Gooday, Bidet

is it wrong to say that i enjoy squirting water on my butt hole? and if so, how can something so wrong feel so right?

i don't know why eveybody always shits on the french. so what if they're all pretentious pussies with silly accents, silly laughs, silly hats, and even sillier moustaches; they're responsible for some of the undeniably finest pleasures found in this world. take french fries for example. could you even imagine eating a hamburger without these salty little sticks of fried potato. i know i can't. in fact, whenever i eat western food here it's usually with french fries. with my burger, with my sandwich, with my steak, with my fish. it's the one dish of familiar food i can be almost certain to find in any of the restaurants around here. the french really got this one right. it's so delicious and such a simple preparation of the potato, one wonders why the irish didn't come up with it first. and then one remembers why...

what else? whores? for some reason i'm inclined to think the french invented whores. when i think of what the first whore ever looked like, i think of some uhhh french-looking coquette with french braids in a maid's uniform, smoking a cigarette while eating a croissant. and by croissant i mean cock. i don't know though; i think prostitution might be just a bit older than france. maybe just burlesque houses? not sure. let's compromise and say they invented strippers. i think stripping is a lovely idea. and again, it's so simple: girl wears clothes, girl dances, girl removes clothes, man slips dollar bill in girl's g-string.

you might think the french are fucking perverts but i think they're geniuses. and nothing testifies to this better than the bidet (sounds like 'bih-day,' with the acent on 'day'). like you, i was skeptical of the idea of spraying my ass with water after pooping. sincerely skeptical. for 22 years toilet paper seemed to do the trick just fine. i mean it's a simple process, why complicate the matter?

well then why should we change anything we do? why bother inventing anything at all? i'll tell you why. it's not because we have some innate intuition for innovation, as if because we are the most adaptive organisms in the known universe we are predestined to invent everything we need or desire to ensure both our survival and pleasure. and it's not because we're all just lazy slobs. it's because we like it when a stream of rapidly moving water massages our delicate sphincters. and that's the only reason.

before, pooping used to be a chore - a total and literal waste of time. but that was before i moved into a house which had a bathroom outfitted with a bidet. now i look forward to that first shit of the new morning like i look forward to one day having a wife and kids. except i get to satisfy my excrementory aspirations everyday. try having a wife and kids everyday. bet it doesn't give you the same sense sense of relief and accomplishment as my daily rendezvous with the toilet. no matter how upset i am about having to wake up i always know that that beautiful bidet is just a few footsteps away. i sit down, drop the wife and kids off at the pool, and say "gooday to you, madame bidet!" as i snatch that wonderful slut from her cradle. then i aim her at the nexus of my anus and wait for her squeaky reply: "au revoir, masseur poop!"

i make sure the polluted waterfall cascading from the mouth of my foul cave doesn't wet my hand as i drench every nook and cranny harboring the doomed residue of doo-doo that clings desperately to its euphoric creator. i think: "that could be all of it, but let me just make sure i get this spot right over - yup, that's the spot. don't want people thinkin' i'm dirty. hmm yeah, better make sure again. oh and what about over he- yeah... yeah." finally, at some point, i convince myself that the bidet is no longer of any use, and i return it to the hug of its horizontal holster. now all i have to do is wipe the pipe of the old whistle (using way less paper than when i was bidet-less), and then i find myself sitting there with my pants down on the day after christmas - 364 more days until tomorrow morning. "oh well," i sigh as i flush the toilet and wistfully watch probably my sole product of the day being callously consumed, spiralling brownly away. "but perhaps today won't be so bad. maybe i'll have diarrhea!"

oh what a good day that would be for mat and his bidet.