In the vein of Lifesaver . . .
Just to show you how serious Maxim can be for some guys . . .
One of my best friends growing up had a recent get-together at lovely Iowa State University . . . so I sucked up my pride and headed up to Ames, for a night of barhopping and partying with the kids I grew up with. Tony also happens to be a charter subscriber to Maxim magazine, and keeps every issue in pristine condition . . . he loves the magazine like his mother.
Well, long story short, we ended up teaching a few quick billiards lessons and exceeding our recommended daily allowance of bourbon, and head back at bartime. Around 6am, I wake up off the couch with a bit of a "Rumblin' in the gut" . . . so I head off o the bathroom and "do the deed."
Well . . . lo and behold, as I reach for the roll of TP, I find it to be not only empty but freaking missing. In fact, quick inspection of the bathroom yields no TP, no paper towels, no napkins, no tissue, no sani-wipes, no tree bark, no cardboard, nothing. In fact, the only thing around is the last 6 months of Maxim magazine . . .
. . . but I recall that Tony is, in fact, legally insane with regard to Maxim magazine. So, that option is out - let's face it, if there is suddenly poopy all over the issue with Melissa Joan Hart, I'm going to be murdered and that's the bottom line.
After a little bit of soul searching, laughing my ass off, and nearly crying, I discover my Calle del Oro . . . a washrag belonging to the third roommate, who I don't know very well. Strips of this rag serviced nicely, and prevented a Maxim-induced, untimely end to my life.
Guys take Maxim extremely seriously - I'd suggest women do the same.
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