It took a while before civilized humans around the globe agreed on toilet paper as the predominant tool for wiping one’s ass. Now it’s difficult to imagine how anybody ever lived without it. But like all great things, toilet paper developed from a series of small evolutionary steps, leaving behind it a trail of outdated, barbaric methods of ass-wiping.
The ass-wiping habits of uncivilized man—cavemen and neanderthals—varied greatly from person to person. They wiped with a variety of objects such as stones, clay, grass, leaves, bark, and the douchier cavemen often used other smaller cavemen to wipe their asses (most times against the other caveman’s will). Worse yet, many cavemen, 33% during early years of the Stone Age, didn’t wipe their asses at all, leading to several reported cases of anal itching, anal rash, and unpleasant smells.
In the Ancient Middle East, people wiped their asses with their left hands. This was a convenient method as all people always carried their left hand with them at all times. As such, in this culture, the often-made excuse of: I’m sorry, I was caught off guard and had nothing to wipe with, was made completely irrelevant. However, this method was filthy. As such, they considered the left hand filthier than the right, and if you were out publicly eating a chili dog on the street with your left hand, licking cheese and chili from your fingers, you were likely to attract several looks of disgust. Unfortunately for left-handed people, they had to eat their chili dogs with their left hand or risk dropping their chili dog onto the street (dropping chili dogs at that time was a big deal as they were quite expensive). The disgusted looks left-handers would receive in public while eating chili dogs was unfair, because they likely wiped their ass with their right hand and were therefore not eating with the same hand they used to wipe. This confusion was the main reason left-handers were shunned by this culture. (The current shortage of Middle Eastern left-handers is a testament to how little they got laid back then.)
Less convenient but cleaner was the Roman way to wipe ass, which involved the use of a sponge attached to the end of a stick. Though this method spared the hands, its drawback was in its storage. Where do you keep a stick and sponge combo that you wipe your ass with? The Romans kept it in a large jug filled with salt water. Why salt water? I have no idea. I am no chemist, but I do not believe salt decontaminates shit. Because shit is not snow. To put it in Chemist-like mathematical terms:
Shit + salt + water ≠ negative shit
Shit + salt + water = salty shit water
Another problem with the sponge on a stick was that most households only had enough money/storage space for one. Therefore, you would wipe your ass with the same tool that had graced the folds of your brother’s/sister’s/mother’s/father’s/houseguest’s anus, which was neither healthy nor pleasant (at least in the Middle East, one could safely use one’s left hand knowing that the only ass it had ever wiped was one’s own).
For its time the sponge on a stick was heralded as a revolutionary technological breakthrough, it’s inventor (Stickus Spongiticcus) praised as a genius by the Roman populace, who proclaimed ass wiping methodology had reached its absolute pinnacle. But it is obvious now that this tool, as all other tools before it, pale in comparison to the almighty toilet paper.
Yet one must remember that even toilet paper is but another step in the evolution of ass-wiping. It is not without its own set of problems.
Aside from its abrasive materialistic issues, the biggest problem with toilet paper is what is referred to as the Wiper’s Sophie’s Choice Dilemma. WSCD is: After wiping, does one bring the toilet paper up from the bowl to examine it, or does one drop it into the bowl without viewing its contents? All of us have made this choice and therefore realize the shameful situation either choice presents. In choosing option 1, one must suffer through the humiliation of examining one’s shit smeared across thin squares of paper, and examine the length/width/depth of the smear in order to determine the necessity to continue wiping. Imagining anybody doing this is enough to strip away any aura of glamour or mystery that person may have had. In choosing option 2, one can forgo the examination of the smears, but then will not be able to gauge a proper stopping point for the termination of wiping. Therefore, much like the caveman, this person is likely to go through several instances in life where they did not wipe enough, leaving dried shit caked between their buttocks. Needless to say, the thought of a person going through their daily activities with this anus ailment is enough to also strip away their glamour and mystery.
