Sunday, November 21, 2010

Outhouse Blues

Few things in the world are quite as disgusting as being forced to use a port-o-john or an outhouse.  It smells bad…really bad, this much is obvious if someone even explains what an outhouse is.  The toilet paper is even worse.  Years ago you couldn’t just go down to the corner store and get a roll of the good stuff.  People had to use their Sears Roebuck catalog, not to order toilet paper but to actually wipe their ass with.  If a Sears Roebuck ad for a new tractor is an F and Cotenelle is an A the toilet paper supplied in a modern outhouse is roughly an F+.  

Old timey toilet paper
This isn’t an issue when peeing in the outhouse, because as a man I don’t pee in the outhouse.  The world is my outhouse.  I’ll find an alley, a Gatorade bottle, or even pop the hood of my car and piss on the tires before I piss in an outhouse.  The only thing I don’t like about peeing outside is when it’s cold outside.  I hate uncoiling the snake with ice-cold hands.  It’s like getting a hernia check from the guy that gives hernia checks (why the fuck are his hands so goddamn cold?  Did he just get in from a snowball fight or an igloo making competition?)  Plus if it’s cold outside there will be shrinkage and it would be embarrassing for anyone to see me like that.
The doctor getting ready to give me a hernia check
Like a TARDIS but smelly
 I’ve bitched about outhouses, but when you need them you’re glad they’re there.  Until you get done and decide you could’ve held it a little longer.  Let me explain, one time at summer camp I had to use a port-o-john.  It was an emergency, life or death situation.  No sooner had I sat down that I noticed that there wasn’t any toilet paper.  Oh shit.

So I sat there for a little while when I heard a knock at the door and some chubby kid said, “hey are you gonna be in there much longer?”
“Oh thank God!  Hey man there’s no toilet paper.  Could you do me a favor and go get some?”
“Dude I gotta go.”  He panted (dude was fat.)

So I sat there a little longer not knowing what to do, when a line started to form behind the backne scarred fat kid.  “Cmon!” He said with increased anxiety.
“I need toilet paper!”  I said with equal anxiety.
“Just use your hand.”
“I’m not using my fucking hand.”
“Just don’t wipe, that’s what I do sometimes.”

Let's knock the outhouse over!
Did I mention that I was in Wisconsin, because that last line makes a lot more sense when you take that into consideration.  Not wanting to walk around with an ass full of shit or use my fucking hand the situation had reached a stalemate.  He wasn’t going anywhere and neither was I, but then he made a power move and tipped the scales in his favor.  He and his cheesehead buddies started rocking the outhouse back and forth.  About the worst thing in the world I could ever imagine happening is being knocked over in a full outhouse door side down.

I had to act fast, lest my most horrible nightmares come true.  So I found a tiny piece of toilet paper on the ground and used it to the best of my ability.  It didn’t do much so I grabbed the actual roll the paper was on and MacGyvered it into a piece of toilet paper.  Though I wasn’t completely clean, I was clean enough to make my escape.  I opened the door and bolted past the hillbillies to the next outhouse down the road, where I cleaned up.  Then I hope I took a shower but I don’t remember.
I wipe my ass with you

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