Popped in to Second Floor Men's Room this afternoon to conduct some sit-down business. Made my way to the penthouse stall...and was confronted with an all-too familiar scene: a paper seat cover, sticking up out of a bowl full o' the yellow stuff, leering at me like an outstretched paper tongue.
Perpetrator, I have a hard time wrapping my brain around your psychology.
First, as evidence suggests, you sat down to conduct non-sit-down business. That's not a crime; we've all had the experience of warming up the kitchen appliances, thinking it was time to make pasta and then discovering that it was really more of a SodaStream afternoon.
And you're clearly not a barbarian since you used a seat cover.
So why would you stand, scoot the backside of your seat cover into your consommé, and then walk out without a flush?
The .08 seconds that a flush requires is a small way of saying, "I don't hate the poor sap who may wander in after me."
Why do you hate me? Why do you hate all of us? Do you need a hug?
Stick that paper tongue back into the mouth of hell and flush...so that the foul mouth swallows the tongue and...
OK, so the analogy breaks down at some point. Just flush next time, will ya?