A gold flamingo brooch is wound tightly around his thyroid, a gold watch is shining off his right wrist. But a cascading brook of achromatic saliva is running down his hairy chin. At first his clumsy circumambulation of this dimly lit room is aphonic but soon his larynx springs into action. Only it is producing sounds, not words.
“Ugh! Argh! Wooo!”.
His motion is similarly arbitrary and haphazard, an arm flays to and fro, a hand swings into a man’s drink, spilling it onto a mahogany floor. “Idiot!”, follow a flurry of shouts as his twitching limbs author a trail of ruin.
“Drunk out of his mind, I think.”
“What an animal!”
“Probably just got rich this past hour.”
“Gold! So crass.”
A pair of strong hands grab hold of him by his torso to try and sit him down, but to no avail. This intrusion only turns unwitting chaos into wilfull annihilation.
“Urgh!! Aaargh!!! Wooo!”
Food is bouncing off glass walls and vibrant fluids skim across iron trays and slabs of wood; slabs around which throngs of polish and charm sit awkwardly in shock, not knowing how to carry on in this onslought. Stylish garbs and chic outfits fall victim to his bumbling and bobbling.
“What a catastrophy!”
“This suit cost a lot you know.”
“You can’t buy dignity…”
“…and that fur is so immitation.”
A pair of strong hands grab hold of him again, with back-up on this occasion, gradually curtailing his passion for going walkabout. His limbs still twitch, his cranium still snaps to follow random sounds but most of his bulk now lays firmly in a chair, making him compliant from a languid sort of a calm that flows into him from this solid contact.
A spoon is quickly thrust into his paw and hot grub laid out in front of him.
“Urgh? Argh? Wooo?”
An inquiry, a lull and now loud, slurping, suckling sounds.
“Oh God. Kill us now.”
“I’m glad I’m not with him. How humiliating.”
“…no, not dignity.”
“This is why I’m against class mobility.”