The Alcoholocaust

He awoke with a jump, startled to find himself on a grimy couch in a strange and rustic room. A purple shag rug covered the floor. A small T.V. hissed with static from the corner where it laid on its side.

“Why is this couch moist?” He slurred while checking to make sure he hadn’t wet himself.

He staggered to his feet and squinted around to get his bearings and formulate a plan of action. The pungent sweet smell of marijuana and bacon wafted from down a shadowy hallway. He struggled his way down the hallway and into the filthiest bathroom known to man.

A high pitch yipping drew his attention downward to the toilet where a rather flustered Daschund attempted to climb out of the bowl.

“What fresh hell is this?” he puzzled as he raised the terrified pup from his brown stained torment. He paused briefly from his musing to vomit in the bathtub. Placing the dog back in the toilet, he scurried back to the couch.

“Where the fucks are my shoes?” He uttered in horror as he stepped toward the door.

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