The Bigger the Booty, the Bigger the Doodie

Where did we go wrong, America? Just what in the hell have we become? A nation of excess, to be sure. We see it, hear it and read it every day. Everything that permeates our lives is getting bigger: Cars, super sized fast food portions and Brittany Spears' ever-expanding ass.

The natural by-product for such overindulgent capitalistic consumption? The oversized toilet paper package, of course. Not just the overdone family pack of 24 rolls--a dozen more rolls than any normally functioning human might actually need at a single point of purchase, mind you--but the rolls themselves: bloated, soft and overstuffed. Just like those of us who use them.

And it's not even the product proper that should make one take pause. It's the purchasing of said product. Or, more accurately, the entire sequence of events leading up to the actual exchange of legal tender, that leaves one ashamed and emasculated.

First of all, unless you're in Sam's Club, Costco or Guadalajara, you should never have to use a shopping cart in order to purchase toilet paper. There's just something inherently wrong right there.

Sure, standing in the aisle, perusing the shelves, there are plenty of choices you could make. But we're a society intent on getting the absolute most, regardless of the practicality of the purchase. And in the pursuit of this goal, through either gullibility or gluttony, we often go bigger, longer and taller than is humanly sensable. Just ask MC Hammer.

So you make the conscious decision to go biggie size. One hurdle cleared. But still a long way from the finish line. The next leg of the journey involves running the gauntlet of fellow shoppers, each indescreetly eyeing your buggy of gargantuan booty wipe.

For me, this walk of shame goes far beyond the embarrassment of, say, toting a box of Kotex to the register. I've reached the point in my life where I'm mature enough to understand that most of the rational people I might encounter realize I haven't yet mastered the art of menstruation, therefore avoiding any embarrassment regarding my current physical state. In fact, if anything, carrying the tampon flag makes you MORE of a man in today's world: the sensitive type who's caring and giving in what is undoubtedly a very stressful time of the month in your own household.

The thing that makes the TP different is, as others observe your purchase, they know it's for you. You're "The Guy", after all. The Maker of the Poop. Sure, it's a universal product that everybody in the family utilizes, but come on...does a 5 year-old girl really need a 230-sheet 3-ply roll of double-quilted, lilac-scented aloe toilet paper when a ripped quarter section of a used Kleenex will accomplish the same mission? Of course not.

No gents, the Super Mega Roll is our Albatross. The cross that we must bear along the rows of silently judgmental Funyuns and Frescas on our pilgrimage to the exit. But it's a necessary evil in order to maintain a certain level of comfort and civility in our lives. Excessive? Absolutely. But all the more reason to hold your head high. After all, you're living the dream, perpetuating the lifestyle. So next time you're faced with this uncomfortable dilemma, just take a deep breath and stop. Hammertime.

God Bless America.