In The Mind Of Madness

"Grunt. Grunt. Grunt..... Grunt?"
(excerpted from "Hotlanta Musings: The Collected Journals Of Ian Cross")

Day 4 of Andy Hale's outside sales rep training. He has come to live with me after I sent the wife and children to stay with their godparents in Zurich. Never have I awoken each morning with such feelings of dread and impending horror. Andy's behavior has been unspeakable. He eats with both hands, eschewing utensils and shoveling food in like a feral animal.

He has turned the bathtub into his personal litter box and insists on wearing loincloths around the house made from recycled hair gel labels. His speech patterns are incomprehensible at best. One grunt means hunger, two grunts means fear and three grunts means arousal of some sort. Four grunts roughly translates into, "The bathtub was so full of my waste, I made number two in your sock drawer."

He has insisted on watching the TV at all hours of the night, pawing the screen and grunting thrice every time Jimmy Fallon is on. Brittany has nervously, through smiling, gritted teeth chalked up these "instances" to nervousness but in all honesty, Andy is more animal than man. And yet, I see a glimmer of humanity in him and that one faint hope of transforming him into the greatest outside sales rep ever to roam the sandy climes of northern Florida is what drives me. But does it drive me to madness? Perhaps, as upon further inspection, I have written this entire entry upon the hood of a police car, IN BLOOD! (dum dum duuuuum)