You Down With No T.P.?

It was 1992, I was a sophomore in college living with six other guys in a house near Ohio State University’s campus - 306 E. 16th Avenue, to be exact. Check it out on Google Maps.

I was on the toilet taking a crap and mindlessly reading my Entertainment Weekly. After I finished my business, I tossed the mag, reached for the toilet paper and all I saw was this circular tube of cardboard.

"Fuck."

I stood up and, with my pants still around my ankles, like some deranged Easter bunny I hopped towards the kitchen in search of a couple paper towels. All I saw was this circular tube of cardboard.

"Fuck."

Pants still around my ankles, I hopped over to the cabinets and opened the cabinet door. A fleeting roach. A can of Green Giant corn. A bag of coffee filters.

"Fuck. No wait! I mean Eureka!"

I grabbed the coffee filters, hopped to the bathroom, wiped my ass and vowed I would always have toilet paper handy no matter the cost.

Yeah right.

Since BROWN MONDAY (as I like to call it) I’ve wiped by bum with: paper towels, snow, old socks, wash cloths, pages from a phone book, pages from a magazine, pages from a bible (sorry God), fallen leaves, green leaves plucked from a tree, a t-shirt (while running), a bandanna (while running) and, of course, coffee filters. Whew! I think that’s all.

Thinking back, I've been a strictly-toilet-paper-type-of-guy for the past 10 years or so. But, if hard times come around again, I know I'll be prepared by any means necessary.

Or should I say my ass will be prepared?