Remembering a Dogga

So I spewed on the weekend and broke a five year drought, and instead of any regrets I might of had it gave me some inspiration to write about the last time I saw such a sight. A story about a man that would raise the hairs on the back of anyone's neck...

....Dogga

Whether retardation or inebriation, (who could tell?) he was of the most unpleasant appearance, scrofulous, and sickly of color, with a gross facial deformity that looked to be the result of some terrible accident rather than of a congenital disorder. His limbs almost rent from his body and his dark face crushed as though by some fearsome blow. Broken teeth protruded from mangled welter of stretched skin and gore, and a single blood shot eye stared wildly from the ruin. He made no answer to our greetings, but his mouthings and the guttural sounds he emitted made it plain that he did not possess the power of speech.

My companions and I immediately considered that Fist was an extremely charitable person to have such an acquaintance...

Fumbling about over a bottle of red wine, I guessed that he was after the precious contents that resided within what with the attempts to open the receptacle with both his teeth and an ill made Stanley knife. Trying to persuade him to use a true bottle opener proved to be a lengthy procedure due to his dumbness, but thankfully by dint of careful questioning and explicit gestures we communicated after a fashion. Finally after several attempts, and with me losing my patience, we opened the damn thing for him. After which he grasped it out of my hand with unearthly speed and consumed its contents with bestial haste watching myself and my friends all the while as though afraid we would turn on him. Poor fellow, we must have seemed like gods to his mindless perception.

Anyway, I should have taken this as a bad omen, for upon returning after a great night out with the lads and many frosty brews later, we were faced with one of the more horrible sights I've ever seen. We opened the door and were knocked to the ground as though hit by a run away freight train. An unpleasant scent of suppuration, festered sickening odor of rotting flesh and filth floated slowly throughout. The next scene was an unforgettable one. Spread out upon the assembled futon, was a scarce resemblance of a human being passed out on his face, lying there, suffocating in his own shit....breathing in and out slowly forming a small pool of bubbles around the vomit seeping in and out of his mouth and nostrils. Chunks of indeterminable partially digested product lay about as the morning sun gave a greater meaning to the idea of warmed up leftovers.

In response our emotions raced from laughter, to sadness, to anger, because coupled with the calamity was the fact that our first house inspection was on the cards that very next week. Fortunately the mess was cleaned, apart from a few rough patches here and there, namely on the aforementioned futon (watch where you sit kiddies).

And so the adventures continue for Debsie and Fist in this pad made fit for kings. Stay tuned next week for a tale of a Dogga part two.