How do you love your ass?

My, father in his heyday, was a dark humored, cunning, gypsy kind of guy. He was given to hosting wild throwdowns at his home, including very high-staked games of poker, pool, where copious amounts of liquor and narcotics were gone through like water. His comrades were always game for whatever suggestion came to his mind, as his manner was mild and jovial. He was always half-cocked, but his word was good and everyone trusted him.

At one poker party in particuliar, all was quiet around the table, with two tables going, and some of the sons of the players in the room. But it was too quiet, even with the clicking of chips and ice clinking in glasses, the men mumbling about their hands.

My father looks up and around the table from his cards. Snorts and says with that booming voice, "So tell me somethin', boys, how do you love your ass?" Some of the men looked a bit taken aback, and my uncle in the corner starts snickering.

"No, seriously. Do you love your ass?" Still no takers on that question. "I mean, do you carefully fold the paper before you wipe it, just so, into tiny squares? Or do you just take one end and start wrapping your hand up like a mummy?" He starts making this excited motion, just as if he were swathing his left hand in paper.

One of the doctors speaks up, saying, "No, I think I just like my ass. Who has the time to fold that shit, anyway?" This had both games chiming in, no one admitting that they fold their toilet paper like a pussy.

"Yeah, well that's what I thought.", And my father just leans back in his chair and takes another drag off his ciggie, as everyone in the room just shakes their head at him and raises the stakes higher.