We are all of us influenced by others, whether we admit it or not. Our parents influence us from birth, our spouses and children influence us daily, our friends influence us, our coworkers influence us, hell even the guy who farts loudly in line at McDonald’s influences us, even if we were only influenced to get the fuck out of McDonald’s and never return. Seriously, that happened to me the other day. This dude just went and fucking ripped one in line. Not an accidental, squeaker-type fart that might slip out when one bends over to pick up loose change. No, it was a long, loud, thunderclap of flatulence that he didn’t even bother to acknowledge. It was like standing in line behind Jabba the Hutt, which would have been tolerable if Princess Leia was there wearing that bikini, but she wasn’t. It was just Jabba, me, and about six or seven horrified customers, about half of whom joined me in leaving immediately. Look, I was at fucking McDonald’s, so it’s not like I was expecting a gourmand experience or anything. But it would be nice if people kept the contents of their goddamn colons to themselves, you know? Jesus.
Back to the point: We are influenced by other people. We can’t help it. We are individuals whose identities are the sum total of all of our thoughts and experiences, and that means other people have an input into who we are, even if we slap them with restraining orders or move without leaving a forwarding address.
So it would behoove us to carefully choose the company that we keep. Hang out with philosophers, and you’ll likely learn a thing or two. Hang out with derelicts and weirdos, and you’ll also learn a thing or two, usually about how to mainline Sterno. (That’s actually not a good example because given the job market for philosophers, they probably know all about shooting Sterno. They’re fucking desperate. In the immortal words of René Descartes, “I think, therefore I am. Also, I will suck your dick for a fifth of gin.”)
And if it makes sense to choose our company wisely, it follows that it makes sense to choose what web sites we visit wisely as well. I mean, there is an enormous amount of horrendous bullshit out there, just waiting to suck you in and ruin your mind, and really, that’s what alcohol is for, so why bother?
From time to time I will be exposed to such a site, usually because I’m responsible for it, but sometimes because I am tricked into viewing it by people who mean well, but honestly they just cause me to weep for humanity:
Yes, that Tweet comes to you courtesy of Hall of Fame Commenter, all around Swell Egg, and someone whose name is now cursed on a regular basis around here, the very Reverend Back It On Up 13. She’s funny, witty, interested in the contents of Ian Anderson’s codpiece for some unfathomable reason, and she introduced me, via the Tweet above, to the concept of Family Cloth.
This is Family Cloth:
Seems harmless enough. Let’s see what the folks over at Etsy had to say about it:
Roll of 8 6×8 inch black flannel reusable toilet paper, also known as “family cloth”. Topstitched and hand snapped with the highest quality in mind. Made to last a long time, and fulfil your family cloth curiosity without breaking the bank.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
First of all, let me state unequivocally for the record that my curiosity about reusable shit-rags has never registered above zero. Never. Not even once. And at no time did I ever feel like spending any money on reusable shit-rags, so breaking the bank to find out what it is like to wipe my ass with something that has come into direct contact with grandma’s bunghole is entirely out of the fucking question! I want to meet whoever wrote this so I can ask them what color the sky is on their home planet, because I’m pretty sure that this conversation has never taken place on Earth:
Some Guy: Hey, how’s it going?
Some Other Guy: Huh? Oh, hi. Sorry, I’m a bit distracted.
Some Guy: How come?
Some Other Guy: Well, I was wondering what it would be like if I wiped my ass with a handtowel that somebody else already wiped their ass with.
Some Guy: WHAT?!?
Some Other Guy: Yeah. Hey, look, if I gave you all of the money in my bank account, would you shit on this piece of flannel and give it back to me?
No. No, no, no, NO, NO! This is the worst idea since Genghis Khan invented feeding toddlers to dogs.
Worst idea, honorable mention
Also, who is the marketing genius who named this product “Family Cloth”? I understand that if you called this stuff what it is that it wouldn’t exactly fly off the goddamn shelf, but come on… Family Cloth? If you’re going to horribly mislead people, you may as well go all the way and call it Butterfly Puppy Jubilee Delight! That might be confusing but at least it isn’t going to lead to terrible, emotionally scarring misunderstandings such as the following:
Mom: Hey, everyone, I found something at the store that I think we can enjoy on Family Game Night! Family Cloth!
Kids: Yay!
…and fifteen minutes later, mom is a richly deserving social pariah destined to die alone.
You know what I love about this product though? The snaps, because the snaps make the following exchange possible, which may very well be the stupidest thing someone could possibly say.
(phone rings)
Sally: Hello?
Peggy: Hi Sally, it’s Peggy.
Sally: Oh, hi Peggy!
Peggy: What are you doing?
Sally: I am snapping together black pieces of flannel that I have shit on so the rest of the family can do the same. How about you?
Seriously, the fact that after you’ve retrieved and washed these feces-smeared pieces of cloth there is still some fucking assembly required is just too goddamn crazy for me to deal with.
So, yeah, I have now been influenced by a bunch of feek-freak lunatics on Etsy who think it’s fucking fashionable to daub their purple-starfishes with the excrement of people who are soon to be ex-family members. Thanks, Etsy, I’ll be sure to say hi when I’m burning your goddamn headquarters to the ground.
I remember when everyone used cloth nappies, so the idea of washing and reusing cloth that has had poop on it doesn’t bother me much. But, that was baby poop, and this is for everyone to use? *gag*
I have so many questions about this product. Why is it black? If there are only 8 sheets on a roll, do you have to wash a load of shit rags 3 times a day? How do you train yourself not to drop a sheet into the toilet after use? Is having a little bucket of shit-stained cloths in the bathroom really a good idea?
And the snaps. Oh my god, the snaps…
One of the first things I thought of was having a bucket of smelly shit-rags age in the bathroom every day. How is that an improvement? And Nico’s comment below is probably right in that it’s being sold as a Green alternative, but you use more water washing shit rags than flushing paper, or so I would imagine.
But most of all I think, “What is your fucking problem that you think this is a good idea?”
It isn’t saving water on the flushing. It takes 37 gallons of water, 1.5 pounds of wood, and 1.3 kWh of electricity to make one roll of TP. It takes much less than that to launder these. It isn’t any different than using cloth diapers, and each family member can have their own color to keep them separate.
I assume this is about being “green”, but … you still have to launder the shit out of these things. I didn’t mean to put it that way, but you get my point.
Yeah, I don’t buy the whole Green angle, if that’s what they’re trying to sell. Less water to flush, and you can buy biodegradable toilet paper that has no dyes or perfumes or whatever the fuck people might be concerned about.
I mean, hell, wiping my ass on my neighbor’s front door might be considered “Green” (no water!), but it doesn’t mean that it’s a good idea to do that. Again.
This is payback with interest. It’s what to do with worn out snuggies. It’s curable with the right prescription.
This problem is only curable by going straight to the source: The people who came up with this idea. We simply don’t allow anyone with an IQ under 4 to reproduce.
I’m not sure grandmas have bungholes. What they have are “pooters”.
How does that somehow sound worse…..
(fingers in ears)
LALALALALALALALA!!!
So… why not just extend the tail of your shirt by putting a couple of snaps on there and hang a string of these fashion statements inside your pants leg?
That way you could just poop in your pants, pull the next cloth outta your shorts, rinse it in the company water fountain & never miss a beat. Or cholera.
Pooping in your pants? You’d fit right in with the seniors here in AZ.