Seriously, what’s the poop on the 2-ply ass clowns hoarding all the butt wipe?

Supposedly, I’m among the most vulnerable to the scourge that is coronavirus, or COVID-19 if you prefer.

I’m in my 70th year.

I have hypertension.

I have chronic kidney disease.

I’m dealing with an assortment of other physical challenges, including a heart that isn’t quite as stout as it once was, so I’m as good as gone.

Unless…I buy toilet paper.

Correction: I can’t just buy TP, I must stockpile it. Hoard it. Like squirrels and nuts.

Oh, yes, butt wipe appears to be the answer to the scourge.

I know this to be so because I had occasion to visit three markets in downtown Victoria this week and, out of curiosity, I strolled by the toilet paper shelves. Not a square to be spared. As empty as a politician’s election promise.

Why, the way people are scooping up TP, you’d think the stuff was rolling directly off the presses at the Canadian Bank Note Company. Those are the people who print our paper currency, you understand. So I expect to see a pic of Queen Liz, Viola Desmond or one of our dead Prime Ministers on the next roll of butt wipe I buy. And it won’t come in 2-ply anymore. It’ll be in $20-ply. But that’ll be just $5-ply on the U.S. exchange.

The thing is, I don’t know if I’ll ever see a fresh roll of TP again.

Butt wipe has become as scarce as hair on a Buddhist monk’s head, and you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t understand the hoarding.

I mean, okay, coronavirus is sending some people into self-isolation for 14 days and nights. But that means what? They’re going to poop more often because they’ve discovered that sitting on the biffy beats watching lousy TV?

Right now, I have an uncracked pack of eight double rolls of butt wipe in my vanity. That’s the equivalent of 16 single rolls. Trust me, women use more TP than men, but if 16 rolls can’t get me through 14 days, then I have health issues much larger than keeping my nether regions clean.

I’d heard and read about this toilet paper phenomenon, but it never truly registered as an actual “thing” until my recent journeys down the TP aisles. They were ghost-like. I expected to see tumbleweeds tumbling by and maybe hear some forlorn, haunting music that would remind me of a Clint Eastwood spaghetti western, like The Good, The Bad and The Butt Ugly.

Again, I don’t get it. Unless the hoarders are breathing out of their butts, toilet paper ain’t a cure for a respiratory ailment.

I can’t tell you how much butt wipe us Canadians use per year, but it’s my understanding that the average American goes through 100 rolls, or roughly one every 3.5 days. If my math is correct, that means 16 single rolls ought to be good for almost two months.

What part of that do the 2-ply ass clowns not understand?

I’ve heard psychologists attempt to explain this butt wipe madness with some fancy-shmancy gobbledygook, but it makes about as much sense as digging for gold nuggets in a manure pile.

Frankly, I prefer Aussie Prime Minister Scott Morrison’s take:

“Stop hoarding,” he scolded the other day. “I can’t be more blunt about it. Stop it. It’s not sensible. It’s not helpful. It is not necessary. It is not something that people should be doing. Stop doing it. It’s ridiculous. It’s unAustralian and it must stop.”

PM Morrison is spot on. I’ve had enough of this crap, too.

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