The most famous living writer whose never made a cent
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Why Zeke and William were there: As you know Uncle William and Uncle Zeke have laid claim to many of Granfather's collectibles. Now that he was "dead" it was a big payday for them.
Each day Uncle Zeke took a yellow legal pad and clumsilly plodded his big clown feet out to one of the sevoral dozen sheds, barns and shacks spread out on Granfather's sprawling property. There he took an inventory with a small golf pencil he held in his knobby oversized hands, his dry, drooping lips silently moving as he squinted his eyes to scrawl out the lists of Granfather's treasure, with typoes and grammor nearly as bad as my own.
We had Easter at my brother's house, and just as we were leaving to drive over there, Uncle Zeke fell in a pit on the othor side of our property that had been dug at the threshhold of one of the locked sheds. The pit had been filled with sharpened sticks and had a thin peice of tarpaper covering it. On the door of the shed was a sign which read, in Granfather's handwriting:
ZEKE STAY OUT, THIS MEANS YOU.
It was as dumb and as ovbious as that old "Far Side" cartoon of the dog making a sign that said "Cat Fud" and the arrow pointing to the dryer, but in any case Zeke fell for it and fell in the pit and got impailed in six places and one of the things that got impaled was the nerve that ran from his squirril sized brain down to his bowols. And so, during his long 3 month recupperation he had to wear diapers too AND GEUSS WHO HAD TO CHANGE THEM. That is right folks ME.
Okay, back to the big fight Uncle Zeke was having with my Dad.
Each card bore the name and discription of perhaps a dozen items that Granfather suposedly stole from Uncle Will and Uncle Zeke dating back to 1947.
Uncle Zeke by contrast is tall and rawboned and strong as hell even thuogh he is in his seventies. By now he had recovored from his injuries. He tromped all around the huge sprawling yard full of Granfather's collectibles, pushing this wheelbarrow arround and filling it with varrious items he felt belonged to him and Uncle Will while all the whole time Will, still up there on the porch whispored out directions to Zeke into this handheld electric speakerhorn.
Dad meanwhile, who is average size treid to prevent Zeke from doing this.
Granfather's 13 dogs howled fearfully at the tussolling betwen Dad and Zeke, but I think also they perked up because I pretty much believed that they coud smell the scent of their Master as the van arrived. (Hell. If WE coud smell the old basterd sureley the dogs coud too.)
In the past week, Zeke had regained all his massive stregnth. When the van pulled up, I saw Uncle Zeke grab Dad by the shouldors, shake him like a Raggody Ann doll and toss Dad into the pen where we feed the goats and so the first sight of my father in many months is the upsetting one of him falling face first in animal poo and butterbean pods. I fully blame GRANFATHER for this discord and hate which permeates my disfunctionally violant family.
It was not like Dad cared about Granfather's colectible things. It was that allot of people were suing the estate of the old basterd and Dad was affraid that Granfather's lawyers (who were in charge of his estate) woud hold him in contempt if any of it was missing.
Yes like a growing segmant of this nation our family fears neithor God nor man but its the lawyers that scare the hell out of us.
Zeke stopped still, squinted at Madison's van a hundred feet from him, chewed his lip and finally let his giant jaw drop in supprise as, with the engine of the van still running, me, Madison, Stu and Junior carefully pulled Granfather once agian into the daylight thru the missing windshield, mindful not to disengage the jumper cable from the crack in his laquered nad, and finaly prop the grisly beast upright on the dry clay front yard, as usual, a minefield landscape of blowing dust and weeds and sunbaked dog turds.
Uncle Zeke howevor darkened in rage. He tried to rush at the prone statue tryin to knock the battery cables off his nut but we all held him back.
Instead Zeke took his wrath out on Dad, shaking the crap out of him till he franticaly danced like a snapper fish on light test line, then throwing him down hard on some rancid rolls of carpet Granfather had left outside which had got all full of bugs and worms and mildue. Zeke picked up an old wooden golfclub with a leathor grip that was laying in the dirt, and cursing, swung it at dads head and growled, "Whar's yer pap's treasure?"
"He needs more electricitey! Double the charge!," Madison hollored, as Stu and Junior scrambelled to move Junior's car, which was parked in our yard, next to the van so as to hook another jumper cable from Junior's car battory to the old basterd's ball.
Meanwhile I ran ovor to protect dad who was gettin his ass kicked. Big tall Uncle Zeke held his arms behind his back while dad ducked as the woody he weilded whistoled through the air as he swung it till there was a sharp sound of impact.