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The last Toilet Tale

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Dear seven loyal readers,

I’m here today to say goodbye, and bid Toilet Tales adieu. No, Word document cartoon paperclip, I don’t need help writing this letter, but thank you for asking. Toilet Tales has been an excellent release for both my cynicism and my plea for fairness. I’ve pondered the motivation behind a lot of assholes and their asshole ways in the past year, and believe me — there are a ton of them out there. I’ve also begged people in the community to live a non-judgmental, free-spirited life. I’ve ranted about general ignorance, love lost, good times with friends, that fucking stupid day called “St. Patrick’s Day,” and how the Puyallup Fair is a rip-off.

While 98 percent of the general Weekly Volcano readership will be celebrating the departure of Toilet Tales, I must warn you: I’M STILL HERE. Don’t think you can escape that easily. I still have toilets in my back pocket, available for my use at any given rant. And once I secure this illustrious “desk” the Weekly Volcano World Headquarters keeps promising me, there are going to be no limits on what horror I will reap upon the Spew.

Toilet Tales has kept me busy, but it is time for my efforts to be focused on other things — like food. I hope you caught the new Spew column “Tossing Salad” yesterday, and I also hope you’ll keep your eyes open for other new columns coming to a computer monitor near you.

I leave you today with one final toilet, which I have never been in but I think is fricken’ hilarious. Guy named Mitch with a cat named Steve posted his actual home bathroom on Facebook. Comes complete with urinal, hand dryer, and dirty man pubes. Hey Mitch, where’s the urinal cake?

Goodbye, seven loyal Toilet Tales readers, I’ll buy you a beer next time I see you. It’s been fun.

Love, hugs, and all that other bullshit,

Steph DeRosa

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