Unused Creepypasta - "An Alright Morning" (Patreon)

I wasn't 100% satisfied with this one

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 So there I was, still in my underwear, hair greasily sticking to my  forehead and mouth still tasting like a dog's ass as I groggily  microwaved a coffee mug of terrible, dollar store brand oatmeal - my  usual morning routine. No matter how well I feed myself, I always seem  to wake up too famished to so much as piss before shoveling the laziest  garbage I can down my throat.  

I am not a morning person.  I have never had a good morning. I have never even had an alright morning.

As usual, the oatmeal was cold, dry and chewy in some places,  scalding hot in others. Wolfing it down quickly enough evened out to a  forgettable but filling snack.  

I was just about halfway done when the doorbell rang.  

"Just a minute!" I called cheerfully in my mind. "Eeeennnngghhh"  I grumbled in reality, throwing on a bathrobe that for whatever reason  I'd left slightly damp on the kitchen counter from the previous  morning's shower.  

Do you ever have those dreams where you vividly wake up and go  about your day, oblivious to the fact that you're still asleep, only to  wake back up in bed and have to do it all over again?  

I was positive I'd found myself in that very scenario as I opened my front door, a huge, fuzzy brown shape standing on my porch.  

Literally fuzzy. A big, fuzzy figure like a stuffed animal or a puppet.  

I blinked repeatedly, by which I mean my eyelids made their best effort to physically discipline my eyeballs.  

I realized, or at least assumed, I was looking at someone in a  mascot costume. Maybe a sports bus overturned and he came to my door  looking for help. That was it. A sports bus is a thing, right? I don't  really know sports, so I also couldn't tell you what team the brown and  tan, buggy eyed pug dog in Groucho Marx disguise glasses was supposed to  represent.  

"Can I...help you?" I offered through a throatful of early-morning phlegm.  

"A most LOVELY morning to you, madame!" said the figure in a Snagglepuss-like voice, far too clear to be coming from inside a suit, "but  I was strolling my usual LOVELY morning stroll, just an ordinary,  ever-so-hUnGry human being as you can PLAINLY see, when my SUH-niffer  caught sniff of a whiff of NONE OTHER than Deeee-lectable Dollar Days Vitamin Enriched Instant Oatmeal-Flavored Grain Mix!"  

That was, at least, the spiel as I remember it. At the time, it  may as well have been a continuous, high-pitched whining sound to my  morning headache. This was, obviously, some sort of viral marketing  prank, and it was not amusing at six a.m. on a work day.  

"I'm, uh, busy, sorry" I muttered as I closed the door.  

I returned to my now rapidly congealing oatmeal mug, my brain  taking its sweet time to wonder how in the world this...person?...knew  exactly what I'd been eating when the doorbell rang again.  

I knew who it would be, but curiosity was beginning to win its  slurred, rambling argument with irritation, and I answered the door  again like the rube that I was.  

The dog no longer wore a pair of groucho glasses, but a curly, grey wig, cat's eye glasses and a floral patterned dress, knitting or pretending to knit an unpleasant and lopsided looking sweater where it stood.

"HelllooooOOOooooo!!" it cooed in a terrible falsetto. "This  is your DEAR GRAND-MA-MAAAA!!! I'm soooOOooooo sorry to bother you,  dearie, but I seeEEEem to have run out of Dollar Days Vitamin Fortified  Instant Oatmeal-flavored Grain Mix!!! OH, what a simply DREADFUL  disaster!!! What a CALAMITY!!! I daresay I might FAINT without the  nutrient-enriched goodness of Dollar Da-"

"Gee, grandma" cutting him off with a tone as condescending as I  could muster, "that must be some pretty good oatmeal for you to just  un-cremate yourself and fly 5,000 miles across the country."  

"...............Yes." was the dog's awkward response.  

"Alright, what's the deal. Who are you really?"  

"Why, I told you! Don't you recognize your dear old gra-"

"No, seriously, cut the shit, who are you and what is this? I  have work in two hours and I need at least half of that just to convince  myself it's still worth keeping a roof over my head. Make this quick."  

The dog-thing refused to be honest with me. "YOUNG DEAREST HUMAN GRANDCHILD, THAT IS NOOOOOoooOOOO WAAAAAY TO TALK TO YOUR-"

I slammed the door. Curiosity be damned - it was just too early for this.  

I returned to the kitchen and had just finished what was left of  my now very cold, slimy oatmeal in about two over-sized bites when the  doorbell rang again. Now thoroughly pissed, I stormed to the door, tore  it open and sharply inhaled, ready to unload my favorite expletives  at...  

...Nothing. No dog-man. Nothing on my porch.  

...Did a man dressed as a dog just ding-dong-ditch me???

A shattering of glass came from the kitchen.  

The window.

This wasn't just a joke.

