You have no idea of what you speak, sir; thou wotteth not the good folks of Calfornia, nor the beauties of the iPhone. Let me point out that when we ride folks out of state for bad practices (eating meat, wasting trees, high MPG, and the like) we send them to places like Pocatello. When you try to get into California you will pass through an Eligibility Checkpoint manned by our best telepathic SNAGs, in brown uniforms. Most cars they wave on through, but one of those three-strikes types finds himself in Secondary faster than you can say "Home, Lassie!".


And, as a rule, Californians only put in toilets those things designed for that purposes, such as turds and bum-wad. We tend toward digital dexterity and a reasonable relationship with our opposable thumbs, unlike the goofus in your Sheldon strip, who is clearly from the northern Midwest.


A