Be kind to our web-footed friends

When I'm not scaling the outside of luxury high-rises by night, I work in a small office building. As I've shared before, this building has communal restroom facilities. Today as I was finishing my raccoon-like ablutions, a gentlemen came in and entered one of the stalls. Nothing unusual so far, but within a few seconds of the stall door closing, the thrilling (if somewhat tinny) sounds of John Phillip Souza's "The Washington Post" came from behind the door. I had never considered the possibility of a soundtrack to accompany the lowering of my trousers, but I'm sorely tempted now. More along the lines of "Danger! High Voltage", though.

Alan wants to know about those kids starting fires