What can YOU say in six sentences?
The upper and lower shelves on 30 yards of the toilet paper aisle have me on T.P.-labelling overwhelm: 12 Rolls=24 or 36 or 48, Quilted, Triple-Soft, Softest, Double-Strength, Strongest, Scented, Textured, Quilted, and combinations, therein... and do you really think I care which roll my hand grabs in those indelicate moments of extreme need?
If Consumer's Reports has done an analysis of the wisest choices for the papered complement to the porcelain saddle, I haven't seen it or heard about it. My puchasing decision dilemma on the toilet paper aisle is moot once they price the stuff per pound because it doesn't take a math genius to know we're paying for all that air in every fluffy roll.
Those tire-sized rolls in some public facilities offer enough paper for shitloads of visits but you also know that it's so thin you could lay that paper across the classified ads and they'd still be legible.
Why not consider the diaper pail concept of old, using diluted mouthwash (follow low-bottom drunks to the cheapie mouthwash sale at Walgreen's) or vinegar to keep from blinding yourself from lid-lift fumes, and how great it would be for recycling old tee-shirts--maybe dollar-store sales of cheap-o washrags you can quarter--with the collateral benefit of how little overnight company and entertaining you'd suffer once word got out about your commitment to EcoFecoGreenOnomics.
The pail system seems a better option than having the plumber reconfigure my bathroom pipes for ass-recycling of the daily newspaper since Sears catalogs have gone by the wayside (and probably caused paper cuts).