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The Ballad of Mucilaginous Randian Fecal Matter

I sympathize with Rand Paul and his rage at all these newfangled water-saving toilets, I really do. I just got rid of an old toilet in my Park Slope dwelling that had been there since, I kid you not, 1944. Not the seat, of course. The bowl. The date was on it. To think of all the bowels that went down that bowl! What assholes it had seen! And it was, let me tell you, one hell of a can. It positively blew that shit away--the load was halfway to China before the tank even refilled. But its time had to come, as it must for all brave little toilets. I used it for the last time and lit a candle--only partly to burn off the odor--and watched as the plumber yanked it, yanked history, from the wall. Its replacement is pretty standard, not one of those Japanese models with vertical jets and a slot for your iPod. It's OK. But if you've got that mucilaginous shit that I imagine Rand Paul has (for some reason I envision it whenever I hear Rand's Randian rants), it must be an annoyance bordering on a socialist outrage. Not to sound like too much of a granola-eating liberal, but might I suggest a regular morning bowl of steel-cut oats with some cinnamon and (organic) honey or (organic) maple syrup? That roughage cuts down on the stickiness and is ever-so-much better for the colon. If only there were a cerebral equivalent with which one could treat the rantings of boobish Randians...

h/t: Nancy Nall

Update: The above headline originally contained a four-letter word but was subsequently altered by the author for reasons of taste and scansion.

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