A Bidet Soliloquy


To bidet, or not to bidet: that is the question.

Whether ’tis nobler in the taint to suffer

The redness and itching of outrageous monkey bum,

Or to wash against stubborn dook,

And by opposing flush them? To wipe: to chafe;

No more; and by chafe to say we end

The awkwardness and the thousand natural shocks

That stream of water in the anus is heir to, ’tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish’d. To wipe, to chafe;

To chafe: perchance to bleed: ay, there’s the rub;

For in that chafe of death what blood may come

When we have slogged across a hot Barcelona,

Must give us pause: there’s the unwashed anus

That makes a rubbing of buttcheeks by day’s end;

For who would bear the rawness and irritation of friction,

The perineum’s wrong, the rectum’s contumely,

The skid marks of fecal butthole, the derrière’s dirt,

The insolence of stained undies and the spurns

That patient merit of the La Belle Fille,

When she herself might have racing stripes

By eschewing the bidet? who would “fart” and bear,

To rub and sweat under a day’s trek,

But that the dread of something in my gitch,

The undiscover’d poop from whose bourn

No traveller returns, soils the briefs

And makes us rather accept that water jet in the butt

Than walk in our own filth?

Thus the bidet does make cowards of us non-Europeans all;

And thus the brownish hue of resolution

Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of doo-doo,

And bowel movements of great remnants of tapas

With this regard the perfect dump turned awry,

And lose the usefulness of toilet paper. – Soft you now!

The fair bidet! Stream of water in my orifice

Be all my chafing forgotten.


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One Response to A Bidet Soliloquy

  1. Andrea says:


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