You might think that the debate would hinge on the issue of cleanliness. Logically, for me anyway, subjective definitions of the word “clean” and effective strategies for attaining a state of clean should be the only points of contention. I guess if it were that simple, there would be no public airing of grievances, accusations of negligence and incidents of indignant anger that keep popping up.
I figured it was time to lay the issue to rest, so I compiled and condensed the most commonly occurring points of view from both sides of the debate; two fictional men will present these arguments here in first-person format.
Neither of the imaginary antagonists are women. Why? Because based on the limited data at hand, it appears that most women do look before they leap and most are horrified to learn that many men do not, therefore, they skew the statistics unfairly in one direction. Besides, Jilly tells me that most women will have stopped reading this post after the second paragraph, when it became obvious that the subject is even worse than shit; it is about getting it out of your crevice.
I don’t understand that position at all considering that sphincters, rectums and human waste are a never ending source of entertainment. Anyway, my interpretations of the two primary points of view are as follows.
I heave my final log and I retrieve an enormous amount of wood-pulp-based-cleaning-material from the spool hanging beside the bathroom fixture on which I sit. I drag the haphazard wad of absorbent, and highly abrasive, material across my danger zone.
Things get a little murky at this point. I’m not sure of the mechanisms involved but it is during this scraping maneuver that thousands of miniature butt gnomes are deposited in my crack.
These tiny gnomes diligently search every nook and cranny. They set to work in a frantic effort to restore my danger zone to a pre-soiled condition. It is for this reason that I feel no need to look at the fruits of my labor. I have complete trust in my gnomes and as far as I know, they have never let me down, ever! Besides, if I were to look at that wad of paper and actually see my own deu deu, I would vomit.
I think people who look at their own dung are snobbish nasty freaks. I finish up, spray myself down with Axe Body Spray
, and then leave the house for a few hours.
I have deposited my final offering and I retrieve a conservative quantity of wood-pulp-based-cleaning-material from the spool hanging beside the sanitary porcelain bowl on which I sit.
I pass a neatly folded pad of luxuriant Charmin (with Aloe and Vitamin E) gently but firmly across my holy ground, and then repeat.
Of course, there is no need to view the results of my first or second swipe since I am educated. I understand the dynamics of digested animal and vegetable waste. I also know that in my crack, there will be no army of butt gnomes to do my dirty work for me. It is my mess, and it is up to me to clean it up. It is for this reason that I look.
More often than not, on the third swipe I find the task has been satisfactorily completed to current cultural standards. Sometimes though, instead of unblemished Charmin there in my hand, I see vile filth and I am grateful that I performed a visual inspection. I repeat the process with visual examination until that sucker is polished squeaky clean.
People who fail to examine their work are nasty repulsive freaks. My ass is a temple and I have trained it never to offend; I will not desecrate it with dingleberries. I finish up and feel no need to saturate myself with over-the-counter stink abatement products or stuff my pockets with potpourri to camouflage the fetid vapors that would otherwise breach the thin fabric barrier between my ass and my fellow human beings.
I will now sit in Judgment:
In the case of onlookers versus non-lookers, I rule that personal sensitivities are doing a great disservice to personal hygiene. Bottom line, you must look. Unless your body excretes waste like Spock’s coffin in The Wrath of Khan, which I believe is not possible, you do what you have to do to get that thing clean enough to use as a serving dish for Thanksgiving turkey. Use a belt sander if you have to; just get the damn thing clean.
I can think of only a few scenarios where not looking is ok. Departure from even one of these requirements is a deal killer.
- Your spouse, partner, or date does not perform visual confirmation either and you live on another planet.
- You wash your undergarments in your own (non-public) washing machine or you take them down to the river on the end of a long stick and beat them against the rocks.
- You engage in no public activity that might surreptitiously cause your cheeks to spread.
If you have any lingering doubts, there’s no need to take my word for it, ask a granny, any granny. I’m glad I could help.