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