“I fully endorse this ultra-lightweight toilet. Trust me. I’m on television.”
Ah, don’t you just love that new toilet smell? Sure, it doesn’t really have a smell, but, much like non-fat yogurt and non-brain reality television stars, some things are celebrated for what they lack. And judging by the lack of smell coming from the extra-large toilet in the back of my vehicular conveyance (I assure you I’m writing this in the past tense), I can tell that Wife and I got a real peach of a squat pot. That’s the beauty of toilets. Unlike a new television or computer or police-grade taser, a toilet is pretty much guaranteed to work right out of the box. Heck, it will even work in the box, although that is certainly not advisable. In fact, if you’re looking to get more than one use out of your new toilet, it’s generally a good idea to have it properly installed, in a bathroom, with a running water supply. Or at least that’s what I’ve come to understand after fifteen minutes of browsing Yahoo! Answers. The only real complaint I have about this thing is that it is heavy. Like, real heavy. Does Kohler make a super-lightweight toilet that comes in several different colors and can be easily transported in a stylish carrying case? If not, they should seriously consider it. I’m thinking they could call it the iPeed Air and get that Duck Dynasty guy to narrate the commercials.
Forget everything you’ve ever heard about “communication,” or “respect,” or “loving each other.” When it comes to marriage, the secret to success is [drumroll] separate toilets. Trust me, I know: I’ve been married for three months. Three magical months of matrimony with my lovely wife, who, for purposes of anonymity, shall be heretofore referred to as “Wife.” Anyway, Wife and I have worked out a fantastic system of bathroom-ing that has simultaneously maximized efficiency and streamlined t.p. distribution. And that system is this: GET THE [expletive deleted] OUT OF MY BATHROOM! You see, in this mutually beneficial system, Wife gets to take relaxing bubble baths and store beauty products in a massive cabinet, a.k.a. “The Hurt Locker,” while I get to take showers in a scum-covered linolium stall with zero ventilation and an overhead fan coil heater that could bake chocolate-chip muffins in about fifteen minutes. Then there’s the issue of toilet usage. Let’s see, how do I put this delicately? If Wife and I were professional bull riders, and our respective toilets were bulls, I would get way, way, way, way, way more endorsement deals. This is partially due to the fact that I’m a dude, and science tells us that dudes (D) spend more time (x) per toilet trip (y) than chicks (C) [graph not pictured], but mostly that I recently figured out how to turn my phone into a six-inch wall-mounted HD television by resting it on two light switches in the “ON” position. Sure, my legs go numb, but I want to keep pretending I’m a wealthy rapper who watches Sportscenter on the john!