disastrophe

excerpt
About an hour later, I had an interminable pressure building. If you know what I mean. I scurried around looking for a bathroom, finally finding one in one of those big chain bookstores.
So I run in and discover, to my dismay, that the toilet seat is just covered with whiz. Disgusting. SO I wipe it off with a paper towel, and then I get another paper towel wet and wipe it down with that and then wipe it down with another dry one, and then I notice the puddle of whiz on the floor. I take some paper towels and rub them around on the floor with my foot until all the whiz is gone, and then I sit down.
At this point, I'm committed. My ass is on the seat. I'm settled in to read some of the graffitti on the wall.
Just then...
I notice the copy of "Feel the Heat VI-- Letters to Penthouse Magazine" next to me on the toilet paper dispenser.
And it's soiled. Yes. soiled.
I let out a high-pitched girlish scream and batted it to the floor.
Then I ran home and showered with steel wool.