During a previous lifetime I shared an apartment for a couple of years with my brother. I moved to Greensboro, NC in 1985, and he joined me a year or so later. We lived in self-created squalor, and drank an unreasonable amount of alcohol every day.
My parents were fairly strict when we were growing up, and their houses are always like museums; nothing is out of place for long, believe me. So, I guess we felt the need to take it all in a new direction? I don’t know. It wasn’t a conscious decision, it was a purely organic exercise in not giving a shit.
It was a period of my life when nothing – except my job… I always protected my job – was taken seriously. Our apartment was constantly filled with empty pizza boxes and beer cans, and the kitchen was a crime against humanity.
One time we went in there to try to tackle the mountain of dirty dishes, etc., and unlocked a stink so breathtaking and pungent we were near tears. We didn’t smell it until we started moving things around, then it was uncaged.
We had a lot of Tupperware, and Tupperware knock-offs, that had absorbed that awful stench, and we were forced to throw all of it in a dumpster. It felt like I could still smell it, weeks later – like it had attached to my nose hairs, or something. It was a bad situation.
Our long distance phone bill was rarely paid, and for a long time they didn’t hassle us about it. Then they started calling, demanding cash, and, of course, we had none. So, as a stalling technique, we asked for an itemized listing of all the calls for which we were being charged. And it was delivered in a box.
I remember us drinking beer, and laughing our asses off at the gigantic printout. We laid it on the floor, and stretched it across the living room, and way down the hall. Yeah, it was all fun and games until the phone was turned off.
One day my brother was eating lunch, and trying to get ketchup out of a bottle. He was having trouble with it, so he put the lid back on and attempted to employ centrifugal force. He stood in the middle of the living room, and began spinning his right arm round and round, with the bottle of ketchup upside-down in his hand.
When the lid flew off I started howling in protest. But he had trouble powering-down the flywheel, and did at least another one or two full rotations. There was a wide red stripe across the carpet, the couch, one wall, the ceiling, and another wall behind him. We tried to clean it up, but it left an oily stain that was still there when we moved out.
One of my favorite memories from that period was when my brother brought home a booklet he’d gotten at the mall. It was a survey, about toilet paper. Each page had two or three brands represented by a photo, and a space where you could write your feelings about each. He was supposed to fill it out, take it back, and receive a five dollar bill or something.
And we sat around making a joke out of every response. “It’s what I imagine wiping in heaven will be like,” and that sort of thing. For one of the cheap brands, my brother wrote, “I’d be afraid of splinters.” For another he said, “Would rather use a sock.”
It was a thing of beauty at the end, and we’d laughed for an hour filling it out. The next day he turned it in, and was paid, as promised. I have no doubt our comments were extremely helpful.
For a Question, I’d like to know if you ever lived in a state of extended, self-created squalor like that? If so, we’ll need some stories. Use the comments link below.
Also… the wiping with a sock thing. Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you were forced to go with a non-paper wiping tool? Like a sock, or perhaps a guinea pig? I can’t remember that ever happening with me. But what about you? Have you ever wiped with the shower curtain, or a rug or something? Please fill us in on the details.
And have a great weekend, my friends!
I’ll see you again soon.
Now playing in the bunker
Use the Surf Report’s webhost: HostGator!
Will admit to using the ass-gaskets that are provided. They are slippery, tho’.
Those are good in a pnich, but definately not preferable.
I had to use one at work one day and used it to the best of it’s ability then moved to a different stall to finish the job properly.
For a while I couldn’t decode the term “ass-gaskets”. It is best not to relate the weird thing that I was picturing.
Careful, son. You don’t want to blow out your O-ring.
Had to use a tampon once because there was a GIANT cockroach sitting on the toilet paper roll.
At least it wasn’t a giant roll of TP sitting on a tampon so you had to use a cockroach.
The Qweezy Mark says
Snow is always the best if outside in the winter. Melts and cleans as it wipes. A nice clean flat rock will do, as well. Scrapes the area clean as it wipes.
What, no Saguaro ?
I’ve had to use natures greenery when out in the woods.
I’ve had to use a handkerchief, socks, and even cut my undies into strips and gone commando afterwards. None were really up to the task. TP never really cut the mustard in the wild. Now when out in the woods I take along some cheap paper towels. They are like the starship Enterprise of butt-wipes; they go to Uranus and wipe out Klingons.
I once sharted while driving through the boonies. I got out of my trusty ford escort and tramped a safe distance into the woods, dropped trou, and while leaning against a tree, completed the poop…….. luckily, this was a period in my life when I always had a pocket knife in my pocket. Took out the knife, and cut the underwear on both sides (kinda like the Velcro tear off undies you may have seen in adult stores……..or not) and used the ruined / soiled underwear to mop up. I left em’ hanging on a tree branch, a nice touch, I felt.
This reminds me…… I need to start carrying a knife again. One never knows when you’ll need it. 😉
Joe T. says
I used one of the Qweezy Mark’s socks. It was the most satisfying wipe of my life.
I was boating with some college buddies on summer and really needed to have a sit down. But some of the people we were with were friends of friends and I was too embarrassed to ask them to find a spot to stop.
Somehow they decided they needed something on shore so I volunteered. Once on dry land I did what I had to do but wasn’t willing to clean up with unidentifiable ground cover.
