You know how you get into your busy season at work and you’re working 30 consecutive 12+ hour days and you look up from your computer and summer time has turned into fall time? Hopefully you don’t but I certainly do. That’s why it brings me so much joy to return to my writer’s saddle to bring to you a topic of immense importance. After my work shitstorm subsided, my wife and I finally took our honeymoon vacation to Indonesia and Singapore, during which I discovered a category in which the great United States is lagging way behind many of our Asian (and European) brothers/sisters: butthole cleanliness. For whatever reason, our culture has been hesitant to adopt bidet technology. With this review I hope to vanquish the mystique once and for all and put us on the path toward maximum freshness.
Suspend your preconceptions for a moment and allow me to take you on a journey through your imagination.
It’s an unseasonably cool summer night in August – but not too cool. It’s the type of night where you can wear shorts, jeans or that dress you’ve never worn because it might be too slutty but you bought it anyway because girl power. You’re out with your buds with no particular agenda other than camaraderie, and, most immediately, dinner. And what do you and your buds do on these types of nights?… the Mexican fiesta platter at your favorite Mexican spot: El Hombre Azteca. Margaritas are flowing, chips and salsa poppin’, the enchilada situation is major, mole game is tight AF. Everything is delicious, for sure, but you know in your heart that your stomach isn’t built for this type of action and it’s not going to be a healthy bathroom situation later. But hey, you live only once (Y-Loo) and your intestines aren’t the boss of you. You throw caution to the wind and allow fate to take the wheel for the remainder of the night.
You’re home now. The nightmare begins. You hear a sound like 12 Ewoks arguing in an elevator. There’s no elevator in your home. Ewoks are fictional (probably). The sound… is coming from inside (your stomach). I’ll spare you the details of what went on behind closed doors. You know what you did. I will, however, engage in string of hyperbolic similes in summation. It was like you were sitting under a heat lamp with the weight of every evil thing you’ve ever done resting on your lower abdomen. It was like Jackson Pollock put on a one-night-only exposition inside your toilet bowl. It was like someone started the tiniest camp fire inside of your intestines. It was like all of your hopes and dreams for the immediate future leapt from your anus at once.
You’ve finished. You’re left with only yourself – broken – ashamed. And you’re drunk. Let’s be honest; it’s a miracle you made it home at all. You can barely stand. No shower will be had tonight. Why!? WHY!?… I ask you. Why would you refuse a refreshing blast of purity upon your buttocks and inner buttocks to purge your sins?
Listen, it is what it is, people. It’s a butt wash. Let’s not think too much about it. You go in, you handle your business, you clean yourself off and you go about your day. You’re no better than me. Your ability to shower doesn’t always coincide with your messiest dumps. Sometimes toilet paper alone just isn’t going to adequately do the trick and bidet technology is just the edge you need to take your asshole to the next echelon of purity. Plus, they’ve got new-era tech overseas. I saw a toilet with a gear shift and instructions on the side of it like a goddamn car wash. You need a full-blast fire hose situation?… they got you. Looking for more of a soft misty experience up in there?… they got that too. Need a little front spray action for wherever you ladies pee from, or you fellas want to freshen up the cargo?… you betcha. The only thing missing is a polish and air-freshener and I’ve heard they’re rolling that out with the 2.0 models.
There’s just no good reason for it to not be more prevalent. The only thing I can think of that stands in our way is foolish pride. We’re prudes, here in The States. We need to come to grips with that. We’re too beholden to tradition. That ingrained sentiment is telling you: “You don’t need no fancy butt wash. You’ve been cleaning your ass with paper for your entire life and you’re just fine. Your ancestors were dry-wipers, your parents are dry-wipers and you have to be a dry-wiper too. Nobody’s gonna sissify your hole; no sir/ma’am.”
I’m here to tell you that that is stupid. The survival of our civilization and of our species depends on our ability to adapt and evolve. We must question those we choose to elect to positions of power. We must change the way we think about our natural resources and waste management. We must challenge the self-imposed confines we’ve built around what we consider social norms. And we must change the way we wipe our butts – for the culture… for our survival.
Verdict: 10 out of 10