A dissertation on the softness of bathroom tissue and the perceived friendliness of retail establishments; or, god, why must this toilet paper suck so bad!?

While frequenting a local retail establishment’s room of rest, one that I prefer not to mention the name of only because I would rather invoke an aura of mystery surrounding my activities in the vain hope that some biographer of the future might yet have to work for his future study of my life, I was struck by a singular thought.  Dear insert name of your preferred deity here, why do you hate me so to allow this toilet paper to be made upon the earth as it is the plaything of devilish children from Hades!?  Okay, it was more like why would they choose this crap for people!?  While dreading the fact that this “stuff” was going to have to be used, I got to thinking (as one will no doubt do when faced with the prospect of voluntarily sticking yourself in a 3 by 5 foot box for 10 minutes with odors arising from the rotting of late 14th century peasant bodies that must be buried underground because you do not want to think what you are smelling comes from actual living people).

It is amazing that some stores foist absolutely terrible toilet paper upon their potential customers.  After all, are we not potential buyers of their products?  Would they not want to treat us potential cash cows of consumers well by offering amenities that provide for our maximum comfort?  Shopping can be an exhaustive prospect, not just of our energy but of our will to look at our bank statements the next month.  I for one would rather cry tears of misery, realizing I spent 300 dollars on one hit wonder cds I grew tired of 30 seconds in the first track’s wub-wub-wubbing, into feathers pillows than sawdust mixed with the collected resentments of 100 children denied the opportunity to have an ice cream cone before dinner.  Would it be that much of a problem for the bottom line of a multi-million dollar company to invest in bathroom tissue that does not feel like the collected stingers of 17 million wasps pressed into paper shape?  Admittedly, there are those that turn a roll into a private ticker-tape parade or simply work on perfecting their future mummy costumes for Halloween, but the majority of Americans, and for that matter the world do not abuse their toilet paper privileges.  

If cost is truly the issue, may I offer some potential solutions.  I would be glad to bring in 5 rolls of broken dreams to be sacrificially burned by shamans in the dead of night for one roll of sweet, sweet awesome.  Recycling is indeed important these days, and you can show your dedication to your customers and the planet by encouraging this public service.  Or, if the shamans’ ceremonial burning is causing difficulty in seeing this fall’s line of purple slotted screwdrivers, offer the opportunity to earn the use of rolls blessed by a choir of doo-wop singing angels.  Many places have member or reward cards that only further encourage your desire to expand your waffle iron collection.  Perhaps as an additional incentive for those who are between kitchen utensil hobbies, one can offer the opportunity to upgrade to gloriously soft tissue in the resting facilities.  If I have to pay a little for this opportunity, I would be glad to fork over my collected nickels, dimes, and stale corn chips from 1982 for this pleasure.  Therefore, I offer a plea to all retail establishments, or basically any place that allows for resting  from fattening your stomach or from increasing your chances of going into the poorhouse by offering favored sports teams’ branded salt and pepper shakers.  Please banish your one-ply terror from your places’ surroundings.  My and the collected dreams of thousands of potential sucklers of your bounty of mildly ironic hipster branded hooded sweatshirts are waiting.

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