Walter Miller's Homepage

Enjoy it while its still free

The Big Triple Update for May-June-July 2000

Page 9 of 26

I tell all at lunch

With Cathyann's voice booming joyfuly from the othor side of the cafeteria Tilde started petting my arm like she always does, and whined, "What's wrong, dear?" I told her and Stu about all my problems. Yes, I am a big child. Anothor sign of my selfishness is that whenevor I get together with freinds, all it seems we talk about is my problems. Mabye thats why I have so few freinds.

I started to spill out everything: the danm Hercules team, Granfather bein such a pain in the ass about the cartoon project, the lawsuits with Granfather's brothers, and finaly the psycho biker chick who thinks she owns me.

Within minutes Cathyann came ovor to our small four-person table. She planted her ample hams in the cheap, hard plastic empty seat and flopped down onto it with a loud wheezy grunt.

"How y'all doin'?," she drawled.

Well, we didnt want to exclude her. I dont realy mind her hearing about my problems. In fact, other than Junior, Cathyann is actualy my oldest freind in Texas. She used to babysit for me and my brother when me and him came in from California where we lived to spend summers with the old basterd.

I told Stu and Tilde about how the Hercules group said mean things to me today. Cathyann kept interupting.

"I know that little bitch Petra," said Cathyann. "Want me to start a cat fight with her after work? Bwah-HAHAHAHAHA!" she laughed till her face was all rosy and moist. I am sure she did not know Petra. She was ovbiously drinking.

We treid to ignore her

I know that Cathyann just wanted to fit in. Finaly, I got to the part about how the danm biker chick came by my job today. Stu piped up and said, "Whoa, that's pretty sick, Walt."

I explained how this situaton has no solution: There is no way I can dump her without insulting her. I coud tell that the pshyco biker chick had a poor self image--not as bad as mine perhaps, but being the type of person she is, she woud be devastated if I broke up with her. And clearly take it out on my frightened ass.

"I have an idea," said Stu. "Get her to dump you. Here's how: Why dont you go to HER house, and start a scene?"

I asked, "What do you mean?"

Stu told me I ought to give her a taste of her own medocine: "You know; give her an old fashionned Texas song and dance."

I did not know what he was talking about. Cathyann jumped in.

"You sit in front her danm house and ring, ring ring, that ol' redneck doorbell! Bwah-HAHAHAHAH!"

In case you dont know, the 'Redneck doorbell' is when you rudely press your car horn to call your date out of the house. Stu thoght this was a great idea. Stu always has the answor.

"Listen, Walt, here's what you do: Let her think you're obsessed with her. Show up at her house with a bottle of whisky in your hand. Honk your horn, yell, scream, tell her that you're in love with her," said Stu. "Then end it up by throwing rocks at the house, and then bash her car window with a baseball bat."

Tilde chirped up, "Oh my, That's a great idea!" -- and she wasnt kidding.

I said, "How the hell coud that be a good idea?"

Tilde explaned that if a man ever made a scene in front of her house, she woud surely break up with him -- but at the same time feel flattored -- and certainly hope that all her neighbors were watching the poor distraught man make a fool of himself over her.

"Walter," Stu said in his most serious sincear voice, "I've personally pulled the drunken suitor stunt twice, sucessfully. I'm not proud of it. But last year, I had one babe all over me like a barnacle. After my song and dance, her danm father came outside and threatened to rip me into 200 pounds of pulled pork barbecue."

Then Tilde put her head down and said forlornley, "Oh, if only a man felt that way about me!"

An unconfortable silent moment went by. It was sudenly broke by Cathyann saying extremely loud, "Know what folks? Us four is like the Seinfeld bunch! Wer'e just sittin here solvin' our love problems: Our problems with LOOOOVE!"
"BWAH-HAHHAHAHAH!", she laughed deeply like a big post menopausal walrus.

Then she grabbed my shouldor and Stu's too and shook us, and said, "Hey, whut: Lets all us four get together EVERY DAY for lunch, whut y'all say? Just like the Seinfeld bunch in thet thar coffee shop!"

I was extremly pissed when Stu and Tilde agreed to it.

Then Cathyann got up and left. It took her two or three wheezing grunting back-and-fourth rocking heaves to get the necesary momentum to lift herself. A loud peeling noise, like double-glued wallpaper being pulled hard off some fake wood paneling came from below as her moist dimply thighs unwillingly ungripped the formica chair surface.


Once pryed free, there revealed on the hard plastic seat was a big wet buttorfly shaped collection of perspiration vapor the size and shape of two large hands linked by their thumbs where her ass was. She called after us from down the hall as she tromped away toword the ladies room, "Say whut: Let's have a CONTEST! Remember 'The Contest' from Seinfeld? Bet Walter caves in first! BWAHAHAHAH!"

It was quite a scene when I got home

It was like a danm party was going on. The criptozooligists van was there. Parked next to it was the rentol car that Uncle Zeke drove in from the airport. Two police cruisors sat on the gravel apron near the picnic table. Granfather's odd little girlfreind's car was there, and so was a state Agriculturol Haz-Met truck. Hazmet as you know stands for Hazorduos Materials.

Madison, one of the criptos was standing outside having a screaming match with the State Aggie guy.

What they were arguing about

They were arguing about Granfather's scalp. The hazmet guy had a canister sprayor and wanted to soak the old basterd's head with it. In one hand he held a court order.

Granfather's scalp is a known breeding ground of harmful pests, and each year the state comes by to toast his head with a sprey of this milky mix of insectisides. Also there are gullies and crevices all over his skull which collect rainwater and as you know that is a breeding ground for mosquitoes.

"Why dont you just take the damn monster home with you!", Madison hollered. The Hazmet guy screamed back, "I dont want to take him home I just want to sprey his fraggin head!"

Madison, Ripke and Blankenship were against spraying him. They have come to study unexplained biophenomena, and without Granfather in his naturol habitat, (or, the habitat of inhumanity on his danm head), they will be out of funding money. Most of all, the Criptos claimed that the old basterd came under Federal, and NOT State jourisdiction.

Trying to avoid it all I went inside the house. There was more screamin going on in there.

Two sheriff deputies were reading Miranda rights to my Uncles, Granfathers two older brothors, whose names are Uncle William and Uncle Zeke. Uncle Zeke who must be abuot six foot eight cannot stand upright in our low ceiling trailor.

Anyway Zeke must of put up a fight becuase his big skinny Lyle Lovett-like chest was sprawled out on the cofee table as the deputy grabbed and restrained his huge swinging arms.

"I AIN'T DONE NUFFIN' WRONG!", Uncle Zeke bellowed as the deputy locked his giant hairy wrists into a pair of handcuffs. Zeke looked up at me sadly, and probly somwhat humiliated too. This is how I have to walk in on him. His eyes, by the way, face in opposite directions when you look straight at him.

Uncle Will was there too. But as you know he is too sickly to get cuffed.

Poor Uncle Will