I am not an environmentalist. I used to be, but not any more. I mean, I was one yesterday, but not today. What made me change my mind? Al Gore’s war on my ass.
I enjoy taking a good shit. I am happy when you have one, and happier still when I have one. Following the Jewish tradition, I offer a prayer of thanks every time I go to the toilet, expressing genuine gratitude for the wondrous workings of the body. When push comes to shove, constipation is not my friend.
One of the joys of moving one’s bowels is cleaning up afterward using a high quality 127-ply perfumed industrial strength absorbent roll of toilet paper. I like the feel of it—thick as an Amish quilt; the fragrance of it—as strong as Aqua Velva; and the way it gloves my hand with four or five inches of protective paper. What could be better?
Enter Al Gore. No, not Mr. Gore himself, I am using his name to represent all those inconvenient truth speakers who sap the fun out of ruining the planet. It seems that my precious toilet paper is made from old-growth trees, and that my desire for comfort is killing the planet one wipe at a time. Well, you know what? I don’t care. There are other planets. When I flush the last of this one down the toilet, I’ll just move to another one.
What is the point of having an old tree, anyway? It doesn’t do anything. At least if we turn one into toilet paper it gets the satisfaction of being useful to us, and that is what trees really want, isn’t it? To be of service to selfish boys like me? I’ve read Shel Silverstein’s scientific study of trees and I understand their need to be self-sacrificing. This is what they live for; this is what they die for.
And, now that I’m thinking about it, why should old trees take precedent over young trees? We expect old things to die. President Obama isn’t proposing death panels for young people (the unborn excepted), but for old people. Why should it be different for trees? After all if you have to make toilet paper out of people would you choose the elderly or the newborn? True, the newborn are softer, but with the proper processing the elderly would do quite nicely.
And have you tried the other brands of toilet paper? Well, I have. I’ve tried the ones that feel like sandpaper and leave your butt bloody and raw. I’ve tried the lesser ply brands that rip apart at the exact moment to allow for a quick check of your prostate while you wipe. And I’ve lived in Israel where they seem to mistake wax paper for toilet paper. So I’m no stranger to the hardships of not having the proper tool to deal with the blessed stool. I just want that tool, and don’t care how old the tree is that can give it to me.
So I’m going brown rather than green. Given the current climate of Democratic Socialist Fascism I fully expect Mr. Obama to create a Toilet Paper Czar who will strip our stores of old-growth toilet paper and imprison those of us who value butts over bark, so I am building an underground bunker in which to stockpile enough quality toilet paper to get me through the Mayan collapse of civilization and the election of Sarah Palin as POTUS. My suggestion: you ought to do the same.