The Dinghy

The Dinghy

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Sunday, May 04, 2003
 
This morning I discovered, upon my sleeping board--nay, on my very pillow--none other than (blanch not) a human head. Its skin was of a hideous pallorousness akin to the colouring of a Kinh Do spring roll. The pate of this disgustingly bulbous protuberance was mostly bare, but for a few grimy tresses clinging tenuously to the epidermal layerings. No signs of immediate violence were apparent, though, at a mere glance, the ghastliness of its visage seemed to suggest a life of extreme hardship.

Upon this discovery, in shock, awe and horror, I bravely advanced to the rear, shrieking wildly at a pitch in the upper register, so as to annoy and/or frighten potential hulking lurkers, and to draw them off the trail of my defenseless dog, Barfy. Leading them with my screams, gesticulating wildly (to create fear and confusion) and urinating all over the room (I have heard this is offensive to predators in the wild), I bivouacked in the bathroom (please, no double entendres here, the situation was dire), locking the door behind me.

Unfortunately, little Barfy was not fleet enough a-foot to slip in before the door closed and, horror of horrors, the lock seemed to be, at this ill-timed hour, jammed. (As far as I could tell.) Knob locked securely at my back, I then attempted for several hours to catch my breath.

For nearly half a day I bided my time, arming myself to the teeth with the common bathroom implements which might serve me in this time of violent need. Then, inside an impregnable shell of unbreakable combs, I burst from the bathroom and sprang into the bedroom.

Nothing. The room was quite empty. Upon the pillow, though, a lock of hair from that hideously invasive apparition had been left.

As I then sank to rest on my prodigious haunches, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror that was propped upon the nightstand. The morning's fright, I fear, had taken much of my life-force, as the colour of my own skin was enough to make even brave hearts falter. The stress, I guess, had also made fall a tress or two from my gleaming, sweat-soaked cranium.

Disgusted, disturbed and bewildered, I shrugged off the physical effects of this most trying morning, and looked for further sign of the head's whereabouts. There were none.

I have resolved to, in preparation for further events of this nature, watch a television program re: Home Invasions, on the LifeTime channel.

THANK YOU AND GOODBYE FOREVER.

That is all.


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