Letter to the editor

10/24/12 7:00pm

 

 To the editor, 

In the midst of Rice's 100th year of existence, I feel I am constantly being inundated with Rice's self-praise. Rice is a phenomenal place. Its warm community and soothing inclusivity are truthfully unparalleled in societal institutions. Its academics, while overwhelming and sometimes even rigorous, are exemplary. Rice also boasts the highest endowment-per-student ratio in the nation. Which then begs the question: 

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Why in God's good name is the toilet paper so deplorable? 

In this age of glory and praise, I would be morally remiss if I did not articulate the passionate cries of the common student. Rice is considered by a most certainly reliable study to have the happiest students. Of course, an emotion is something easily quantifiable, thus I have heard this statistic quoted more times than the average student has even considered attending a Rice athletic event. If it is not for the oh-my-God academics that push people to cheat and/or despise themselves, the wildly anti-climactic social life or the smell of sweaty vaginas at Night of Decadence, it is certainly not the toilet paper that breeds such joy in our students. Anal friction leads to social friction. 

Although Rice students generally have never shotgunned a beer in their lives, they have all defecated. Defecating should be happy and comfortable in such a happy and comfortable place. 

I am using the Centennial event as an opportunity to demand an upgrade to the sandpaper dispensers that currently populate Rice's toilet facilities. I may or may not have hemorrhoids but certainly can empathize with that lifestyle. On the bottom of every syllabus, the professor places a disclaimer stating that any student with a disability can be accommodated in his or her class. Every first day of class, I walk right up to the professor, shake his or her hand, and say, "Hello. I am excited to be in your class. My name is Larry Fitzgerald, and I may or may not have hemorrhoids." The professor is usually stupefied. 

Whether or not this condition is prim is not the question. It is a condition. And Rice fails oh-so-dramatically in accommodating the needs of its students with this condition. Now, although the option brings forth a charming nostalgia in me, I am not expecting the professor to take me to the bathroom and wipe my anus with the patience of pre-kindergarten caring. 

There are so many posters everywhere on campus, informing me of what to do and how to feel. "Bell or yell." "Plan ahead, go to bed." Where are the posters directing me to a girlfriend? Or teaching ways to improve my self-esteem? Or helping me cope with erectile dysfunction - or embracing such a frustrating sex life that renders ED irrelevant? 

Or telling me what to do about my potentially existent hemorrhoids. 

Last year, on a glorious Sunday afternoon, I may or may not have defecated in the Will Rice College quad and may or may not know that that experience was only slightly worse than taking a traditional dump at Rice University. 

I am currently in the process of contacting the Charmin bear. I plan on convincing him to be in my fraternity so he can be my pledge and follow me around with his toilet paper. I yearn to twinkle with the same facial expression the little bear does in the Charmin commercial. I have not been that happy since the last time a female commented on the size of my penis in a positive and sincere manner, which happened just last never. 

So President David Leebron, when you are not busy obsessing with the U.S. News & World Report, implementing the most inhumane parking system or delivering deflating jokes, make an investment that will matter not only in the hearts of Rice's students, but also in their behinds. 

I have not been this upset since the day passion orange guava juice died. Do not enhance my water. Enhance my toilet paper. 

Or our bloody bumholes will take to bloody revolt. 

Speaking with courage to expose the real Rice University, 

Anonymous Lovett College Class of 2014 

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