This one is mostly for the ladies, I’m guessing. Without fail, if I’m traveling, running around town, or moving through my day where a public restroom crosses my path, I see drops on the pot. Why, why, why? Do you have a sprinkler head screwed to your urethra? Are you marking your territory in this shithole? Are you blind or just a pissant?
This wet peeve sends me over the edge. As I’m wiping down your golden shower and building a paper barrier between me and your pee spree, I imagine all sorts of retripootion, ranging from forcing you to hose down a Honey Bucket to punching your bladder in the face to an old-school swirlie. Wet blanket I may be, but damn if my seat ain’t neat.