Shame on You, Cottonelle!

I am shocked and appalled, Cottenelle. There is egregious and then there is heinious, and then, far beyond that, on the far shore of the despicible, there is you. My gag reflex is not strong enough when faced with such incredible perversity. I don't care how inescapable your advertising campaign is; this is my pledge -- I will not wipe my ass with an adorable puppy.

Yes the puppy looks tremendously plush and soft-- the sort of softness that I imagine would be soothing and restorative after a long and difficult bowel movement. And certainly the puppy looks happy and content NOW, peacefully sleeping "in ready position" next to the toilet (or so I imagine). But will it be happy when it is vigorously being rubbed in the crevasse separating my buttocks? I think not! No, then all will be squealing and squirming!

Granted, this squirming will likely have a sort of "scrubbing" quality, preventing the need for repeated cleanings, and allowing the dog, in effect, to do the work for you. Still, this does not excuse the spreading of fecal matter all over a living thing, no matter how downy and asscheek-tickling said living thing might be. Also silky.

And once you've befowelled the dog, what then, COTTONELLE? You can't simply flush the dog down the drain, like a toilet paper goldfish. It would clog your plumbing. So you set it down to figure out what to do with it, and suddently you have a furry fecal rocket scampering all over your 1500-thread-count linens! Best case scenario, you spend the next half hour washing the dog. I don't need the tsuris!

Of course, if every puppy came with some sort of individual puppy washing machine, then maybe you'd have something. Do your business, toss it in, and then go watch Monk or something. It would certainly be more environmentally friendly than paper, recycling the same soft, soft, cushiony puppy.

I suppose in that case it wouldn't be too... reprehensible to... so fluffy...

Heck, I'll try anything once. C'mere boy. C'mere! Hey boy!

>whistle<

No need to look so scared! I'm just gonna pick you up for a minute, and just let me manouver you around there and...

What?

Get your hands off me! Who are you, and how did you get into my house? I don't care what sort of ethical treatment organization you're from! Let me-- A met... a metaphor? A visual metaphor? What do you...

Oh.

It appears I misunderstood.

Uh, sorry.

God I wish I hadn't been transcribing this completely true-to-life monologue for my blog. I now realize that it doesn't cast me in the most flattering light. In fact, I come off as a bit of a puppy-wiper. Well, I should be okay, just as long as I don't hit the "post" bu...