Dudes, it's officially time to freak out
Alright guys, I know I’ve been kinda lax on this whole virus thing, but I’m gonna tell you right now, I was wrong. I think we’re past the event horizon--it's time to enter survival mode. Buy some balloons and save your stash--it’s officially time to freak out, duders. How do I know? Because I just wiped my butt with lettuce.
I didn’t plan it that way! I walked two blocks to the convenience store because I really really had to go and we’re all out--and of course, no more TP. Outside, a junkie tried to sell me an "alternative," a ziploc bag of lettuce, for 60 bucks, and I was like, dude, first, I can get much better lettuce for cheaper at the store, and on top of that, I'm sure as hell not wiping with street vegetables.
So then I went next door to ask the new neighbors if they had an extra roll. They were about to help, when all of a sudden I started coughing like crazy--‘cause I just got done puffing some shatter--and they slammed the door. So then I’m thinkin', there’s no way I can drive to an actual store again. This baby’s coming, better find a proper place for delivery. I searched for any bathrooms in parks, that abandoned taqueria, anything nearby.
And that’s when the total freak out started. I was thinking, here I am, a grown man, about to crap in his pants like a dawding toddler. Decades from now they’ll ask, what were you doing when all that craziness went down, and I knew in my head I was just going to have to admit, “I was crapping my pants looking for TP.”
Man, all kinds of strange ideas popped into my head as I gunned it down the highway to the nearest grocery store. I thought about opening my own roadside stand with TP! I’d make a fortune! But no--no one would pay more for toilet paper than they would for a new pair of pants. In that moment I felt the weight of the entire world, against my backside.
And dude, there was eerie silence inside the store. The few that were there at that hour were zombies, all avoiding eye-contact. Then I saw the toilet paper aisle. It was ravaged. Like a tornado. Worse. Nothing was left in the path, not a hanging chad of evidence that any toilet paper ever sat on the shelves. I tried not to visibly hold my own ass as I flew to the front of the store.
“You’re doomed,” one of the shell-shocked cashiers told me in a daze, “Your only hope is to grab some thick slices of rye bread.” I screamed and hobbled away, maybe made it halfway through the produce section before stopping dead in my tracks. I knew in that split-second that I'd never make it to the bakery. I had to make a decision. And there, to my right--you guessed it--were the heads of lettuce.
Oh, glory, glory, hallelujah, it was unreal. So cinematic, just like it unfolds in the movies. I barely made it into the bathroom, I literally dove into the stall. And as I was sitting there, holding the leaves, wondering if they would even flush down, I realized, this is it. This is real now. Stash your bongs, ration your bowlski’s and get ready for the long haul, dudes. Or it’s gonna be a dry, sad chill.
Did you hear me? I just wiped my butt with lettuce.