So on the swim back to the boat I dipped under and used sand from the bottom of the lake. It was surprisingly less effective than I expected, but it was a serviceable enough job to get me through the rest of the day.
As a 18 year old in another part of the country we were out in the woods when the doodie called. Took care of bidniz and wipe with a hand full of leaves. It turns out that there are these plants called sting nettles. It was one of those learning experiences you never repeat.
Can’t recall using non-paper. The paper towels were punishment enough.
As for self-imposed squalor, I’m looking right at it.
Extended squalor…the entirety of my undergrad time at WVU…good grief…I dont know if they have imposed any sort of regulations on the slum lords in Morgantown since I left, but in the early 90’s they were disgraceful.
Shredded the cardboard roll once in Mexico. Used a t-shirt on the side of the highway. Pooped and swam once in the ocean. Various other paper products (newspaper, magazines, fast food napkins). Many types of leaves, the greener the better, brown ones get crumbly.
When I was in the army I had to sit in a foxhole for like 12 hours. I safely, quietly left the load in my loose underwear (It was luckily a hard one) and refused to sit down. When it was all clear, I took my knife and cut the sides of the underwear and left the whole package on the ground.
When I’m sittin’ on a toilet in a house that I don’t know,
Lookin’ all around me where’d the toilet paper go,
Feelin’ real uneasy, feelin’ real uncertain,
Cause I gotta wipe my butt again with a shower curtain.
I was about 17 or 18 years old, working part-time for my dad doing roofing.
Had to take a load of slate to the landfill out in the boonies. Something terrible was brewing, stopped on the side of the dirt road and dropped a load.
Wiped with an Auto Trader which is exactly like newspaper. It semi-did the job. When I got home and stripped to take a shower, I looked in the mirror and found that my entire ass was black from the ink.
Ozzie Bucco says
I’ve used paper towels a few times. They do the job, but the going is rough. Generally I can usually wait until I get home, no matter how bad the labor pains become.
We had a similar experience at my house with a ketchup bottle. My brother and a friend came back home toasted. My brother went into the bathroom, leaving his friend in the dining room. There was a bottle of ketchup on the table and this guy is marveling at how it sloshed around in the bottle. He’s turning it over and all around, and doesn’t notice that the cover has come off the bottle. My brother comes out of the John and sees the total carnage in the dining room.
I was out in the field during July at Fort Riley. I had gotten so stinking drunk the night before, I thought I was going to pass out. While in formation, they call my name and I get promoted to sergent. As soon as the formation ended, I had the feeling I was going to have the worst assplosion ever. I ran to a portapotty out in the bush. It was fucking 190 degrees in the thing. I shit myself silly and realized there was no toilet paper. Thus, the promotion paper filled the void. Talk about earning my rank that day.
Life as metaphor
The ketchup bottle was hilarious.
My life is in squalor, does that count? Not really. But kinda really.
Bill in WV says
A friend, thinking they would get on my nerves, once bought me a Marshall University green T-shirt as a birthday present. First dump I took, it was utilitzed and promptly thrown in the trash.
Bill in WV says
Also, roadkill groundhog does a fine job.
Okay- the “I’d like to see an itemized bill” excuse is wonderful. I also find another technique that tends to keep telemarketers and bill collectors away: “Sorry- Kevin died.”
I don’t think I was ever caught short in the toilet paper department unless taking a piss and using a used, snot hard tissue counts.
I agree with T Storm – the ketchup thing was hilarious.
I’ve never lived in squalor but I’ve seen my share of shitholes. The worst was a friend of the family’s house in Queens. The dog used the living room to shit and the bed my sister and I had to share only had a grey (at one point in its life – white) fitted sheet and disgusting blanket. I was only about 10 but I can recall that dump vividly.
Never mind the Bollocks says
When I was a teen, drunk from a keg party, stumbling home, I took a dump on the edge of a golf course near my house. When I finished, I sat down on the “rough” next to the green and scooted my ass like a dog with worms. Felt pretty dam good actually!
I think I’m gonna get hammered and relive those days in my back yard tonight. Or better yet, my front yard. Or even better then that …. my neighbord front yard!!!! He’s a dick!
Does your neighborhood have a miniature golf course?
Never Mind the Bollocks says
No but the lawn is well maintained and pretty lush! It looks incredibly soft.
GOD I CAN’T WAIT TILL TONIGHT!!!!!! 🙂
Send us the link to the youtube video
Put in on Facebook with a sappy saying. Jeff will thank you!
Never Mind the Bollocks says
I’m gonna drag my azz to hard, I’m gonna have grass stains on my sphinkter!!!
I admit I lived in squalor once in college. One time a few us were out drinking and I said everyone could cash at my place. When I let them in someone yelled “oh my god you have been robbed”. I thought they were joking but sadly as they immediately left I realized they really thought the place was ransacked.
I went hiking with my husband and two of his friends once. One guy told us to go on without him while he took care of business. About a half-mile later he rejoined us wearing a short-sleeved shirt that had had begun life as a long-sleever.
My “shiver words” include Frigidaire (sp?), billfold and ink pen. Because they are old-fashioned? I’ve no idea…
When I hear “ink pen”, the second word usually sounds like “pin”. I’ve also heard “lead pencil”.
I just remembered a few more shiver words: delightful and fellow. Oh, and any time a guy calls another guy “chief”. If he’s not a guy wearing a feather headdress or a police / fire boss, don’t call another guy chief.