"Disintermediocrity": We cut out the middleman to bring you lame crap directly.
My brother left the table at one point to take a whiz and as soon as he did my sister in law wanted to talk to me about my website. (Which is a very touchy subject in my family. They are all pissed about it, especialy my brother), and she knows not to bring it up with him present.
She asked, "Why have you been writing this website for so long?"
I thoght for a minute and said, "I dont know."
Now that I think about it, I like to think I do it becuase I want somone to come along and buy my life story for allot of money. But it may be just to vent my indignation about Granfather so people feel sorry for me. Even thuogh I am a big liar and exaggorator. I suppose the most acurratly truthful answor to that question is indeed: "I dont know."
Anyway she cheered me up. Not that she is an extremly cheerful person. But she did say some stuff that helped my poorselfesteem. My sisterin law has been a good freind over the years.
My brothor came back and then I went to use the restroom. I had been seated in a naugahyde restuarant booth and so when I stood up I was in agony. Like a jerk, I had forgot to change out of those danm vinyl Old Navy parashoot pants. Still I had no shorts on underneath and by now the itching was incredible. In the bathroom stall I got a look at it. It was a huge teribble rash.
Finaly I gave in. I put my head down and slowly I told them the story of how I crapped on the subway train and why I wasnt wearin no underware and they laghed so hard i thoght my brother was going to wreck the car. To make me feel better my brothor told me an embarassing story about somthing similar that hapenned to him in the Army, and my sister inlaw told me this really awful story about how she had her period---Oh God, I am not even gonna mention it, but acording to her, every woman in the world has a story like that but never tells anyone.
"We got something at home for you that's great for jock itch, it might suprise you," my brother said. But they woudnt stop laughin. Even the baby was laughin, but his was a cruel luagh, and I coud tell that even he had no respect for me.
We drove from the restauarant to the departmant store. I was keeping an eye on Little Spike when my brother and sister in law were buyin furniture. My little nephew was realy misbehaving. I hate to say it but he somtimes acts exactly like a tiny version of Granfather.
I was feeling very emotionol and sad because Valentines Day was coming up. I always get deppressed on Valentine Day. Just when you suficiently recover from the Christmas holidays from being lonesome and unattached, they come up with this other danm holiday that the whole thing about it is people in love. I hate when people are in love. Becuase they are never in love with me.
Also my stomoch was killing me. I was still feeling ill from the ice cream I had in New York city ten hours before. Little Spike ran off and I my stomoch cramps were so bad i coudnt run aftor him.
I saw this couple buying furniture who looked like they were gettin married soon and they were being all lovey dovey. I tell you they ought to have a public anti mauling law.
I felt so teribble. In my stomach, that is. Like I said, being lactose intolorant is a bitch. I walked past the demonstrotive lovebirds and, feeling a little gassy from the whole day, quickly located a queit corner of the store where I didnt see anybody. I looked to my left and my right. I was all alone. I had awfull stomach cramps so I left somwhat of a long silent air bisciut in the stratosphere as I casually strolled by.
Beleive me, I only did it because I coud NOT hold it in. I am not much of a public farter and certianly nothing like Granfather, not even on my worst day. I rounded the aisle and saw that my sister inlaw was just ahead of me, holding Little Spike's hand. I sidled up next to her and whispored, "Stay out of Wallcoverings! I just layed a bad stinker in there."
The person who I said this to turned around and it was not my sister inlaw. It looked exatcly like her from the back, though. I was houmilliated. She grabbed her kid and ran. Later at the checkout they were in the next line and I got allot of dirty looks.
It was after eight oclock by the time we got back to my brothor's house. I took a showor and he loaned me some pants and underware and this time I did not even mind when my brothor said to me DONT BOTHOR RETURNING THE UNDORWEAR.
After I dressed I plugged in my laptop to check my email. I had a ton of messages. Two of them were from people on the cartoon project. There are some revisions that will need to be made and this meant anothor meeting in New York city. But since I blew the whole danm bugdet on my Firstclass flight, I WAS NOT INVITED.
Just then Tilde, my boss sent me an Instent Message. So then we started chatting togethor on AOL. We have resorted to chatting becuase as you know her jaw is wired shut as a result of a tragic Granfather-related incident in my last update.
Tilde knows about my cartoon project but she is sworned to secrecy. It is inportant to sware her to secrecy, because she has a big danm blabbermouth. Tilde is generally a pain in the ass but when my heart is hurting she is one of the few peoplle who I can share my feelings with.
I told her about how I blew the budget money and also how I was sad because Valentine's Day is coming up and how (once again), I will not have a date.
So I pored my heart out to Tilde, who also has a teribble romantic history. I did this in spite of her havin a big blabbory mouth. Then I did somthing stupid. But I canot help it. I am weak. I shared with her about the drippy acident I had on the train. I swore her to secrecy. Tilde wrote me back an Instant Message that said, "YES I SWEAR."
