deep throughts: foiled again

i don't know about you but i cannot stand three-pronged forks. at the family apt in jersey there was just one three-pronged fork that always ended up in my hand when i reached into the cutlery drawer. even when i deliberately looked at the forks and picked from the robust four-pronged crowd it somehow managed to slip in there, ruining my anticipation of the meal to come. when i left for my summer apt i said to myself, "never again!" no more anomalous cutlery. but alas i had spoken too soon. ALL the forks at my new apt were three pronged. ALL of them. in despair i would have hung myself if it wasn't for the triple-ended rope of which i could make no sense noose-wise.

sometimes when you're on the john you fantasize about being a magician. you remember seeing a guy whip out a table cloth from under precariously stacked sets of precious china and, *gasp* , inertia left you open-jawed. so naturally you project this fantasy into the act of obtaining an aptly sized length of double ply toilet paper. but you notice that the roll isn't the fat wad it used to be... the thinning layers of tp whisper warnings to you that inertia will not work, you should use both hands to calmly remove the length you require. you should, but you won't. because you know at heart that you are the mandrake of toilet paper acquisition. so you grab the right spot where the ideal tear would take place. confidence is peaking, anticipation has left you near but not at the edge of your seat because that would be gross. the moment has come. time slows down. you jerk the toilet paper in a way that only a ninja-janitor might... but something is wrong... there is no tear. the perforated line has held. you feel numb as the roll keeps spinning and block after block crashes to the floor with deafening silence, leaving a pile of ply, a testament to the completeness of your failure. the next day, at work or school or relevant social gathering, you tell no one.