Have you ever looked at your dog’s butthole and thought, well, ah do declare! How does he keep it so clean? Well, ladies and gentlemen, he doesn’t use toilet paper, that is for sure. The mystery is solved before it has begun. He relies on grass, your carpet, you, and his tongue.
However, while using grass or your own carpet could work, at a pinch, becoming an ass-licker in the literal sense, takes a certain level of skill far out of reach for most humans. Mah-self included. You expected a puzzle. And here you have it. Thus begins a new mystery…
Here’s what ah do most mornings. And it is a game-changer!
If ah’m not ready to do mah business, ah partake of a bowl of high-fiber cereal and stewed prunes, washed down with a magical New Orleans brew of hah-octane coffee.
Then ah go into the bathroom, ensuring mah Chihuahua, Binky, doesn’t follow me in. Unless you have the thighs of a Sumo wrestler, ah’d advise doing a few squats and some yoga balancing exercises, such as the warrior pose, over the course of a week, before attempting the following. This will help build up strength for mah “Spotless Butthole Technique.” In addition, if you have a hairy backside (as ah do), ah recommend getting your butthole waxed, well in advance. In a determined, seemingly revenge-seeking way, mah husband Phillip does mine, every few weeks or so. Because a waxed butthole does help streamline the process. Now for some math. If your ceiling is eight feet high, your toilet is 18 inches from floor to the closed lid, and you’re no more than six feet tall, you should be good to go. Now, turn on the music! Ah suggest Chubby Checker’s “Let’s Twist Again,” set on repeat. After kicking off mah slippers and removing mah chartreuse silk pajamas, ah lift up the toilet lid, step onto the seat, and turn around. This part is tricky, so ah have to be careful. Feet facing forward, ah edge to the middle, toes gripping each side of the rim. Once ah’m straddling the toilet, ah perform several deep squats, before going into mah sixties dance routine—The Twist. This involves angling mah arms and twisting from side to side, shuffling slightly up on mah toes, while moving away from and down toward the toilet bowl. If you’re more into rap, choose from your playlist, and just work the moves, bro! Or, in mah preferred parlance, “mah dear!”
You may be thinking, are you insane, you buffoon? You’ve just eaten high-fiber cereal and stewed prunes washed down with hah-octane coffee. And you’re dancing naked, on a fucking toilet, swinging your junk around?! Granted, ah too was worried about how all of the above would translate in the bathroom. But ah was happily surprised. And, depending on what you’ve eaten, you will be too. Trust me, it will be as though some bottom fairy has flown into your toilet bowl, and cast her spell. Slight flatulence, admittedly, a brief incidence of wind (boisterous in its delivery), that were it not confined to mah bathroom quarters, would set neighborhood dogs barking—and Phillip applauding. Then ah smile with satisfaction, pondering James Joyce’s naughty letter to his future wife, Nora Barnacle, in 1909, regarding her farts. “Ah could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women.” As ah’m sure dear Phillip could mine. In a roomful of farting men. How romantic is that?
Now for the next step of mah “Spotless Butthole Technique.”
Much like a pregnant woman about to give birth, gravity is your friend, mah friend. With all the deep squats, dancing, and farting, your bottom muscles will force things out, in one swift, fabulous, near-spotless swoop. Ah call it Le Caca Le Plus Propre. Which for non-French speakers means, “The Cleanest Poop.” And you’ll be proud of your new squatting ah-bility!
Now for the grand finale of mah “Spotless Butthole Technique!”
Still twist dancing, step off the toilet seat. Have a nas soapy shower and rub yourself drah. If you’re lucky enough to have a Phillip in your life, summon them in. Otherwise, grab a bottle of the fahn-est rosewater and witch hazel, bend over, and spritz your own butthole. If you have a dog, like mah Chihuahua, Binky, outside the bathroom barking, wanting to join in the fun, remember, this is your special time. Your Spotless Butthole Time. Not doggy playtime. And, because you secretly resent your dog’s ass-licking ah-bility—but not to the point of getting THE KNIVES OUT–try fake-licking your now spotless and tingling butthole, without cricking your neck.
Et Voila! The mystery is solved. Who needs toilet paper?
Ronia Smits is an Anglo-American writer, artist and cat guardian who grew up in England, the Middle East and Africa. Their humor and salty satire have appeared in The Yellow Ham, Defenestration, Robot Butt, Points in Case and Little Old Lady Comedy. Ronia lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with their husband Professor Brovnik (and other wildlife!).