Dear Soulless Abominations,
How’s business? Is it well? I assume it’s well as science hasn’t found a way to abolish sharting just yet. The thing is guys, and I’m going to be blunt here, I need you to take your own chubby little face in your hands, maybe get a little corn oil on there, and turn it ever so slightly so that, when you lift a leg to stand with one foot on your comfy office chair, you’ll be able to ease forward in one fluid motion and insert your head into your own ass and then keep feeding that bad boy through until you can see out your own mouth again. And you know why. It’s because of the one ply.
Listen, I get cutting corners. I cut corners all the time. A third of this letter was plagiarized from a paper I wrote in college on The Merchant of Venice. It’s cool. But there comes a time when you’ve cut so many corners you’ve run out of corner space entirely, and that time is when toilet paper is down to a single ply.
I appreciate that your fancier papers, like Charmin for instance, are made of a material generally better in quality than what hobos wear to bed at night but one ply is never going to cut it. Not ever.
It’s not even that the paper they use in most public institutions that is packed so tight each and every individual square tears off at the perforations is such a bother despite it having the consistency of previously digested sandpaper. It’s not that if you happen to grab a piece on which to blow your nose it will literally cease to exist in your hands leaving you with half a handful of snot and something that vaguely resembles wood pulp. It’s not even that wiping your ass with anything less than a hand swaddled to Egyptian mummy-esque proportions is like running through a minefield of poop-encrusted finger tips. It’s that you don’t care.
I want you to care, toilet paper manufacturers, and with good reason. Look around you. Look outside the window of your office. Have you been shut away in your cold, callous, shit ticket throne room for so long that you forgot who we are? We, your customers. We, the shitters of the world. We’re mothers and fathers. We’re children. We’re lawyers and police officers and porn stars and meth dealers. By God, we’re you. If you prick us, do we not bleed? If we shit, do we not all wipe around our hole in mostly the same way? The same way as you. As you!
I refuse to believe your great toilet paper manufacturing plants have one ply in the restrooms. You know as well as I it’s good for nothing. Nothing! One ply toilet paper is like steak from an Arby’s. It’s like sex with a one-legged septuagenarian. It’s single malt Scotch that comes in a pouch you dissolve in water. It’s the Matrix sequels.
There are only two plausible explanations for the existence of single ply toilet paper. One is a matter of cost, which must be deplorable indeed. The cost of two ply versus one ply compared to the money you make off of a product that literally everyone buys over and over again and will continue to buy for their entire lives is ridiculous. It is unacceptable that this should even enter into consideration. The only other potential reason for the existence of this nefarious product is malice. Malice and spit. A cruel amusement gained from the knowledge that someone, somewhere, this very second, just tore through the plane and touched down in swamp land. It’s sadistic and cold hearted and needs to be stopped immediately. We’re all humans. We’re in this life together and if we don’t start looking out for each other what the hell kind of world are we going to have? Do you really want to live in a world where whole corporations conspire to make poor people touch their own feces? For kicks? That’s sick.
Bears, kittens, puppies, toilet paper mascots of the world, unite. Unite under a banner of peace and prosperity. A banner made of two ply paper that offers the protection and absorbency required to sluice the muddiest of flood gates with ease and peace of mind. Stop the madness now. For if you wrong us, do we not revenge?