I have three rules for Facebook.

Thou shalt not, including but not limited to, post, share, expose, like, agree, oppose, expound on, spew, or contribute to anything Political.

Thou shalt not, including but not limited to, post, share, expose, like, agree, oppose, expound on, spew, or contribute to anything Religion.

Thou shalt not, including but not limited to, post, share, expose, like, agree, oppose, expound on, spew or contribute to anything Negative.

Yesterday, I contemplated adding another to the list.

Thou shalt not,

including but not limited to,

post, share, expose, like, agree, oppose, expound on, spew, or contribute to

anything having to do with…

THE POTTY.
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Each Facebook User has their own individual style and use Facebook for many reasons which, if you’re a user, you can probably put them in catagories by now.

Here are some. They include but are not limited to:

Inspiration

Motivation

Stalking

Balking

Philosophizing

Politicizing

Antagonizing

Legitimizing

Rationalizing

Supporting

Purporting

Reporting

Babies crying

Doggies dying

Birthdays

Veterans’ Day

Ben & Jerry’s Free Cone Day

Photo sharing

Vacation sharing

Eating what they had for breakfast sharing

Whatever they want. Whatever they need. “Up to them,” I think.

On the other hand, from time to time, when I mention my personal Facebook rules to friends, family or aquaintances, I may get this:

Good for you!
Keep it simple!
Awesome rules!
Whatever you think!

But lots of times I get this:

You have a right to your opinion!
Stand up for what you believe in!
Don’t let others get away with it!

And once I got…

That’s being Chicken Shit!

But my rules are my rules. Besides, I’d rather offer my opinion at Bookclub, in study group, or in the middle of Tiananmen Square, before I offer it anywhere on Facebook.

I have my reasons. Primarily, I don’t want my words to cause me or anyone else trouble.

But sometimes it can’t be helped.

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Last Thursday evening I open up my Facebook, and the very first post I see in my newsfeed is this one:

             “Okay, has anyone seen the Quilted Northern toilet paper commercial? Either I’m missing               something or it’s the creepiest commercial ever!”

Whoa! This post gets me at “toilet,” and my antennas spring up to attention. “Creepiest” grabs my gut.

“Wait, what commercial?” “Wait, what?”  “What’s she talkin’ about?”

Being one who just divorced herself from cable because of too much Bravo and Naked Dating, my FOMO (fear of missing out) gets the best of me, and I hastily swipe through my phone apps to the YouTubler and I YouTuble “northern tissue.” I’m too excited, so those are the only two words I read that I remember.

A whole heap of commercials pop up. By the time I see this second one, I instantly, but maybe pre-maturely, deem it my favorite. I can’t stop laughing. I play it over. And over. And over again.

Transcription

Daddy Gator couldn’t push the throttle on his lil’ boat any harder if he tried.
He’s beached here, gazing out on an unforgiving landscape.
For while the people who come in here use Quilted Northern,
A toilet paper that works so well they completely forget their experience,
Daddy Gator sees all. And forgets nothing.
“I’ve gotta motor outta here,” he thinks.
This is no place to raise a child.
Quilted Northern. Designed to be forgotten.

But then there’s this one:

Transcription

Quilted Northern works so well people can forget their bathroom experience.
Just like they forgot Conductor Randy
He sees all. Forgets nothing.
At least he’s not Constable Bob.

Tough call. I really kinda don’t know which one is funnier.

By now, I’m hysterically laughing so hard that tears are pouring outta me like fast rising rapids able to bust holes through a dike. I can’t stuff rubber nipples into these holes fast enough to hold it together. I’m on the floor!

“These ads are GENIUS!” I think.

I pick myself up from rolling on the floor in hysterics and post:

“I LOVE THEM!”

And I post links to both commercials right along with it.

Then all hell breaks loose!

The comment following my comment is from a person other than the Hostess of the post.

And, I think it’s her DAD!

“Just saw them. I’m not impressed.”

