Stories of P

There I was sitting in the bathroom stall eating my lunch (don't ask) when all of a sudden a man (hopefully) burst into the bathroom and not 1.5 seconds later let loose a pony keg of urine so forceful I thought I'd certainly feel some splash-back twenty feet away from behind the stall wall. I mean, this guy must've been unbuttoning his pants halfway down the hall as he was walking (running?) toward the bathroom. That, or he's wearing sweatpants today. Because, you know, with sweatpants you can just pull 'em down in front and access to the wang is less than 1.5 seconds away. We're probably talking about hundredths of a second between deciding to whip out the wang and the wang seeing light of day.

But I reckon this guy isn't wearing sweatpants. Which means A. His pants were unzipped and hanging off his hips before he walked in, and B. He really, really, really had to go. Hence the fire hose strength stream he unleashed.

On a side note, what's up with those power streams? Is there a pelvic muscle I'm not exercising? Am I less of a man if the strength of my stream rivals that of a little girl spitting milk out of a straw?

Oh, and the dude didn't wash his hands either. He didn't even fake it by turning on the water for a few seconds to give me, the guy in the stall, the illusion that fellow coworkers/toilet users aren't disgusting slobs. So as far as I'm concerned, there's pee all over the fax machine and conference table.

One more thing: I didn't eat lunch in the bathroom. I lied. Because lies make stories better. Face it, we'd all be much more entertained if we all lied to each other.