Disaster struck at the annual Virginia City Outhouse Races this weekend when the most critical component of any outhouse experience — toilet paper — disappeared faster than a ghost on a Washoe Club tour. The shortage left race attendees desperately clutching old Dayton Day flyers, casino pamphlets, and anything resembling two-ply salvation.
The crisis falls directly on the shoulders of our venerable city fathers and mothers, who somehow failed to grasp the importance of keeping a steady supply of toilet paper for an event centered on, well, outhouses.
“It’s not rocket science,” grumbled one resident. “It’s just bathroom theory.”
In a tragic lapse of judgment, the city’s planning committee outsourced toilet paper procurement to one “Piss Yellow,” an agency whose legacy of cutting corners is matched only by a baffling fondness for fluorescent jumpsuits.
“We thought we had enough,” a Piss Yellow spokesperson explained, waving a single, forlorn sheet of toilet paper in the air like it was a flag of surrender. “Honestly, I thought people would be more… conservative.”
Other conversations went like this:
Mac (from the Literary Latrines): “We demand equal rights for all outhouses! No more discrimination based on porcelain color!”
Jane (from the Royal Flush Express): “And better ventilation! Our outhouses are suffocating in there!”
Gary (from the Turbo Tushies): “And bidets for everyone! It’s time to wash away the old ways!”
The townspeople blinked. The sheriff scratched his head. The mayor, caught off guard, tried to negotiate.
Mayor: “How about we compromise? We’ll install air fresheners and—.”
Mac: “And heated seats!”
Jane: “And WiFi!”
Gary: “And a drive-thru window!”
Adding to the confusion, rumors have swirled that Joss’ Chinese Laundry—positioned at the foot of the mighty Mt. Davidson on Rear Street—played a part in the catastrophe. Locals gathered in the Silver Queen Saloon are convinced that the shortage was not only bad planning but divine intervention.
According to the more colorful theories, Joss’ Laundry somehow caused a critical delay in the delivery of toilet paper by hoarding vast quantities of laundry detergent for unclear reasons. The connection between Tide Pods and toilet rolls is tenuous at best, but that hasn’t stopped the theories from taking on a life of their own.
“There’s no doubt in my mind that we’ve angered the Laundry Gods,” muttered one conspiracy theorist after too many whiskey shots. “First, the detergent goes missing, then the toilet paper runs out? What’s next, we’ll be washing our clothes in tumbleweed juice?”
Meanwhile, the beleaguered citizens of Virginia City, enraged and undoubtedly needing a bathroom break, took to the boardwalks wielding empty cardboard toilet paper tubes as instruments of protest. The impromptu march quickly became a festival, with locals forming a “TP Vigilante Committee” dedicated to tracking down rogue rolls hidden around town.
“We’ve survived mining busts, floods, and even the Great Whiskey Shortage of ’72,” boomed longtime local Pepe Brown, her voice as big as Mark Twain’s mustache. “But running out of toilet paper during the Outhouse Races? Now that’s a low blow. And don’t get me started on the detergent.”
As the Outhouse Races descended into chaos, toilet seat jockeys zoomed down the street while clutching hastily scribbled promises of future toilet paper restocks. The crowd gasped as the Grand Poop-ah of the festivities was unceremoniously extracted from his royal throne after a tragic incident involving a pothole, a rogue tumbleweed, and the mysterious disappearance of the Silver Plunger of Destiny.
City officials, now desperate to shift the blame, pointed fingers in every direction, including at the seemingly innocent Joss Laundry.
“It’s too coincidental,” whispered one city mother, clutching a roll of two-ply she’d scavenged from the Delta Saloon bathroom. “First, the detergent shortage, now this? There’s something fishy going on, and it’s not just the smell near the outhouses.”
With the town’s pride in tatters and its bathroom supply chain in ruins, city leaders have vowed to launch a full investigation into the toilet paper fiasco and the detergent conspiracy. Rumors abound that next year’s event will feature not just stockpiles of toilet paper but a citywide detergent rationing program to ensure no laundromat gods are angered again.
For now, everything—like the tumbleweeds and the dignity of the outhouse pushers—is rolling downhill.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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