A cinematic thing that often happens to me when I'm wiping my ass:
I do the first few wipes (I usually do a double square of singly ply, I don't like the thick stuff, it rips too easily when you're using my methods), and you know it's getting cleaner. And at this point you do another wipe, and it comes back clean, and the rational voice in your head, the authoritative man in the control booth as it were, says, okay, you can stop now, your asshole is clean.
But you're like I meaaaaaaan I'm not sure and you do another double square rip and wipe. And the voice is like okay good work cleaning the shit off your asshole, let's wrap it up and go to the next thing. But you detect something, some moisture, something that feels particulate. And there you go again, ripping another double square.
The voice - maybe it address you as sir, or maybe it's cadet, it depends on your mood and personality if this voice is your superior making demands, or if it's someone you boss around - the voice is pleading. Bargaining maybe. Sir, this is a clean asshole. You're wasting paper. Let's flush and get out of here. You wipe again.
You start to get up (I sit down when I wipe), but then you reconsider and go for one more. The sirens are going off in the control room. Cadet, you're out of control, you're gonna run yourself raw and ragged! Get a hold of yourself. Et cetera.
Eventually you get to a place where you're sure there's no discernible shit left on your asshole and you pack up and go home. If you're having a week like mine where it's 4-5 shits a day, you in fact do find yourself a little worn down and ragged.
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