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WARNING: POSSIBLY UTTERLY AND HORRIBLY DISGUSTING AND MENTALLY SCARRING<br><br>So I was in Vietnam, and in Vietnam, there are stray dogs everywhere. Now yes, it's true that some crazy older Vietnamese men, whilst drunk out of their minds, occasionally enjoy eating the flesh of dead canines. Probably old commies left over from the war. Maybe the mental scarring somehow gives them a taste for the flesh of dead dogs, I don't know, I can't speculate. The vast and overwhelming majority of Vietnamese find eating the flesh of deceased and decaying dog flesh absolutely repulsive, but it's always the .0001% who are the most strange and the loudest that seem to make the impression and give a bad name for everyone else. Like religious extremists. Bam, just dropped some philosophy there. And for some more philosophy, if you really think about it, eating the fat and flesh of dead pigs isn't that much different. And they both taste the same. I killed a few chickens while I was there. The proper way to kill a chicken is to not lop off it's head so that it's screams through the remaining vocal cords ripped apart from it's head, but to slowly bleed it out to death so that it loses consciousness and dies a quiet death. It's interesting how the dietary restrictions in the Bible actually have scientific basis behind them. I mean seriously, what's the difference between fish with fins and scales, and fish without? Or the difference between pork and beef? But science today confirms a difference. Very interesting, but anyway.<br><br>What I meant to say before I rambled on and on (I have a serious problem.), was that one day I saw some poop in the front of the house. I was livid. "We gotta close the gate! The dogs keep getting in and pooping in here!" The next day, it happens again. "The dogs did it again!" And then again. And again. And again. <br><br>Then one day, I caught the culprit in the very act. But much to my surprise, I found something that I did not expect.<br><br>It was not a dog who was depositing it's feces.<br><br>It was a small Vietnamese child. <br><br>I wanted with all of my being to go out there and buy a potty trainer. Why is this happening?? Why?? But that was not the most shocking thing. But before I get to, "The Big Toe Story," I have to first tell my own. A horror that I will never forget.<br><br>Oh the strange food in this country. This is what happened. We may have just been at a seafood restaurant. Afterwards we went sight-seeing. You can only guess what happened next. Nature, oh nature. The laws of nature stop for no one. Smoking leads to cancer, eating too much leads to obesity, and margaritas lead to shame and regret. Diseases don't just happen. Diseases are a cause of breaking of the laws of nature. So if we follow nature's laws, i.e. eating healthy and all of that jazz, we can be healthy. Heartburn isn't the result of not eating antacid; heartburn is the result of eating something. We aren't sick because we lack medicine; we're sick because of a cause, and most medicines just cover up the symptoms without treating the cause. If we can find the cause then we can find the cure. If the body can heal a cut on the outside, can't it then heal itself on the inside? Is not the immune system, designed by a Creator with infinite wisdom, so much greater than any supposed discovery of man? And if the body can even heal itself of diseases, can a sick mind not heal as well? Re-wiring the circuits in our brains. Amazing. <br><br>So I had to poop. Had to poop bad. Rushed like an Egyptian to the bathroom. There was a lovely hole in the ground. Before you judge me, I did what I had to do to survive. And I am not proud of what I did, but I had to do it. I had no choice. Oh don't judge me! There was nothing else I could do! I had no choice! Oh I had no choice... I did my business. And near the end of it, I realized it too late.<br><br>"There is no toilet paper anywhere in the entire country of Vietnam." <br><br>I felt like Sylvester Stallone, and there were three shells in the bathroom that I had no idea how to use. Next to me was a faucet, a bucket of water, and a scoop. I taxed the uttermost capabilities of my human intellect, trying to decipher this foreign technology like alien life. Calculus I might understand. The disgusting and deluded and overrated writings of Shakespeare I could scoff. Blinking VCRS, more difficult to unlock than an angry, silent woman, I could understand. But these three items, and these three items only, were before me, and then, and then, and then... that bone-chilling realization crept up before me. My whole life flashed before my eyes. My life would be divided between all the years I had before this day, and the rest of my life afterwards. I felt like James Franco in 127 hours, when he realized that he would have to cut off his own arm if he was going to survive. It was pretty much the same thing with me. I realized,<br><br>I would have to use my hands. <br><br>There are no words. No words could ever describe what that felt like. In tears I scooped up that water. In tears of agony I let that cold water hit my bottom. I would have let out a scream. I would have given all that I had. I was forever changed. I would never be the same after that. Some nights I still lay awake at night. The smell has never left my hand. Please do not judge me. There was nothing I could do.<br><br>Back to our other story. I caught the child pooping. Her mother didn't seem to mind. She took two playing cards, scooped up the poop, and threw it in the trash. Nice use of playing cards I guess. But nothing, nothing could prepare me for what I would witness next. She brought her child by the faucet. She scooped up a bowl of water, and whilst the child was squatting, she poured the water down her backside,<br><br>And she used her big toe. She used her big toe. <br><br>All the blood in my body left me, as if it were trying to escape the presence of what was happening. As if the shame were too great for even my blood to bare. And yet I could not move. My face was glued. I could not move. In utter shock I was frozen. I have seen things, unspeakable things in my life. Death and blood and murder. But this took the cake. I would not sleep for days, shaking in fear and unspeakable, mysterious shame. <br><br>For how long has been going on? Is this the way that it's been done for hundreds, maybe thousands of years? Are there ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics of this horrifying practice? Who invented this technique? Were they ashamed of themselves? Did they beg everyone to stop doing it afterwards, wishing to take it back, and yet the people continued to do so? <br><br>I told a friend this story. Then I told another friend about my personal pooping experience. The first friend interjected, "Did she use her big toe on you?" Horrifying. <br><br>The point I wanted to tell this story actually, was that most of the world do not use toilet paper. It is an extravagant luxury. And using water is actually more hygienic. Like bidets. In theory. Maybe there could be a clean, toilet-paper free set-up in an RV.<br><br>Anyway, sorry for the nightmares. If you ever travel overseas, be prepared. Bring toilet paper. This is the moral of this story. Don't let this happen to you. And please do not judge me! I am a decent person! There was nothing I could do... Sobbing, there was nothing I could do...
