A classic ass drunk tale, and pretty funny stuff, so here is the story: Back in the west, when bars first had overhead fans installed to cool the customers. A man rushed in, swinging the doors, rushing to the bartender, and said he was desperate for a dump and where was the 'convenience'. 'It's upstairs, second door on the right', replied the man behind the counter.
So the man rushed upstairs but, in his haste, opened the door on the left instead, which was a completely dark room. It was too late for him to search, so he undid his trousers, spotted a knot-hole in the wooden floor, through which some light shone, and relieved himself.
When he went back downstairs, the place was in chaos: chairs and tables overturned, cards scattered, several bodies on the floor, the large mirror behind the bar smashed… he went over to one of the bodies, which was twitching, and leaned over. 'What happened?'
So now we know! I feel better. I hope you do too; now, every time someone says, "The shit has hit the fan, my visual will be some drunk guy upstairs from a bar who can't find the can, so her poops through the hole on the floor!
