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They also said I did NOT LOOK VERY BUSY. And I said ITS 12:15 IM ON LUNCH. Just then Granfather wheels in.
I dont remembor the exact words but granfather said to the guy somthin like if he so much as peeked in his room hed chop up him and the managor too into litle peices and bury them allover the yard except his liver which hed eat with white wine and fava beans. He also said he woud push there car in the canyon and no one woud ever find them. Then still growling, Granfather made up some story that he was stranded on a desert islond in the war and they had to eat the dead to survive and then a week lator they ran out of matches and had to eat the bodies raw and how he especialy has a hankerin latley for GEEK FLESH. He made that evil frowning grin and by now the guy had covored his face weeping and shakkin all over and the old bastord shot thru a tiny hole betwean his 2 front teeth a very strong stream of brown tobaco juice right in the guys ear, and when it hit, you heard this loud frothey splashey noise like when your at the very top of filling up a skinny bottle in the sink when the tap is turned on high and the wator starts to bubble out and over it; the same noise when you point a gardon hose at a dixie cup. Except for him the sound must of ben much more loudor cause it was right in his ear. Granpa's venom dribled down his cheek and neck and shouldor and collor and fully sotted and soaked his doubleknit company logo polo shirt.
The managor looked pissed. He had a few stern words for Granfather. The other guys sopping clothes clung to him so close you coud see right thru the fabric his ribs which heaved and spasomed from shame and more weeping. Granfather took the Wired magazine that was in his lap and gently fluffed up toword the managers face somthing quite rancid and gassy that we usedto call in junoir highschool a 'Silent-But-Deadley' and told him if they dared fire me he woud sue them both, even if he had to make up a charge like acuse them of theft or sexaul harasment. The 2 guys got the hell out of there.
Before he left the managor said to me Walter, theres no employee evor in history whos ass ever hung onto his job from a thinnor thread than yours does rihgt now. Granfather narowwed his eyes and said in his low whistley growl that if they both didnt get off his land by the time he counted to ONE, that before they coud blink, hed be out of the wheelchair with his teeth deeply sunk and permanentley ensconsced into the manager's testocles for life. FOR LIFE!! he screamed, withuot any hope of surgical removal, willing even to pay the price ovor the next 20 years, and that he woud be able to set his jaw and teeth in an irreversibly and just bareley too-tight ossified rictus.
Granfather explained in detailed scientiffic terms that, once he atached himself, any atempt to pry him off or give him anasstesia woud cause him to bite down hard, and that even if the cops shot him with an animol dart from behind hed have one split second enuogh to squash his balls. He said hed never let go of his nuts but woud follow him around durin all the rest of his living days' travels even if he had to drag himself along underneath and behind, squatted down in a shallow fruit crate with rolling castors on the bottom, and having to take nuorishment thru a straw in his nose.
A position, granfather ellaborated, which would ensure for the poor, curently ovorpaid computer profesional, no future job oportunity othor than to be one part of a two-man sideshow atraction next to the dancing bears in a cash-strapped amateur circus in one of the former Soveit republics.
AIN'T IT A PURTY PICTURE I PAINT? he said to me aftor they left.