The BV might have sh*t the bed with some of their recent publications, but before you reach for your own sheets in the grips of a TP-induced turmoil, let’s take a look at some possible alternative solutions.
Grass/Leaves. Comfort: Minimal. Cost: Free. If a bear defecates in the woods and no one is there to see it, who’s to say a St. Bonaventure student can’t? It’s the ultimate convenience, especially on a weekend trek when you find yourself between restroom facilities. Benefits include an evening dew—the poor man’s bidet—and a fresh, natural scent. Risks are of course poison ivy, invasive species and the chance that Denny Wilkins or a psycho clown may stumble upon you at any moment. Save a tree, fertilize the forest.
Dollar Bills. Comfort: Mediocre. Cost: $1 to $100. If your wallet is handy, it could just come in handy during your darkest hour. If it’s paper you’re searching for, that green bill fold just might do the trick. On the positive side, you can use it as a form of peaceful protest, demonstrative art or simply a self-satisfying way to “stick it to the man.” On the negative side, that’s one less Dollarita and one hard-learned lesson about budgeting.
Stealing. Comfort: Baseline. Cost: Your morality. It may seem as easy as taking candy from a baby, but stealing toilet paper from other facilities on campus just means you’re leaving someone else sh*t out of luck. When desperate times call for desperate measures, try scheduling your bowel movements in between classes or taking Hickey bumming literally for a while to take advantage of their facilities. Ultimately, stealing is a crime and the only crime here should be how good your (clean) a** looks in those jeans.
Hand Towel. Comfort: Unexpected. Cost: Your roommates. When the only thing in sight is a soggy strip of decorative cloth, just remember not to throw it in with the rest of your laundry afterward. Chances are that towel has seen more than its fair share of fecal off the thousand other hands that gripped it, but don’t let that deter you. Pros are it gives you the chance to finally change that like you’ve been meaning to all year. Cons are you leave with soaking wet hands and have to explain to your roommate what happened to his grandma’s embroidery.
Tissue Paper. Comfort: Shreds. Cost: Your mother’s love. That’s a wrap on mom’s care package crafting. Try as you might, it never quite lays the way you want it to and doesn’t quite cover the thing you need it to. Sometimes it’s glossy and leaves you with a trail of glitter, and sometimes it’s see-through and leaves you with a trail from the sh*tter. While they may share initials, tissue and toilet paper simply aren’t cut from the same cloth. You’re better off holding it until you’re home for the holidays.
Hand. Comfort: Nonexistent. Cost: Your dignity. This might be the most honest solution, but let’s not shake on it to agree.
So next time you find yourself up Schitt’s Creek without a paddle, take a moment to consider what led you to this point. Was there nothing you could have done to prevent this? No other channel of communication you could have queried? No leap of faith you could have taken? You could stick with our advice, or you could hitch a ride to Dollar General where Scott-brand toilet paper is on special. With four rolls to a pack, that works out to a mere .27 cents a roll. A small price to pay for a clean a** and conscience.
