There are two types of people: those who keep books in their bathroom and imbeciles.
An overly bold statement? Perhaps. But I have a hard time endowing any confidence on the intellect of someone who doesn't accompany regular bowel movements with literary pursuits (and, no Spanky, Maxim Magazine doesn't count- is there anybody out there who reads that magazine that doesn't wear a baseball cap turned backwards at least four days out of the week?). I suppose if you have an outdoor privy and, therefore, no source for reading light then maybe you can be excused. Many people who've attempted to keep reading materials in privys have found that books and magazines often fall prey to literate opossums and skunks.
Many people assume that reading in the john is something to do to relieve boredom, a diversionary pursuit to take one's mind off of the task at hand. I disagree; I'm of the opinion that reading material can actually enhance and perhaps even ease the primary reason for being behind closed doors. I was recently made aware of this after a friend who suffers from IBS told me how helpful Anna Karenina was after dinner at Paco's Tacos. The majesty of Tolstoy's prose, in combination with medication taken under the direction of a physician helped my friend through an otherwise unpleasant experience and not just as a time-passer. After all, it is not just time that we are passing.
Martin Luthor is probably the most famous bathroom reader in western history. The story goes that since Luthor was somewhat of a constipant (most laxatives were considered heretical in the sixteenth century) he was obliged to spend hours on the common man's throne at which times he would pour over Scripture. It is well known that the revelation that inspired him to publicly criticize the Catholic Church came about while studying Paul's epistles during "alone time." In effect, the 95 Theses came about through feces. Much psychological speculation has been spent on determining Luther's character being formed by his relationship with his father. I'd submit that we should also look to his mother as well; had Frau Luthor properly taught her son to eat his crusts like a good boy, the Protestant Reformation may never have taken place. Such are the contingencies of history.
Other great men of letters had similar problems that had a great impact upon their writing. For instance, when Henry David Thoreau wrote that "the mass of men live lives of quiet desperation" he was speaking of an affliction we are all familiar with, especially those of us who tend to eat too many marshmallows on camping trips (accrediting his refusal to eat beans to the tenets of the greek mathematician Pythagoras, Thoreau only worsened his condition out of irrational fears of pooting in front of Emerson- you know how yankees are). The discarded original titles of other great writers also give us insight into the relationship between literary genius and the failure to get things going. Few outside the philology clubhouse know that two of Friedrich Nietzsche's best known works were originally entitiled Stopped Up, All Too Stopped Up and, of course, Thus Shat Zarathustra, the last being a treatise on the ubermensch's ability to flaunt society's conventions by taking a dump wherever he willed it, a dream of Nietzsche's inspired by too much wiener schnitzel.
It would seem that American novelist John Updike had the opposite problem; what became the first book in his four volume saga of middle class ennui and the crisis of twentieth century masculinity was supposed to have been called Rabbit's Runs. For some reason Scribner & Sons thought this might be a bad idea and the title was nixed.
So we see that literature and voiding go hand in hand, a fact that most Americans don't truly appreciate. At this point I'd like to make a few suggestions for starting a diverse and useful water closet library.
The Beast in Me by James Thurber: Studies show that laughter helps in anal loosening and Thurber is one of the great American humorists. If you're not particularly literate he always has drawings too.
Very Good Jeeves or any of P.G. Wodehouse's novels and short stories about Bertie Wooster and his butler: Another very funny bunch of stories. When Bertie tells Jeeves "carry on," it helps me carry on as well.
Civilization and Its Discontents by Sigmund Freud: Reading about how we suppress our baser instincts (and, perhaps, end-stinks) in order to live in a society seems especially appropriate in those short moments when we are able to mometarily stop suppressing. Plus, Freud really liked to talk about doodoo.
Leaving Home by Garrison Keillor: Not particularly complex reading but Keillor's stories of small town life in the midwest say "gentle" in a way that Doxidan only wishes was possible.
The Apology of Socrates by Plato: After raising a stink with the youth of Athens Socrates had to face down a 500 man jury and accepted his fate with grace and logic. All you'll have to do after raising a stink is maybe light a candle.
Battle Cry of Freedom by James McPherson: Civil War history and feculence go together like gangrene and amputation. If you think your spouse or partner keeps an untidy bathroom you should have seen the latrines at Andersonville Prison. Or, better yet, you'll enjoy seeing how Lee was able to escape after Gettysburg because, during their southward pursuit, Josh Chamberlain's 20th Maine made the mistake of descending upon a Maryland pear orchard that wasn't quite ripe for the picking yet. Sherman was right, war is hell.
The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky: Long book, long night, I don't wanna talk about it.
Culture Warrior by Bill O'Reilly: Sometimes I run out of toilet paper and Random House's hardcover edition has the best traction I've come across as of yet. Even though the dustcover has Bill's face on it, if I were you, I'd resist the obvious temptation since it's a much slicker paper.
That does it. I guess I'll catch you later. I've got to go.
