Never in all my travels have I had a bathroom in a hotel that had zero toilet paper. Never, that is, until last week, when I visited Canada, our bastard cousins to the north.
Normally in a hotel bathroom there are several rolls staring at you, with some backup rolls behind them. Depending on the hotel, the toilet paper is either:
- so cheap it chafes the dirt button after a single wipe; or
- so expensive you wonder if this is what royalty wipes with in the Old World.
But on this day, I had none.
To completely understand my predicament, we must travel back in time, to the night before. You see, on that night, it was decided to eat at a local German restaurant that was purported to have excellent cuisine. I love German food, and I partook in some delicacies that I had not had in quite some time: sauerbraten, some sort of dumplings, and spätzle, all covered in gravy the consistency of mud. This was washed down with some hearty German suds, quaffed in a fashion of which my European ancestors would have been proud. For a brief moment in my life, I was somewhat happy.
The next morning started like any other day. I indulged in my breakfast of champions: some fried eggs, bacon, and several cups of coffee, followed by a cigarette. Then I left my co-workers to continue onward with our project, double-timing it back to my room for a constitutional. During my speedwalk, I could tell that things were going to be somewhat interesting, as pops and gurgles bounced around my full stomach like ping-pong balls in a Lotto bin wheel.
As we get older, we know that the elasticity of the sphincter experiences some degradation; thus poops we could once hold in for days now can only be held in for two minutes, tops. I was reaching the last of the 120 seconds as I burst into my room. I immediately dropped trousers, swung ass on commode, and unleashed a bowl painter in one fluid motion. I smiled, grinning ear to ear, wishing those who held a righteous poop in high graces could have witnessed my gold medal performance.
The maid had already cleaned my room, per my instructions for the week, since I hate sitting in a dirty hotel room trying to get work done. The dirty towel I had left on the floor from my morning shower was gone, and fresh a towel replaced it. It was at this time that I noticed that there was no toilet paper in my bathroom. How could this be? Impossible; yet as I sat there heaving butt vomit after butt vomit of undigested German food, I couldn't help but wonder how this happened.
What to do? I did what any self-respecting person would do when facing the same dilemma: I reached over and started the shower in my tub. After several more minutes on the potty, I figured my dirty business was complete. I stripped off my clothes and jumped in the shower to clean my dirt button.
How was this accomplished? By doing what one does when the doctor wants to peak at your insides: I bent over and spread the ass. A fine laser beam of hot water started cleaning my ass, and I started to feel better about things. But with hot water cleaning my outsides, water was also getting inside my insides. All of a sudden, my butt did what all asses do when they release that water had snuck inside to join the other contents of the ass. Liqui-shit spätzle, dumplings and German roast beef started involuntarily dripping into the tub. Oh, the horror! I'm actually shitting in the tub! Undigested foodstuff is sitting in the bottom of my tub! For one of the few times in my life, I'm speechless.
I hastily started kicking the shit and food toward the drain, making it go down with my foot, then finished the cleaning of the ass. Bar none, this one of the most bizarre shit experiences I have ever been part of.
-- Merkin
