He knew, even as he did it, that he was doing something vile.
But his desire was so strong he told himself what men always tell themselves when they want permission to be ugly.
"If I don't do it, someone else will."
Thus began his own private hell, a curse fed year after year by shame and fear and the madness of the memory.
Once each year, he returns. A shambling thing wrapped head to foot, condemned to wear the shape of his disgrace, working off a debt too absurd to confess.
By his calculations, it will take another six years to work through all the toilet paper he hoarded in 2020.
But his desire was so strong he told himself what men always tell themselves when they want permission to be ugly.
"If I don't do it, someone else will."
Thus began his own private hell, a curse fed year after year by shame and fear and the madness of the memory.
Once each year, he returns. A shambling thing wrapped head to foot, condemned to wear the shape of his disgrace, working off a debt too absurd to confess.
By his calculations, it will take another six years to work through all the toilet paper he hoarded in 2020.
A tragic tale of greed, guilt and bad decisions about the future of pooping.
Looks like our poor fellow got a little wrapped up in the panic!
Looks like our poor fellow got a little wrapped up in the panic!
Mwahahahahahaa! *snort*
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Tales from the Other Other Side of the Sty:
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