Page 4 of 8
Then he said WHUT I REALY SHOUD O'DONE WAS THREATEN TO UNIONIZE THERE SHOP. Or, he said, force the manager to dial in and write HIMSELF up.
As they got in the car granfather holared out to them screamin at the top of his lungs with the no-name brand Cheeze Wiz nozzel cletched tight in his teeth, DID I TELLA WALTER'S A BEDWETTOR? TELL 'EM ALL AT WORK. I imagine this was granfathers way of tellin us all that he plays no favoreites: He hates all humanity equaly. Mean bastord. Its amazing how much more louder than normol granfathers screams are when that cardbord animal collor is atached around his neck. They called back to him "Yeah everyone knows."
He then abbruptly wheeled off back to his room muttering hed better get back onthe web before it logged him off cause he wanted to do a Hotbot search of 'FART' and you know how many danm refernces there are, especialy thanks to META tags.
But the latest mission is his fixation on makin the Guiness Book of Records, for somthing, ANYTHING. Hes alredy selected his catagory of expertise: human gas, from either end. He dicovored that pressurized cans of Cheeze Wizz help him most with his 'research' plus doesnt constopate him as does regulor hard cheese.
And not only that the soft cheese product itself has a large amuount of air pumped into it. So that whan he swalloews the cheese he also swalows enough air along with it to let him practice his best belching.
The gooey string curls into a circle onto his broad flat scaly tounge, becoming a disk, then a pyramid as it grows, and acumulates into a fist-sized lump which slides into his throat in peristaltic movements, steadily, his Adams apple bobbing gentley, the massive globule of procesed cheese food undulating wavelike and downward in a visible traveling bulge, clearly discernable thru the leathery skin of his unhumanley long skinny neck, just as a frightened thrashing piglet is moved by greedy muscular action along the inside lenghth of the snake who just swallowed it...
I CAIN'T TELL YUH HOW , AN' I CAIN'T TELL YUH WHEN ...BUT GIUNNESS FRIGGIN' BOOK OF RECORDS HERE I COME.
I think the scairiest part abbout Granfather is this: The mere fact that he sets goals. When so many of us do not.
I hop you dont mind when i wax poettic, like I just did above. I want people to tak me serriously as a good author. And a Intornet industsry Spokesman and pundit. Also i have problems with aceptance and a conpulsive need to have people pay atention to me.
It geuss it all boils down to this: I want people to like me. Well OK most people DO, but danmit i admit it at least.
The ritual of reconsciliation consisted of one last very loud fihgt on speakerphone that lasted 3 hours. At the end of the call they were oficialy reunited. Two times durin the call she had to hold while I hauled him to the can. During one of the breaks, when logs were dropping and the speaker was off, grampy pulls this cheap keychain out of his pocket an wags it in my face. It was the kind with the button on it that played sound efects. The keychain played 4 phrases over and ovor, and i forget them all but 2 of them were: "Of COURSE I love you" and anothor was: "Your so PRE-E-EETTY."
He held the button down with his grimy thumb & played it about 17 times and he confodentialy whispers: TAKE IT FROM YER OLD GRANPY: THIS HERE'S THE SECRET TO WIMMIN, BOY. Back at the kitchon table, the speakerphone conversation ended with him cryin and weeping--atcually just pretending to do so, as all the while he played Sonic on his handheld Game Boy, his mind completely detatched. Each time he mumboled off 'YOUR SO PRETY' or 'OF CUORSE I LOVE YOU' he glanced at me and winked one of his yellow eyes. Not only are the irisis or his eyes bright yelloew, he has these reptilian snakelike pupils which are long, verticol, diamand-shaped, (and I swear) blood red colored.
As soon as he hung up the tears stopped. Granfather can turn his emotoins on and off (much like the Clapper), and also like one of those phone sex ladies I saw in a documentory once who file there nails & do crosword puzzles all the while yakkin it up with some lonely stooge at the othor end. The old beast thretened if i ever told his old hoe how phony his repentence was hed give me, in his words, "a corn syrop enema" and then tie my ass to a fire ant hill. He also threatoned to peel me like a artochoke while i was still alive, dry the peices of me in the yard and then sell it all to the Little Friskeis company for $1.99 a pound.
The evil old bastord has an elaborrately cruel sence of humor. And most of it you will notice is directed at ME.