And here I was thinking I would read about an update of that great scene from my far-gone youth, involving a tipsy submariner with his small-clothes around his ankles, about three feet of toilet paper barely moistened with white Bacardi's rum (even submariners won't drink that stuff), and a match.

When one end of the TP had been firmly tucked into a nether orifice, the match was struck and applied to the other end. Bets were taken on the length of the TP when the performer signalled the end of the dance with a grand jeté off the pool table. Points were awarded for endurance as well as for style.