"Laughter has its source in some kind of meanness or deformity."-- Cicero
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Now, a doctor bringing a patient some helpful litterature: I have no problom with that. It fact, "Why Do I Have Gas?" is a nice booklet. It is one of these friendly, touchy-feely pamphlets, which projects a happy One World, It-Takes-A-Village hominess abbout it.
The front covor features pictures of five or six people, with great care given to representing all races, nationalities, and age groups, lest the Govorment face the accusation that they are reppresenting one segment of society as being particulorly more gassy than anothor.
The cover of "Why Do I Have Gas?" was also that neutral, institutionol purple color, which i assume is the unwritten internationol color for bowel problems, much like the whole world uses green or orange for de-caf coffee, while no one knows why.
This is all we need: Govorment sponcered encouragement for Granfather's behavior.
"HELL, I'LL GO THRU 23 FARTS JEST WAITIN' FER THE COOL-SITE-OF-THE-DAY TO LOAD UP," muttered the curious beast as he flipped thruogh the sparse booklet.
It was an old ancient white magnatized board that was in one of our barns forever. Granfather says he boght it from a big company's office furnitture sale, mabye T.I. or Dell or Compacq about 10 years ago. I woudnt be supprized if the old bastord snuck in late one night and pulled it out of a dumpstor.
The magnet board was covored with cobwebs and bird crap. On Tuesday, after coming home from my one day in the office at work, i saw Junior hurriedly leaving, and as he passed me driving in, he stopped his truck and told me that Granfather paid him $35 to haul it out of the shed and and attach it on the wall in MY ROOM, and he is sorry for the shoddey job but he did it exactley the way Granfather told him too, and all the while he was screamming and hollering at poor Junior and spittin tobaco juice on the back of his fat neck as he worked.
Inside the house the huge "Fart Chart" is secured with giant masonry bolts to the flimsey alunimum trailer wall.
There must be 2 thousend little squares evenley ruled onto the chart which all reppresent different times, farts and "fart intensities" based on a scale of 1 to 10, as well as Granfathers schedulle of time and food items of consumption. I regret to say that he is enjoying his new project.
On every TV comercil break, Granfather gleefully wheels into my room with diferent color magic markers in his hands and teeth to fill in the latest of his chart and also to hapilly declaire, "WELL THEN! ONLY TEN MINUTES INTO 'GRACE UNDER FIRE' AND I'M ALREDY UP TO:
"...WHOOPS! SORRY, BOY: MAKE THAT TWO BIG ASS SMELLY OL' RAT-TAT-TAT-KABOOMS!
...FOUR SILENT-BUT DEADLIES... ...THREE TRUMPETING SWANS... ...TWO TOCCATAS-IN-B-MINOR... ...AND ONE BIG ASS SMELLY OL' RAT-TAT-TAT-KABOOM..."
Yes, Granfather alwayes saves somthin for MY room.
The ads run for 2 weeks, and so a second envellope was in the mailbox, and so I was able to grab it before the bastord did--and there were 2 more answors to my ad in there!!! Oh boy this was great--mabye I woud soon have a romantic life, and no more Valontines Days alone.
The doctor said, "I will NOT leave, unless you agree to counciling", and he kept pushing this list of locol counsilors into Granpy's face telling him he had to pick one.
Granfather finnally said OH, OKAY, I WILL DO IT, and then pointed to a name on the list. Of cource, it was the only womon counselor on the list. The doctor also said that he wanted Granfather to meet with the minister agian, because he felt that while he was only a medicol doctor, somthing like spirtuol guidance coudnt hurt. The bastord agreed to this too.
After the doctor left, I asked him why he sellected the woman's name from the list, and Granfather mumbled to me that if he had to look at some frightenned counselor squirming and jiggling on the couch in discomfort from looking at his ugliness, he'd rathor it be a womon counselor than a man one.
I got the messege. I was quiet.