Octopus.

As I ventured into the little boys room this lunchtime at work, I noticed a great deal of struggling and puffing coming from a cubicle. I watched in growing astonishment, a crowd of eager-to-relieve-themselves comrades gathering behind me. “Is he alright?” whispered one. “He might have got stuck,” commented another. Suddenly, the flush sounded, and the door swung open. Slowly, with huge difficulty, out came Richard, a colleague of mine and fanatical biker. He was in a one-piece leather biker outfit, the top half of which was dangling around his waist, the hollow arms flailing around like some sort of octopus. A full 30 seconds later, he managed to pull and tug his way out of the cubicle, and looked surprised to find the entire office trying to hide their amusement. “Well,” he said with comic understatement, “that was easier said than done.” He waddled out of the bathroom to fits of laughter, and fell straight over one of his octopus arms.