2002-06-04 9:47 p.m.
Recently I thought it would be a good idea to indulge in a gift for myself. It would be a simple comfort—a little something to reward myself for being nice, working hard, and being a diligent, contributing member of society.
Millions of Americans reward themselves similarly every day. The sentiment is the same, although the details of the justifications vary from, "I am going to buy myself this new Trans Am (which I can not afford) because I work hard (as a receptionist or a manager of a Taco Bell) and I deserve a good car" to the likes of, "I really want the new Bad Religion CD, and I did get a C+ on that test, which is better than I expected, and it only costs $15 and I really think they are going to break some new ground on this album, it could not possibly sound at all like their other albums" or maybe even, "I am buying this Real Doll because being a lawyer is hard and—after helping the world by kicking widows and orphans out of their homes—I deserve to feel the exhilaration of fucking a corpse".
For some reason, my internal dialog of reasoning felt so real, so right, though. I needed this. So, full of my own personal flavors of self–justifications, I found the web site I wanted, and placed my order. Click. Add to cart. Proceed to check out. Click! Spurt! Then began the long wait.
Surprisingly, I barely noticed the two short weeks rush by, in spite of my eager anticipation. I almost forgot I had even ordered anything, so I received quite a surprise when I approached my office and found this huge box quietly waiting in front of my door, blocking my entrance.
There it sat in all its glory: a whole case—that is 96 rolls—of the most luxurious, elegant, and supreme paper product ever created by humans: Shitbegone brand toilet paper. I rushed into my office and made space for the enormous box. Make haste! Prepare your nether regions! There is a gaggle of Shitbegone in need of immediate unleashing!
The first thing I did was to go to all the employees in my work area and personally deliver a loving peace–gift of a roll or two of the magical paper. My co–workers received their presents with open arms and peals of joyous, childlike laughter, as they thought it was pretty funny. Hm. I found it strange that they only thought it was funny, since I would go so far as to say that I knew it was funny. It has the word shit in the name—it has to be funny.
The Shitbegone gift–giving fiesta was somewhat rushed, as my mom arrived almost immediately to take me to lunch at Chipotle. I grabbed a few rolls for her and for Jen—the manager of Chipotle—and ran down the stairs to the parking lot.
While it is wonderful to buy things for myself, there is nothing more fun and satisfying than having enough so that I can freely give away as much as my heart desires. Plus, giving things away makes people smile and it feels good.
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