Your Attention Please.

Last night, I dreamt that I was attending a big banquet and I had to urinate and the only toilet was up on a stage in front of everyone. I had no choice. And I was emboldened by my indignation at the facility's sparse accommodations. So I unzipped my pants, pulled out my pecker, and laid down on the toilet bowl so that I was slumped across it like an unconscious prisoner thrown over the back of a horse. I then stared peevishly at the crowd as I relieved myself. The clatter of crystal stemware and the din of conversation waned, everyone smiled politely in the gentle sepia glow of chandelier light and looked on attentively as if I were delivering a brief speech or making an announcement. With my cheek smashed against the floor of the stage, I looked at them, rolled my eyes, and said: "Christ! Can't a fellow have any privacy?!"