Yesterday's hottest web technollogy...coming to you today!Try to prettend its not October and this is instead
Page 4 of 4 of Update 2 of 2
Did i happan to mention that it was a particulorly feminine looking tubetop, with woven into the polyester stretch knit fabric allot of pretty embroidered flowors on it. Locking his knobby shins on eithor side of his quarry, Granfathor forcibly placed the garment over the head down the shouldors and across the heaving thrashing chest of the screammin county clerk.
"WE AIN'T FINISHED YET!," spat and drooled Granfathor venemously with an evil snickor. He sprang up agian, and scampored off to his bedroom practicaly on all fours and returned with a ratty cardboard box in his apelike paws and a flat green shrinkwrapped package in his mouth. Inside the cardbord box was a pink ballorina outfit compleat with lacey poofy crinoline around the butt. This he forced onto the county clerk too.
"AN' NOW FOR THE CREAM ON TOP: NOTHIN' SAYS, 'I'M A BIG FAIRY' LIKE A COUPLE O'RUBBER FLARES."
Granfather's Texas twang is so strong he pronnounces flowers as 'flaires' and he savagely tore open the green shrinkwrap with his even greener teeth to reveal a package of five inch diametor sized very tacky flourescent colored 1960's looking rubber stickey-back no-slip flowors, the very type you glue to the bottem of your tub or showor so you dont slip and break your ass.
Deliberratly, almost lovingly, Granfather peeled each one and placed them onto the clothes the prone prisonor wore, starting with the tubetop, prone, yes, and no longer thrashing cause the mean basterd now knelt hard across his gurgolling neck.
"I GOT ME A PLAN, BOY," Granfather grinned at me, "EVEN YOUR SICK MIND COULDN'T O'THUNK ONE UP THIS GOOD.
Like a methodicol evil monstor my beastly ancestor then rose agian, scramboled off to my room and returned with my digitol camera.
"YOU," he snarled at the frigtenned County Clerk, "ARE ABOUT TO CONVERGE WITH THE DISINTERMEDIARY TECHONOLOGIES ON THE INFO SUPERHIGHWAY...ARE YOU READY?," he said, mocking the Cisco comerciols.
"You basterd!" cried the county Clerk
"SAY CHEESE!" he said as he snapped a few shots of the horoffied wincing County Clerk, shots which in minutes after Granps plugged the thing in the port of my laptop apeared in high resollution on the screen in spectaculor detail.
"WHAR'S MUH DAMN GREYBAR? I DONE PRESSED 'POST TO HOST'!"
The County Clerk began screammin that he woud kill Granfather.
"OH REALLY?" Granpy replied. The old basterd then calmley got up, loped off to his room like an elderley arthritic chimp and returned with his Colt .45 in his hand. The beast loaded it in front of us both, sloppily droppin shells on the floor, and then handed the gun to his restrained enemy. Then the old basterd sat down calmley and placed his fingertip on the ENTER key.
"GO ON. POINT IT AT MUH HAID.
"KILL ME, AND I'LL POST THESE HERE PICTURES ON THE WEB AS THE LAST THANG I DO BEFORE I DIE."
By now i was cryin. Imedialety the County Clerk stopped stuggling.
"Grampy," he said weakly, "Grampy! I'm ready to talk!"
"YOU BETCHER ASS YER READY TO TALK," the cruel ogre replied, still squinting somewhat distractedley at the screen.
"KNOW WHUT? I'M GONNA POST THESE HERE PICTURES ANYWAYS...
...Click! Click! Click!"DAMN!!!!" Granps shouted suddenley.
"GOLLDANG DAGNAB CONSARN SUMBITCH FILE TRANSFER PROTOCOL!"
The County Clerk answored again weakley.
"OK Grampy, you win. I will drop all the charges."
Granfather took his fingor off the key. "I WANT YOUR WORD," he growled. The County Clerk agread.
"GOOD," said the basterd, "CAUSE YOU AIN'T GITTIN MINE. NEXT TIME I'M FEELIN' ORNERY, OR MEAN, OR UNCHARITABLE, OR PERHAPS EVEN A BIT CONSTIPATED, I JEST MAY UP AN' POST YER ASS ON THIS HERE WEB."
Granfather then untied the poor trembolling man, threw his clothes back to him and poured him a whisky.
After gulpin it down he asked for anothor one, and then a third.
"I'm too drunk to drive!" the county clerk said. And so Granfather told him he coud sit there on the couch an' dry out an smoke cigaretes with him an watch TV as long as he kept his danm moulth shut cause Keeping Up Appearances was comin up and he never liked it when people talked cause there was a chance hed miss the wry suttle nuances of the ironic British humour.
The only convorsation was at one point about 20 minutes into the show when Granfather said, "I DUNNO, WHUT IT IS, THET NUTTY OL' HYACINTH JEST CRACKS ME UP."
Suddenly the County clerk just started weeping.
AW, SHUT THE HELL UP," the old basterd snapped at him. He told the county clerk even if he did post the pitcures of him on the web it werent like he'd get the traffic of Pamala Lee or even the fake nudie shots of Gilian Anderson for cryin out loud.
Then Granfather demanded that the County Clerk play cards and eat boiled peanuts with him. He went and got a box of toothpicks and they played one toothpik an ante. It is a lowclass rural thing to play cards with toothpicks insted of pennies or chips.
"I LIKE PLAYIN' CARDS," said Granfather, "WE DON'T GIT ALOT OF VISITORS HERE."
