Adventures seeing Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End

I was thinking of writing a review for this movie, but one of the criterion for writing a review is for the reviewer to see the whole movie. As luck would have it I missed a little over an hour and a half of it; I pretty much missed the whole middle of the movie. Here's what happened. On the way to see the movie I drank an entire can of Monster energy drink as to help stay awake for this three hour endurance test. At the theater I drank a large, fat-assed size Nestea while we were waiting for the adverstising propoganda to cease and for the actual movie to start. About a half hour into the flick I developed an increasing bladder pressure that was causing undesirable stomach pains. I had to piss, and I had to do it fast. I got up from my seat and made that awkward stumbling-trip-walk around the other viewers seated next to me and B-lined straight for the bathroom. Great, I made it to the stall without urinating in my own pants. I did my business and everything seemed to be going fine. In minutes I would be back to watching Jack Sparrow licking crab-rocks. Exciting. Well, as I started to zip my pants up I made a cursory glance at my zipper area. I had completely and fully soiled myself. My pants were piss-soaked in the crotch and there was a fine little tributary running the full length of my right pant leg all the way to my shoe. What the hell did I just do?? Did I not pull my shaft all the way out as to not obstruct the urinal flow?? Needless to say I'm soaked with piss and fuming profusely at the mouth. Now I'm trapped in a fucking stall and I have to dry myself somehow. So I started ripping out wads of toilet paper to try and soak up this yellowey disgust that was staining my pants and my soul. After 20 minutes of that I remembered I had a lighter in my pocket. Thank the Gods for portable fire. I quickly dispatched the lighter to my crotch and went to town. Yes, I was burning my own pants in an attempt to dry them off. And let me tell you, burning pants fumes with a sublte hint of wiz does not make for a pleasant aroma when you're trapped in a bathroom stall. So FINALLY, after much effort, my pants were dry enough so I could venture back out into society. But wait, I still smell like a septic tank. I wasn't too keen on the idea of going back into the crowd of movie-goers smelling like pee and pants burning. I racked my brain violently for a quick aroma solution. Yes! There was a grape flavored cigar in my car! I ran out to the parking lot with the haste of a fat kid being called to a Twinkie. Now I'm in the parking lot and I'm sitting on the ground Indian style, blowing grape cigar smoke into the crotch of my pants to mask the smell of my lavatory mistake. Great, finally done with that, and there's still 30 minutes of movie left. Maybe I can piece together what happened for a semi-satisfactory conclusion. I ran back inside only to find a roadblock to the movie hall in the form of the guard not letting me back into the show. That's right, I left the other half of my ticket stub in the cupholder of my seat, and this ogre won't let me back in. So now I have to go back to the counter and by ANOTHER ticket just to see the last 25 minutes of the show. At least the ending was decent enough, there was plenty of action to keep me entertained and Will Turner is now essentially the new Davy Jones, commander of the Flying Dutchman. *SPOILER ALERT* Forget that last sentence. That's my harrowing tale from the theater. Next time I'm bringing a suitcase with a full change of clothes.