Humanity deserves better than to suffer through WSCD. So if toilet paper is a failed ass-wiping messiah, where is the real deal? When does technology bring us to ass wiping nirvana?
Enter: My Robot Toilet.
My Robot Toilet is as large an evolutionary leap from toilet paper as toilet paper was from wiping one’s ass with the body of another human. Many may be quick to dismiss My Robot Toilet as a mere bidet, and yes, the major function of it is to shoot water into your asshole, but one look at the vast array of buttons on its wireless remote control will convince you it is so much more than a bidet. My Robot Toilet is a bidet in the same way that superman is a man, meaning that if My Robot Toilet ever got into a fight with a bidet, it would smash the bidet dead into the ground then burn its legs off with laser eye beams.
The My Robot Toilet Experience:
When you sit on its slick contoured seat the toilet beeps twice as a courtesy to you just in case you couldn’t figure out for yourself that you have indeed sat down. Then the motor begins to rev and whirr underneath you. I have no idea what this motor does or why it chooses to whirr when I sit, but every time I hear it, I feel important. (I imagine the toilet is making noise to show its excitement for my presence much in the way a dog wags its tail). If you’re feeling chilly, you can dial up the toilet seat’s heating mechanism to any one of its three warmth settings and carry on with your bowl movement. After you’ve finished, you can take hold of the wireless remote control and press the ‘rear’ button. This propels the motor which descends a small periscope from a trap door hidden underneath the rear section of the seat. The scope descends until it is resting a few inches above the toilet water. A nozzle snaps out from the scope aimed directly at your asshole, and the shooting of the water commences.
Yes, a bidet can shoot water into your asshole as well without the need for motors and complex descending periscope parts. But the bidet does not have any of the multifarious control options My Robot Toilet contains.
Choose from four varying water temperatures. Like icy cold water shot into your ass? No problem. Want near-boiling water up there instead? Piece of cake.
Increase the water pressure to 4 different settings. Turn it up a notch to blast deep, dirty crevices, and turn it up to the max for an enema-esque experience.
Vary the width of the spray. Want a thin powerful stream aimed directly at your hole? Rather have a thick spray that sprinkles as far out as your butt cheeks? The choice is yours.
Toggle the spray’s target by manipulating its x and y axis. With this option you can get those hard to reach places or just have fun and play target practice.
These are all great control options, but the most ingenious and useful one is the move feature. When the move button is pressed, the bidet nozzle moves incrementally back and forth and back and forth, its motors buzzing with each movement. It is a perfect feature because when using a bidet, it was understood that the responsibility of asshole movement lied solely on the user and not the bidet. However, the makers of My Robot Toilet corrected the inherent fallacy of this presumption. Consider: when hosing off a splatter of mud from the hood of a car, it is much easier to move the spray of the hose back and forth than it is to get in the car and drive it back and forth to make sure the spray hits the right spots.
You may think the experience ends after the user stops the water, but you’d be wrong. There’s still more! As a final step, press the dry button, and powerful, yet pleasant streams of warm air are released into your asshole, making for a squeaky dry finish. I do not know from where these drying gusts come from (I cannot bend far enough into the toilet to look for the vents) but I do know that my enjoyment of these warm, mysterious winds far outweighs my desire to locate their origin.
And now we are done with the My Robot Toilet experience. Thank you, My Robot Toilet. (My Robot Toilet is not the actual name of this product. I do not know what this product is actually named as I did not install it, buy it, or throw away the box it came in. My Robot Toilet is a moniker I made up because I thought it sounded good).
My robot Toilet makes your number 2s number 1s. It takes the shittiness out of shitting. The only thing I think is missing from My Robot Toilet is a function which pushes you up from the seated position up to a standing position. This function could completely rid the user of the strain and effort involved in sitting up from the toilet. I have sketched a detailed blueprint (picture below) for the workings of such a mechanism which could be added with minimal interference to the current toilet’s design.