Gasp! My knee-jerk reaction is to shut-close my laptop. I feel a warm sensation – no, a hot one – welling up from the top of my chest, climbing my neck, sweeping past my chin, ears, cheeks and all that, instantly followed by the color Red radiating right through to the top of my skull.

I’m totally embarrassed!

What did I do?

What did I do wrong?

Why did I post those videos? OMG! how embarrassing.

Should I not find these funny?

Doubting myself, I open-up and look again to see if anyone’s with me. Another comment:

“I don’t get it either.”

Ahhh! I slump defeated by confusion. “Why am I the only one that gets it? Or am I the stupid one?”

I can’t help myself. I look again. The next comment is so long that I only have enough room here to say that it’s framed by beginning with…

“These are all very odd….”

ending with…

“….I just won’t buy their stuff.”

And somewhere in there is something about “winning the marketing war” too.

OMG! Am I gonna get shot?

I begin getting defensive. I’ve replaced shame with anger, and switch the cast of blame from Me to Them. I feel like I’m turning into the Hulk. I just can’t seem to brush this off.

They’re stupid!

No sense of humor!

What is wrong with our Society?

Have they not EVER seen a foreign film before? Those European actors are seen sittin’ on the pot at least one or two times every film. If not, more.

What’s wrong with the Potty, anyway? People have gotta lighten up!

Even though these comments aren’t a-plenty yet, I feel like if I see one more disparaging remark, I may be doomed to hell as the consequence for my actions henceforth. Or jail. I don’t know which.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

I won’t look. I won’t look. I won’t look.

I can’t look. I can’t look. I can’t look. I can’t look.

I look.

Please! I just need some sort of validation. Please!

Then, remarkably, my angel appears. And she comments:

 “I think they are kind of funny.”

And she tags on a sheepishly smiling emoticon right along with it.

Is she worried – “Will I be shot?” I don’t know, ’cause she still gives my comment a “like.” I don’t know this person. I’m a little verklempt.

So, happily and stupidly I comment again:

“At least I get one vote. :)”

Then the Hostess of the Post replies to my comment:

“Hmmmm….”

Uh, oh! I think I’m back to being in trouble. Either she still doesn’t buy the commercials’ humor or she thinks I’ve hijacked her post. And I’m reduced from the Hulk to the Incredible Shrinking Woman in zero to 60.

I need to regain my confidence, I think. Assure myself. So I go back to pressing play on each Quilted Northern commercial – One by one: Daddy Gator – Conductor Randy – Sir Froggy – Great Grandpa Thaddeus – Birds. By the time I click play on this last one, I convince myself that I’m right. They’re all good.

I click on Little Miss Puffytail last. This one I now deem My Favorite.

Transcribed

Smash me!
Dear God smash me into a million pieces.
Little Miss Puffytail thinks every time someone enters this room.
For while the people who come in here and use Quilted Northern, a toilet paper that works so well,
They can completely forget their experience.
Lil’ Miss Puffytail can never forget.
She can dream.
Dream for the sweet, sweet swing of a careless elbow.
Quilted Northern. Designed to be forgotten.

I post this new favorite straight to the Timeline of the Hostess of the original post. Maybe this one she’ll get!

I wait… and wait…

No Comment

So it’s time to finally abandon this post and see what everyone else has to say out there on Facebook. I gotta get this replaced in my head.

I scroll down through my newsfeed and find this gem.

Yes! Again, I am delirious with laughter. I Share it with my friends and post this right along with it:

“Hmmmm…. What’s your favorite?”

This leads to a thread of comments full of hysterical and inappropriate fun and takes only 112 comments before it stops.

But before I Share it, I comment on the Original post.

My favorites are really “Couch” and “Pepperoni Dog Farts,” but what I comment is:

“Diet Mountain Dew”

…and the very next day the thread of comments to my Share of hysterical and inappropriate fun of only 112 comments…

I delete.

Ciao for now,

k