Indeed, I returned to find a very big, creepy plush dog in the middle of  my kitchen floor, most of the window now either piled in the sink or  scattered around the bloated bastard as it poured the remainder of my  instant oatmeal down its gullet.  

I say "its" because I now had a clear view of the very real,  glistening tongue and pulsing throat within the floppy, felt mouth of  the "costume."  

"What the ABSOLUTE FUCK?!" I bellowed.  

"More!!! MORE!!! MORE OF THAT SWEET, SUMPTUOUS DOLLAR DAYS NUTRIENT ENRI-"  

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!" I roared.  

"NOT WITHOUT THAT SCRUM-DIDDLY-UMPTIOU-"

My face must have been red as a beet. "THERE ISN'T ANY MORE!!!" was my response, as though the bargain-bin gruel was even close to the most pressing issue at hand.  

The pug-thing kicked its fat legs as it rolled over on its bloated gut, hauling itself with an unpleasant wheezing to its feet.  

...It hadn't looked so much taller than me on the porch.  

The edges of the "mask" curled into what might have been an attempt at a smile.  

"I smell a liiiiiaaaaaarrrrrr" it sang. "A liar with a  soft, juicy tummy-tum just FULL of wholesome, oat-like goodness with  FOUR essential all-natural nutritive compounds!!"

We stood there, staring at each other, as my brain took its dangerously sweet time processing the thing's words.  

"...........what" was my turn at an awkwardly delayed reaction,  answered by the creature erupting to motion, diving straight forward and  slamming me to my own tile floor.  

The thing felt like a warm, hairy rubber bag, held in shape more  by whatever was so noisily sloshing inside than by a solid skeleton,  let alone a human occupant.  

"LEMME AT THAT OATMEEEEEAAALLLL!!!!" it howled in its Hanna-Barbera voice, pawing furiously for my stomach with its laughably useless, hairy mitten-hands.  

The beast's teeth, on the other hand, were considerably less  funny, an array of oversized, blocky molars snapping shut with an almost  thunderous cracking mere inches from my stomach. Only my flailing knees  and the thing's own merciful clumsiness were keeping my entrails on the  right side of my skin.  

I wish I could offer a more detailed play-by-play of our ensuing  battle, but your brain tends to check out when it's fighting for its  life against a logical impossibility. One moment, I had the thing pinned  under me, attempting to find something I could strangle in its  water-balloon neck. The next moment, were were playing tug-of-war with a  frying pan...until it came away from the thing's jaws with a perfect,  cartoon bite taken out of it. A pretty cool souvenir, in retrospect.  

Its screams grew increasingly frantic, increasingly threatening, even as it maintained its sing-song cartoon acting.   

Don't ask how I did it, but I  eventually found myself straddling the monster's back, one arm with its head in a pretty sweet lock as the other arm repeatedly slammed its skull - the  only apparent bone in its body - in the door of my otherwise long busted  and useless dishwasher, wailing the only words that could escape my  inferno of garbled rage.  

"IT'S..."  

*SLAM*  

"...JUST..."  

*SLAM*  

"...FUCKING..."  

*SLAM*  

"OATMEAAAAAAAAL!!!!"  

*SLAM*SLAM*SLAM*SLAM*  

I continued for some time after the being ceased its struggling,  until its body grew limp and heavy in my grasp and a familiar,  dun-colored mush began to trickle, then freely pour from its throat.  

Following a miniature eternity of catching my breath, I did what  came naturally with an unknown, improbable monster bleeding oatmeal all  over my floor.  

I picked myself up, brushed myself off, and took a nice, hot shower.  

I was feeling exceptionally good by the time I had toweled off.  Slaying some sort of demon before you've even gotten dressed for the day  is surprisingly invigorating, and who knows what a decent scientific  institution might pay for the mistake of nature oozing all over my  linoleum. Maybe I'd go viral. Maybe there were movie deals in my future.  Maybe I wouldn't even have work retail anymore.  

Maybe, just maybe, mornings weren't really so bad after all.

......So there I was, dressed, washed, fresh and energized for what felt like the first time in millenia as I prepared a real, actual lunch for myself. No Dollar Menu today. I deserved to take better care of myself.

I was almost at the door when I heard the unfamiliar new voice drift through my shattered kitchen window. A soggy, bubbling kind of voice.

"Guhhhh-REAT GOOGLE GOGGLE!! CAN IT BE!?!!! CAN IT TRULY BE THE MOUTH-WATERING FUHHHH-RAGRANCE OF A SANDWICH MADE WITH BARGAIN SHACK'S AMERICAN SELECT PORPOISE-FREE TUNA FISH IN REAL ORGANIC 40% VE-GGIE-TA-BLE OIL!?!?" 

Suddenly, I remembered how much I detested afternoons.