Memoirs of Drunken Dementia


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A Rip Roaring Laugh-Out-Loud Comedy About Drunken Debauchery and Vagrancy with A Dash of Mental Illness

By James McLaughlin

ISBN: 978-1-78382-205-8
Published: 2015
Pages: 217
Key Themes: Mental Health, Mental Illness, Alcoholism, Comedy


A Rip Roaring Laugh-Out-Loud Comedy About Drunken Debauchery and Vagrancy with A Dash of Mental Illness.

Memoirs of Drunken Dementia is a journey of one man’s drunken memories over the years that he has suffered with his mental illness whilst attempting to survive in a society that does not recognise mental health issues.

There are a number of tales and recounts some clearly fabricated to the extreme in order to extract as much humour from this otherwise marginalised individuals situation.

About the Author

I have been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia for many years and I am on a high strength dosage of medication in order to manage this.

I hear voices that tell me to do things and I struggle with this. I feel overly judged, watched and in turn enormous pressure to function in social settings. My paranoia is such that I believe I am the focus of people’s unwanted attention in public, I tend to avoid busy places and don’t go to any mainstream community activities like the cinema, it would be overwhelming for me and it would impact heavily on my mental health. Sometimes I am fearful to even leave the house.

Over the years my mental health has been up and down but since as long as I can remember I’ve never been fully right and periods of mental health related incarceration has in my view only served to compound it.

Book Extract

It was a quiet night in the Golden Pheasant when we first met. I was standing at the bar sipping my pint when it suddenly turned dark. Turning around she stood before me, bigger that a double decker bus, broader than a double decker bus and resembling a Sumo Wrestler in drag, only much less appealing.

Anyway, as the night wore on and the beer eased down she seemed to lose weight by the pint, a kind-of liquid diet of sorts.

Then, at the end of the evening, she gently tucked me under her armpit and carried me home, a cheaper but far less comfortable ride than a taxi.

Upon awakening the following morning the initial thrill of feeling an actual living body other than mine in my bed soon dissipated as memories came flooding back.

I couldn’t remember if we had actually done the dirty deed but the human mind has been known to blank out memories to gross or upsetting from its consciousness. The only thing I could really say with any certainty was that she was there, larger than life and in my bed.

Before her I’d only had sex four hundred and fifty times prior. But what a night that was. I was with a girl affectionately known as the hover, because of her ability to suck, blow and pick up anything.

After returning from my reminiscing I turned and looked at her big fat face and it took a tremendous physical effort to prevent me from pucking all over her.

Then my mind turned to thoughts of dirty old men who go through sex change operations just to prey on desperate middle-aged men such as I, but a second glance reassured me that no man I know could live with being that ugly.

It was then that I began plotting on how best to get rid of her. I could allow her to awake to find me sobbing mournfully then confess that our night of passion could have serious repercussions on my application to the priesthood.

Or I could boldly tell her I was a heartless philanderer who changed his woman as often as he changed his socks which, to be honest, wasn’t that often.

Weighing up both options and considering her build and my bottle I concluded that the later wasn’t a viable alternative.

Eventually she awoke and smiled that repulsive smile of hers and once again it took a tremendous physical effort to prevent me from vomiting all over her. Swinging her massive frame upright and unfurling layer upon layer of flab, she sat bare arsed on my bed with what looked like a gorilla hanging from each armpit.

Then she stood, stretched and began plodding across the room. Quick as a flash I sprung into action, leaping to close the curtains incase some unfortunate glanced in the window and be put of sex for life.

When I turned around she was wrestling herself into a pair of giant black knickers, looking like Dumbo in diapers.


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