Protip: If you have imbibed a bit too much of the spirits, and you pass out naked in bed, whereupon you suddenly realize you are about to lose control of your bowels and bladder like a veritable Vesuvius of feces…
… then the place to run is the bathroom. The. Bathroom.
Whatever happens, do not – I beg of you, do not – run around your apartment like the flight of the shit bumblebee, and then hasten to the farthest reaches of said apartment, hastily pulling on your clothes while you are still erupting.
If you do, expect that neither will I be sympathetic to your plight, nor the slightest bit inclined to help you clean up.
Then again, perhaps I’m expecting too much of someone who thinks it’s appropriate to call 911 when they have the tequila splatters.