I just need to get this out of my system...

Darren's Adventures with The Toilet:

2-ply Doom:
When I grew up, it was one-ply, all the time. Toilet paper is just one of those things my family can't justify paying more than the bare minimum for. Naturally I had developed very regimented habits — techniques rather — with respect to bathroom use, with a constant underlying assumption that it was 1-ply or no-ply.
So I was having a jam sesh with a drummer buddy of mine named Andrew at his house and nature calls. Now Andrew is an only child living with his single dad, so they have nice stuff when it comes general amenities. When there's only two of you, it makes sense to buy the softer, thicker TP, because you can usually get some good mileage out of it, roll to roll.
So he has 2-ply, and I treat it like 1-ply, meaning I use more of it to make sure my hand stays clean. In short, I clogged the shit out of that toilet.
Darren Hutz is not a man who is afraid of his own mess, so I grabbed the plunger and poof! problem solved, except that I was stuck wondering what to do with that poo-watery plunger. I just chucked it in the basement sink in the laundry room. Case closed! Or so I believed...
Before I continue this story, I should point out a few facts:
A) Andrew lives in a townhouse, so its generally narrow. The basement is only one room, so when I say 'laundry room, its really more like the 'laundry corner'
B) The basement is also the Jam-room, so to speak. Andrew's thousand dollar drums are down there, not far from the sink.
C) the washing machine empties into the sink.

So my elaborate plan was to remove the plunger from the sink and put it back where it belongs once it was sure not to drip my poo juice all over the place. I, of course, forgot to do so.
The next day Andrew informed me that I had left the plunger directly over the drain of the sink, somebody did laundry and flooded the basement. Apparently the puddle was mere inches away from poo-juicing Andrew's prized drums.

2) Hark, what piss through yonder urinal leaks?
Every year my high school did a trip to Stratford for play watching and whatnot. On the trip one year, after watching some great shakespeare (damnit I love shakespeare), I walked past all the well dressed wealthy-looking people eating haagen daaz to the bathroom to take a wizz. The bathroom was pretty crowded, apparently I wasn't the only one who drank a litre of ginger ale at second intermission. Now it was a guys washroom, so obviously there was no line, but it was close to needing one.
I pulled up to the urinal stall and was pleased to find a little maroon divider on either side of me, isolating me from neigbours quite nicely. I embraced the sense of security the divider granted and spreak my feet out, taking full advantage of the space.
As I'm enjoying the fanciness of it all, someone steps up beside me and I detect a sequence of three distinct sensations. 1) hear zip 2) feel splash 3) hear splash in urinal.
My first reaction was utter shock. My head that was tilted down, in a resting position, suddenly jolted up, staring straight forward, eyes wide. My body tensed up in consumate disgust. He had miss-fired out of the gate, right onto my naked sandled toes.
The guy corrected himself, finished, zipped up and left before I managed to regain my composure and become enraged. It was too late though, he was gone, and I had no face to punch.
Seriously though, what the fuck do you do when someone pisses on your foot? Beware the divider, I thought I was safe...