Does Everything I Own Need to be Sparkling Clean?
Stink star. Poop chute. Mud whistle. Whatever your name for it, we all have assholes. Last weekend during a normal conversation I learned that my landlord has installed a bidet in each bathroom of her house. She offered me the chance to experience the benefit of bidets by purchasing one for use on my asshole that lives in the apartment next door.
In addition to keeping your nether regions exceptionally clean, a bidet saves water, which might seem hard to believe. However, asshole researchers believe this to be true. I'm always up for anything that's better for the environment. That said, it has been days since that conversation took place and I'm still on the fence about being on the bidet.
I don't like the thought that my ass could be the dirtiest ass out of the asses in my immediate area. There's one adult ass and three male child asses next door and I don't want to have the dirtiest bum hole among them. I also recognize if the cleanliness of my asshole is my biggest concern, I have it pretty good. It's not, but still worth giving a crap about.
One consideration is that I'm incredibly accident-prone. Amazingly, I participate in the circus arts since being in the air is a bad place to be when you're a klutz. Actually, I'm not accident-prone, I usually just don't read directions. Not sure why I don't take the time to read material meant to prevent injury and ensure a purchase works correctly.
Regardless, I'm confident that an accident caused by machinery designed with my asshole in mind could hurt in several ways. All those movie scenes with people getting hit in the face by water because they didn't know how to use a bidet could be me. Except, because I'm an overachiever a regular-ass accident could kill me. Not many people would know this, but I've had a fear of dying on a toilet ever since I learned this could happen. I’m already ashamed that I don't have a burial plot, there's no way I would risk further embarrassment by dying on the crapper.
It was only recently that I learned I don't have a designated area for my corpse. My parents wrongly assumed I could close a marriage deal in Hawaii, which would mean the responsibility of my dead body would be someone else's. Unfortunately, nobody in my conscious life loves me enough to be adjacent to my dead soul. I digress. It's written down somewhere where my parent's plots are and I have been instructed to place the ashes of the family pets in there with them. So, I'm the only one with no place to die and it's hard for me to live with. Another consideration is that I don't want to become bidet dependent. What if I enjoy using one so much that I couldn't bear the idea of using a commode unless it's fitted with an asshole cleaning attachment? No one wants to start poor, gain wealth, and then lose it again. Likewise, once you drive in a Porsche or have been a passenger in one, every car in comparison is a fail. I'm simply suggesting that once I bidet I might get hooked. I don't drink coffee for this same reason.
What if cleanliness really is next to godliness? I refuse to believe that God gives a crap about how clean my butt is. If you have watched the news lately, you might know that God seems to be on vacation. With that in mind, I'm not going to start increasing my ass hygiene on account of God. I have OCD and if I start employing the use of bidet, where would it stop? Will q-tipping my ears one day not be good enough? Will I next start candling them? I hope not because as I’ve already mentioned I don't read directions and could easily set my hair on fire.
Now that I think about it, my primary care physician did once tell me I was being too aggressive with the q-tip after a routine examination. Depending on what kind of doctor appointment I'm going on, I will make sure to shave, clean, or scrape a particular area for the benefit of said doctor.
So when it gets down to brown tacks what shall I do? For now, I think I'm going to leave my ass alone. I've lived almost fifty-three years on this earth with my asshole just the way it is. I will tell a secret between you, me, and the world that a tract of hair seems to have made it over there and I find it revolting. It's odd that I found it at all, but the shower can be a place for self-discovery. Does anyone know how to get rid of this? My parrying from subject to subject proves the point that my wandering mind can't be worrying about my dirty ass.
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