This story is told up round Pickwick Lake area in Tennessee:
A man is in the bar of the marina clubhouse, a little too many drinks.
"Shay, bartender, whish way is the mens' room?" he asks.
"Down the hall, second door to the left," replies the barkeep.
So the man weaves his way down the hall, second door to the right, and goes in. In the darkness, he crosses the dock, steps off, splashes in and begins thrashing around. Hearing the commotion, the bartender knows what has happened. He rushes down the hall and throws open the door and hears the thrashing waters.
"Please mister," pleads the drunk, "don't flush it!"