Then mabye an hour after this the Couty Clerk left probly still a little too drunk and i heard his car drive off. Of cource in my horrer I was totally silent and still stuck to he dann wall. I did not even dare make a noise. In fact it is funny the things that go thruogh your head. I actually hoped he woud forget about me because I was still so scared.
Finaly Granfather got the needol nose plyers and popped the nails out.
"YOU THE UGLIEST THANG I EVER SEE'D NAILED TO THE WALL SINCE MARTIN LUTHER DONE NAILED HIS FECES TO THE CHURCH DOOR" and just as I began to corect him he said, "I KNOW, I WAS MAKIN' A JOKE YOU DUMBASS."
I think i will end this update here. You know what folks I have somthin to tell you: My website has entered its fifth year. Amazing but true. Thats got to be atleast 7 years in Internet Years. Yup I started back in 1995. We are a big anceint dinosaur. Anyway I have an inportant anouncement for my next Update. No, I am not thinkin of retiring. You are stuck with me at least for now. Also I am not gettin a spellcheckor. But i alredy shared too much in this update considoring I wrote about THE SAN FRANCICSO incident. Hopfully it wont take a month to get it done. See you then....Oh, wait a minnute...
Also, (and this now is completely unrelated), but I coudnt help but thank Stu agian why he agreed to take the blame for the giant .WAV file fart that Granfather sent along. When I broght it up again, his remmarkable piggy features once again lit up in suprize.
"Level with me, Walt: You mean that really wasnt me?," and I said "No."
He repleid, "Like I said, I have no sence of smell. Remember? The accident? From the camping trip when we were kids?"
Stu was sort of a loser back when we were kids in California, infact he hung out with me and my othor freinds even though he was 3 years older than us. Anyway when we were Weeblows we went on a camping trip to Big Basin. (A Weebolow is sort of an unfortunnate name the stage of Scout you are when you are about 10 years old that comes in between a Cub Scout and a full-flegded Boy Scuot. I am not sure of the spellin which is probly wrong -- In any event I dont have to tell you aboutt the childhood taunts I endured by Granfather back when I was a "Weeblow").
Scouting was an overall rewarding expereince for me but it did leave one traumattic incident burned onto my fragile memory (nope, there wasnt no preddatory scoutmaster who tried to pinch my hiney or nothin), I am talkin about the 'acident' that hapenned to Stu while we were camping that I was a witness to.
It was a foggy night and as you know Big Basin has all those giant redwood trees. There were 4 of us in the tent and in the middol of the night we were awoken to the sound of somthin crashing into the woods with a huge loud thud. We drifted back to sleep. But minutes later Stu's pained porcine squeals reverberrated thruogh the trees.
Grabbin our flashlights we locatted him in a clearing where he was knelt over somthin that in the foggy moonlit grove let off an eerie vapor. It was about the size of a small washing machene and practicaly glowed in an ethereal, frosty, allmost translucent bluish green. It was quite pretty actualy, like somthin you might find in Superman's home up on the North Pole in the Superman movie. Exept for the fact that Stu's face was painfulley stuck to it.
This is kind of disgousting, but I woud today recongize that same frosty object as a peice of what aviators call 'Green Ice'. Yes, a congealment of ice from the bottom of a large passenger aircraft restroom that somhow leaks out from underneath the toilet, freezes onto the undorside of the plane, and then gets so large and heavy that due to its slowley increasing weight as well as changes in atmospheric pressure somtimes falls to earth.
They are usualy colored in varrious vernal-cobalt hues from the bluish green disinfectant liqiud they allways have on airplane crappers. (Of course there's also frozen chunks of brown and yellow stuck in the Green Ice too, and you know what THAT is). In any case that foggy night in Big Basin Stu had his lips and tounge stuck to this particulor piece.
It took me, and my freinds Chris and Raj and hour of pulling to get him loose and aftor that he was bleedin like a pig (really) and we had to get the troop master to drive him to the hospitol.
Bandaged and trembolling in his hospital room the next day, his nose lips and tounge wrapped in white strips into a distinct snout shape with two holes at the end that he coud breathe thruogh, Stu told us that he thoght it was a big tasty lime ice which had mirraculously fallen out of the sky. (Or even better yet, a rasberry ice, undorstanding of course the inexplicable fact that for some odd reasen, the Internationol color for rasberry flavoring is bright light blue).
In any case Stu licked it. And his nose and lips and toungue froze to it, irreporably burning his mucal membraines for life. "Honest, guys," I remember Stu tellin me, Chris and Raj thruogh tears in the hospitol bed, "I wasn't gonna hog it all. I was gonna wake you guys up and share it."
The whole school found out and talked about it for weeks. Aftor that, Stu coundt smell anything ever again. And this is a guy who had a pretty good sence of smell to begin with.
Flash foward to yesterday...
"So, anyway Walt," said Stu, on the phone with me, "I couldn't tell that the loud sound of that thing in your cube that Grandpa sent didn't smell, ...so i just assumed that I made it."
I repleid, "Yeah, but Stu, didnt you FEEL nothin? When you drop a big bomb like that you normally feel it comin out and..."
Stu then reminded me of anothor incident (and this is one i hadnt heard before) and this one involved him not havin no sence of touch down there being that all the nerves are dead, this as a result of an acident involving his havin drunk allot of beer one night at a college frat party and his tryin to hold a lit Zippo down around his ass and a major locallized posterior burn and an anagram of the word 'frat'.
OK, now Ive REALY said too much.