The importance of turning off one's internet prejudices, and clicking where thou wilt....

...because, Citizens, I cannot tell you which link would, by my conscious brain, be most likely to block the use of my fingers on the mouse: "Margaret Carlson" or "Daily Beast." The two are, on the scale of 'Forsooth I do have better things to do with my time,' roughly equivalent. Imagine my surprise to find my screen lighting upon this article, then, where we consider taxes on sugary drinks and dare I say it without blanching, softer than average (and environmentally unfriendly) toilet paper.

Of course I was immediately transported to my days of undergraduate study of humanities, which, alas, is seen by our willfully ignorant age as being beyond luxury, to the reading of Gargantua and Pantagruel, where the scientific study of arse wiping settled the issue of luxurious bum cleaning to the present day. It saddens me that we have made few improvements to the discourse since that time, because, of course, Rabelais was writing during the mother fucking (oh do not think I use that term as a swear rather than a literal interpretation of Chapter 1.III) Renaissance.

Afterwards I wiped my tail with a hen, with a cock, with a pullet, with a calf's skin, with a hare, with a pigeon, with a cormorant, with an attorney's bag, with a montero, with a coif, with a falconer's lure. But, to conclude, I say and maintain, that of all torcheculs, arsewisps, bumfodders, tail-napkins, bunghole cleansers, and wipe-breeches, there is none in the world comparable to the neck of a goose, that is well downed, if you hold her head betwixt your legs. And believe me therein upon mine honour, for you will thereby feel in your nockhole a most wonderful pleasure, both in regard of the softness of the said down and of the temporate heat of the goose, which is easily communicated to the bum-gut and the rest of the inwards, in so far as to come even to the regions of the heart and brains. And think not that the felicity of the heroes and demigods in the Elysian fields consisteth either in their asphodel, ambrosia, or nectar, as our old women here used to say; but in this, according to my judgment, that they wipe their tails with the neck of a goose, holding her head betwixt their legs, and such is the opinion of Master John of Scotland, alias Scotus.

I for one would take great pleasure in any account of white American Teabaggers protesting a luxury toilet paper Obama-tax by populating their manicured sub-division front lawns with shitty-necked geese.