"I CAIN'T GIT ON THE INTERNET!" he screammed at me, "MAH FINGERS CAIN'T WORK THE DANM TOUCHPAD!"
I was silent but the old bastord kept screammin.
"ME AND MAH LADY FRIEND HAVE A DATE IN OUR FAVORITE NASTY CHAT ROOM, DAMMIT!"
"Um, Oh gee," I said, "Granfather, I...I have no idea why you cant get on the web."
"YOU LIL' DAGNAB GOLLDANG CONSARN DUMBASS SUMBITCH!" he screamed. "YOU BETTER GIT THIS THANG WORKIN' TONIGHT ...
...ELSE, I'LL GIVE YOU A NAPALM ENEMA AND SELL YER SORRY ASS TO THE HIGHWAY DEPARTMENT AS A ROAD FLARE!"
Granfather's threats can be so cruel. I said to him, "I cant come home to help becuase I have to go in to work tonight!"
That was actualy a lie. But I was afraid to go home. Then my brothor grabbed the phone from me and slammed it down. He screamed at me, "Great! Now I have to take you to work tomorrow, and probly pick you up too!"
He knows its a 2 hour drive. He said to me, "Youre such a danm weakling, Walt."
"OH, BY THE WAY, THE PIG MAN JUST CALLED," Granfather snarled, obviousley talking about Stu, "HE WANTED TO SEE IF YOU GOT HOME ALLRIGHT CAUSE YOU DONE GOT SICK IN NEW YORK.
"YOU DIDN'T TELL ME YOU GOT SICK IN NEW YORK, BOY."
"Oh no," I said, "What did Stu tell you?"
"OH, HE DIDNT TELL ME NOTHIN.'"
As soon as Granfather said that I was extremly relieved.
"BUT I CALLED THAT FUNNY LOOKIN' BOSS O'YOURS, WHO GOT THE WIRED UP JAW. SHE STILL CAIN'T TALK, SO I TOLD HER TO FAX ME THE DETAILS, AND OH BOY JUST NOW SHE DID!!"
Granfather then raised his voice and loudley mocked me. Granfather has this awful demonicly graiting bloodcourdling cackling mocking laugh. It sounds like the Tales of the Cript ghoul on crystol meth.
"HEEEE -HEE-HEE-HEE! YOU MADE A POO ON THE TRAIN!!"
I said to him, "That's enough Granfather. I dont want to talk about it."
Granfather then launched into this story that I heard a million times before about how he spent the summer in New York in the early 1960s with his oldor brother Zeke. And how he got thrown out of Tiffannys and almost even arrested for repeatedly marching up to the Tifanny's counter every day for a week with his George Peppard haircut and demanding, "Whut time is breakfast? I'll have Two eggs over easy."
I was so, extremly, extremely pissed at Tilde. But Granfather called me right back. In fact Granfather kept callin my brother's house every half hour or so, laughing harder each time. Everytime the sadistic old ogre thought of anothor joke, he called up and told it. Also he wanted ALL the details, I canot remember another time Granfather laughed so hard at anything.
"I KNOW I DONE HEARD IT FIVE TIMES ALREADY," he barked, "BUT TELL ME THE DETAILS AGINN, BWAH."
I said, "Granfather, please dont ask me no more details."
"SO, WHUT TRAIN'D YOU DONE MAKE THAT 'NUMBER TWO' ON, BOY?
"It was the 'N-R'," I said.
"TOO BAD YOU WUZ GOING CROSSTOWN INSTEAD O'DOWNTOWN," the old basterd replied.
"CAUSE THEN, YOU COULDA MADE A 'NUMBER ONE' ON THE '1' TRAIN, A 'TWO' ON THE '2' TRAIN, THEN A BIG ASS 'B.M.' ON THE B.M.T.!"
Then he launched into his schreiking laugh. I tell you somtimes I hate Granfather's guts. This was one of those times.
Later on I unpacked my suitcase which was still with me. Then I did a laundry at my brothor's house so I'd have some clean clothes. When I was gettin ready to sleep on the couch my brothor said to me, "Hey Walter, are you still itching?"
I said hell yeah.
He tossed me a blue plastic tube and said, "Here: smear this on your grapes."
"This is stuff that WOMON use," I said, slightly horrofied.
"Yeah, yeah," my brother said, "It's got the same ingredient as the jock itch medicine. Exept its about six bucks for this big tube versus eleven bucks for that tiny tube of jockitch cream two aisles over in the drugstore."
I said, "Really?"
"Yep. It's the same ingredient. The whole male world uses this stuff."
I still was reluctant.
"Geez, Walt, Monostat Seven outsells salsa in 34 states," my brothor said; (which is probly not true; my brothor has a sick sence of humor.) He also told me that the ladies' version of the cream used a 4% strength while the mens version used just a 2% strenhgth, for like, now get this, a total of being six times more expensive for a guy's problem!
"That is unfair to men!" I said.
"Yeah, well, give us a majoritty in the U.S. Senate and then we'll be even," my sisterin law chimed in from the othor room.