The bowl was now a porcelain swamp, and at its heart—visible through the murky water like a lost manuscript—was a dense, pulpy log of toilet paper. Not waste. Just paper. Clean, white, expensive, three-ply paper. My toilet, it seemed, had staged a quiet protest against my overindulgence.
Here’s a short, humorous piece on the topic: my toilet is clogged with toilet paper
It started innocently enough. A standard bathroom visit. Nothing heroic, nothing sinister. I did my duty, reached for the roll, and pulled off what I considered a reasonable amount of toilet paper. Then, because I am a believer in abundance, I pulled off a little more. And then, just to be safe, a little more than that. The bowl was now a porcelain swamp, and
I flushed.
The water rose. Not with the confident swirl of a job well done, but with the slow, ominous deliberation of a creature waking from a long nap. It hesitated at the rim. It stared at me. Then, ever so politely, it stopped. Clean, white, expensive, three-ply paper