It is quite a well-known fact that men hunt in packs, regardless of what the prey is – women, other men, chocolate or football boots. This intensely social nature of the male gender of humanity has often been contrasted with the repression of emotion concept. This was until someone said that only because of one did the other actually work at all. The person who pointed this out was a man called Theodore. Theodore Bog. He was born on 16th October 1860, six years later (to the day) than the great, Mr. Oscar Wilde.
Theodore shared many qualities with Him of The Great Wit. They both spurned sport on favour of more artistic pursuit despite big men, studied at the same college, both had older brothers, but the biggest similarity of all was that both of them were big fans of Oscar Wilde.
But when Theo had first come to Trinity College, he was as ignorant as a whale that finds itself with a bowl of petunias in the middle of space, falling towards a planet at high speeds. Yes, he was quite ignorant. It was actually at Oxford that he met many of his friends of later life as his childhood had been a sore disappointment socially. That was the downside of being good at the Classics. He spent many hours pondering the truth behind Beauty and the Art with these new friends. They would lie about the great rooms, waist coats off, wreathed in smoke, the piano played in the background and dissect Pater and Ruskin. Until, that is, the news began to spread about Oscar Wilde and his antics in London. Soon he was the only thing they could talk about. Every day the paper would carry a new epigram, spewed from the mouth of that greek god with a flippancy and nonchalance that captured their minds more than anyone else had ever done.
Theodore especially. Theodore would occasionally take a pen and write out his witticisms on various parts of his body and show them off during the time set aside for sport. He longed to travel to London and meet him personally but the opportunity never arose and Theodore was slightly intimidated. What could he possibly say to Oscar Wilde if he met him? What words could he utter from his own throat that would impress this genius? He spent hours locked in furious agony, simply thinking of how he would introduce himself if he ever met Oscar Wilde.
Curiously enough, as if often happening in real life, the mountain came to Mohammed, which isn’t probably the most suitable phrase to use as it is believed Mr. Wilde liked to be at the bottom. Theodore did not know this. Yet. One day, news arrived that Oscar Wilde was in Oxford again, he was with a student by the name of Lord Alfred Douglas and being entertained by a group of fellow students. Theodore couldn’t believe his ears. He raced away to find out if this was true. He spied Bosie, as that was Lord Alfred Douglas’ nickname and begged him to be allowed to meet Mr. Wilde.
Bosie said no.
Theodore punched him in the nose, kicked him in the nuts and threw him onto the ground before tearing away. Breathless, he finally came to where Oscar Wilde was. On the step of his carriage, just about to leave. Theodore frantically started pulling off his clothes. This managed to get Wilde’s attention. After his shirt off, Wilde could plainly see, as was Theo’s intention, some of his popular eruditions scrawled proudly on naked flesh. Flattered, he got down from the carriage where he was met by a bright red Theodore who could not remember his carefully constructed introduction and simply handed him a pen and pointed towards his right pectoral muscle. Wilde graciously acceded. Then, with a pat on the cheek, got into his carriage rode away.
Theodore Bog never washed again.
This could be why he died of disease a few years later.