A Special Treat

I came across these photos earlier. They were taken from my work colleague's phone. The pictures tell the story of a couple of weekends ago when Steven Paul Allen invited himself round to the house of Rob, the work colleague. Who knows what ungodly hour it must have been. The tale goes that Steve had some friends, including Rob, back to his abode. When they left, he followed them home with some alcohol. They didn't know he was following them until they heard a knock at the door, shortly after returning home. Steve was wearing his pyjamas, a dressing gown, a jacket and his favourite Homer Simpson slippers. These pictures were taken at around 8am from what we can figure out.

Now, answer me this: Would you even consider letting this miscreant into your house? He quite clearly smells of old whiskey and worn bedclothes. Seriously, just look at that unkempt mop of hair atop his forehead. It looks like someone soaked his hair in chip fat and hung him out to dry. You can see the events of the previous 12 hours, just by looking in his eyes. This is an absolutely brilliant picture.

Some bright spark has seen fit to arm him with a cigarette. This can only spell disaster, as he will invariably singe a hole in his clothing or burn his eye out. This is not advised, as Steve always goes weird when he smokes a cigarette. Once I pleaded with him: "Steve, please don't go weird. Stop it, you're doing it now. You're going weird aren't you?", it was really unpleasant as he laughed in my face and made a bizarre crying noise. This is usually followed by the old trick of talking with his eyes closed. This is not necessarily a bad thing, because it helps to obscure his hideously red eyes.

In the above photo, he seems to be doing one of two things:

1) Wrestling with the carrier bag filled with alcohol, possibly shouting obscenities at the bag and anyone who makes the mistake of making eye contact;
2) Breaking out an early morning version of "The Robot".

This is the worst part of his departure. This is the point where it could go either way; he could leave and allow you to go to sleep, or he could waltz back up the driveway and force his way back in so that he can drink his alcohol out of an unwashed mug that's been left next to the sink to fester. In this photo he is actually standing in the road. I sometimes have nightmares about him jumping out in front of me in this state when I am driving. What scares me most is that I don't think I would want to stop.

Still in the road, and still the nightmares prevail. It seems as though he is actually leaving, but we just can't be sure that he didn't storm back up to the house right after this picture was taken. I can imagine him doing this, frog marching back into the building and demanding that you engage in a game of Trivial Pursuit. From here that carrier bag could well and truly contain your soul, or maybe something that belongs to you. Like an ashtray or something.

So that is Steven Paul Allen, the morning after the night before. What a special treat for all you readers.