First Impressions
When I first met him, he was barely a few hours removed from the local bar he uses to obliterate the few functioning brain cells he has left. He staggered toward me, like someone was leaning the room on him and began to collapse. He fell slowly thru the air, like a tree that was just chopped by a logger. He vomited on my trousers leg and mumbled something inhuman after he was done exploding the contents of many drinks. He then raised his face off the filthy floor of the bar and asked if I could be so kind as to lend him a silk handkerchief to wipe his mouth free of the chunky puke clinging to his chin & lips.
When I told him I did not carry such an item on my persons he snarled, like the savage he is, and said, "You're all dirty-minded' commies. Die!" His head gave way to extreme fatigue and slammed down on the dirty hard wood floor as I watched vomit trickle down the cuff of my trouser.
This was no ordinary scene.
This was no ordinary man.
He was my future son-in-law.