CRUSADER OF THE T.P.

As Lord of the T.P.(post 06SEP2011) my goal was to establish my Kingdom, claim the Toilet paper from the available stalls, thereby creating a single source for shit paper, and then forming a peasant class which had no choice but to beg for my T.P, and could then be more easily converted to the faith.  Since then God has blessed me with much favor in that I now control, not only my own stall, but three of the five other stalls within the public bathroom.  My Kingdom has grown as has my dominance in the area.  I usurped two of the three stalls, which I now control, by locking the stall doors from the inside by reaching over from the other stall.  To outsiders, even though no feet were visible beneath the stalls the fact that the doors were obviously locked completely deterred even the most determined of them, thus forcing them to use the last two stalls.  On the third of three stalls I had conquered, I went so far as to put a pair of spare gym shoes at the base of the toilet itself.  As would-be Lords of the T.P. attempted to get into the stall they noticed the tips of shoes from beneath and were immediately ran off.  I was to be the ONLY Lord of the T.P. in this bathroom!  I was on a mission from God himself to vanquish the vile scum which attempted to inhabit the glorious stalls of Publicus Bathroomus, the land which I now claimed for my own and for the Almighty.  As I had previously stated; three out of five stalls had been conquered; leaving a stubborn two left.  The crowds were already surging around the row of stalls as only those last two were left to facilitate all needs of the scourge outside.  I was determined to take those last two from the demon spawn wishing to pray to their false porcelain gods.  Those hell beasts, who offered chocolate eggs to their evil spirits, within their swirling pools of despair and hate.  I SHALL CAST THE DEMONS FROM THE LAND OF GOD AND ALL SHALL KNOW THAT I AM HE WHO DOTH BROUGHT THE WRATH OF THE HEAVENS TO LIGHT THE PATH TO GLORY!!  I already had six converts to the faith who were ready to serve me as I saw fit.  I dictated my wishes to them that upon my exorcising the demons from the last two stalls they were to occupy the land and stand their ground.  I gathered frigid purified sink water in a bucket and with all the power I could muster, dumped it over the doors of both stalls.  The demons came bursting out in all their half naked filth, writhing, hissing, and screaming.  My apprentices quickly leapt into the open chasms of the stalls and slammed the doors shut barring the spawns of Satan from ever returning.  Despite brief yet passionate protests and howling by the demons, they eventually left, and thus all five stalls had been claimed for the Lord of the T.P., my followers, and for the glory of the Almighty!

LORD OF THE T.P.

I have a secret.  I take pleasure in listening to the ranting frustrations of people sifting through the toilet stalls in a public bathroom looking for a roll of toilet paper.   The kicker is when I’M the one in the stall with that ONE last roll.  It’s usually long after I have finished with my business and I am just sitting on the toilet reading the stall graffiti and just generally relaxing that they come in.  They curse under their breath as they go up and down the aisle of stalls, opening each one until reaching the last one, and then starting from the beginning again and repeating, as if the T.P. gnomes will replenish the supplies in the meantime.  Now, as I am typically the only one in the stalls, since I am the only one who successfully obtained that single roll of T.P., it’s pretty obvious, to outsiders, that I’ve got the goods.  So, what these jackasses always do is after rampaging their way in and out of the empty stalls, repeatedly, they stand right outside of MY stall door.  They know I have the T.P.   Their shoe tips damn near penetrating into my stall perimeter from under the door, as if testing some imaginary line in the sand.  I can hear them breathing and can almost sense the neurons in their brain firing, contemplating whether or not they should bother me for some of my T.P., and how they would even go about asking for something like that.  I just sit there as quietly as possible.  It’s like, if you were in a zombie apocalypse scenario and you were on one side of a door, of an abandoned house, that didn’t have a lock.  On the other side was a horde of the undead just hoping to tear a living human limb from limb, just one shove of that door away from getting to you.  Your only tactical option is to be as quite as possible; not moving; not indicating you are there at all, so as not to alert them.  The outsider finally realizes that decorum dictates that it is extremely rude to ask a fellow shitter for some of their toilet paper because of the potential for them to be in mid-shit.  How would you even transfer T.P. to them anyways?  How would you even determine how much shitting they’d be doing therefore how much T.P. they would need?  Are they a muti-wiper?  What do you do; hand them a wad of it or scoot the whole roll, itself, out from under the stall to them?  If you hand them a wad of loose T.P. then you just determined their fate.  If they get into their stall and the wad amount that you issued to them is not enough; they are screwed.  They’ll have to go caveman style and hand scoop it or sacrifice their underwear.   As far as pushing your T.P. roll out to them (which you would be an idiot to do) you would be screwing YOURSELF.  What if you then needed to go again, all of a sudden, or had leakage while standing up, then YOU’D be in real trouble.  I just sit in silence, that way I don’t even have to deal with that whole rigamarole.  If I WAS asked, though, I would ration out the T.P. like a King rationing out bread and cheese to his serfs.  “ONE double ply sheet, TWO double ply sheets, THREE double ply sheets, now be gone with ye peasant before I set the dogs upon ye!”  It gives you a sense of power and dominance.  Like having an elevated position in combat.  You have the dominant position and therefore all the outsiders must bow to you for offerings of T.P.   As Erasmus of Rotterdam put it, “In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king”, and as Rusty Shrew puts it, “In the public bathroom, the man with the last roll of T.P. is king.”