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"BOY," Granfather rasped out softley to me, in the very voice of death.
"I SAID BWAH....BWAH!
LISSEN TO ME, YUH DUMBASS SUMBITCH!"
The cruel ogre, clearley in distress, then raised his tiny frail beef jerkeylike arm up, his long taipering fingers waving and twidling disgustingley in the air. They came to rest on my shirt and then closed into a small hairey fist with a peice of my shirt inside it. His hourney brown rancid curling fingornails scratched my chest as his monkeypaw fist pulled me close. His eyes were fearfull and full of emotion.
"BWAH. IN THE THIRD TOOL SHACK BEHIND BARN NUMBER TWO:
GIT ME THE REAGAN CHEESE.
"THE CHEESE, BWAH, THE CHEESE.
ONE BIG-ASS FULL-SIZE BRICK ORTA DO IT."
As you may know from readin my pryor updates, back in the 1980s, Granfather was the recippeint of what was then called "Reagan Welfare Cheeze." Aparantly there was some undorground caverns under Washington DC where the goverment discovored a whole bunch of 5 pound blocks of American cheese dating back to the Johnson Administrattion. President Reagon ordered the food distribbuted to the poor. Granfather, one of the nation's grandest, proudest premeir welfare queens as you might of geussed was the first in line. Some of the cheese had gone rancid and hard, but the old basterd (Granfather not Reagan) insisted on glomming as much of it as he coud. In my 1996 updates i wrote about how Granps was constippated for a couple of months from eatin a whole cheeze, which later had to be removed surgicaly in Octobor of that year.
"FEED ME THE CHEEZE BWAH," Granfather rasped at me weakley.
"I NEEDS TO BE BOUND.
"IF'N I TRY TO MAKE EVEN A SMALL POO WITH THIS HERE CEE- -MENT UP MUH BEE- -HIND, I'LL DONE EXPLODE."
Madison, Ripke and Blankenship, the three criptozoologists were in the room. Blankenship, the one with the Scottish acent said, "Aye, get the cheese, laddie! If the busterd 'iddn't nigh bound, and with haste, he'll blow, that's for sharr!!
I sprang up from the bedside and out into the yard to get the old basterd his cheese. The Reagan Administrattion cheese comes in these brown coruggated 5-pound cardbord boxes sort of shaped like two housebricks end to end.
When I came back in, Granfather's belly was bloatted up to an enormuos size. It was huge and round and brown and rancid looking. It looked like big, freezerburned grapefriut that you find all the way back in the freezer when you defrost it, which has been there a year and has frozon blue mold on it.
First, me and the othor two sceintists ripped the box open and a whole lott of moths flew out as the dryed out cheese flopped on the toolbench. Ripke held the cheeze up steady like a piller while Blankenship shaved the square corners off with a horse scalpel as to make a cylindor out of the brick.
"GIT THE DANM CHEEZE IN ME, YOU DANG FOOLS!" Granfather screammed.
The bennefits of coming out of the coma were evident. Granfather's croaking voice was stronger, and his strength was comming back to him even as his blueish facial tinge faded into his healthey normal colored glow of burnt hot dog skin-and-dark-piss-brown.
"IF'N I SO MUCH AS MAKE THE TINIEST POPCORN FART," Granfather wailed, "I'LL S'PLOADE ALL OVER THESE HERE DAGNAB WOOD SHED WALLS LIKE A BAD ZIT JOKE!"
Ripke grabbed the old gristly basterd's neck so his gaping craw was wide open as it coud. Next, Blankenship jammed the cylindricol Republican surplus cheese into his moulth upright. As soon as he yelled CLEAR!! we all jumped away as Junior smacked at it hard on one end with a rubber fender mallet. We did this 3 or 4 times till it was halfway down his gullet. Then I stroked Granfather's throahgt as to guide the cheeze down much in the way that you try to get a dog or cat to swalloew a giant tablet, his adam's apple bobbing wildley in fury as a sustained moan worbled from his nasel passageways.
Granfather bucked and thrasshed on the table and sudenly became even more bloated. And even more brown and rancid looking. The old basterd was growin out of controle. If it were a movie it woud be "Alien-Meets Charly and the Chocolate Factory", especialy at the part where one of the greedy little girls (Violet or Veruca, I forrget which one) allmost explodes from being filled with blueberry goo; (exept, in the case of Granfather, he realy will exploade, and it wont be bleuberries comin out: But the whole danm Choclate factory).
By now the beastly geezer looked like one of those fancy old three foot-diamator antique globes you see in old Victorien libraries that are covored in pissy looking rotting parchment and where most of Africa is marked, "Terra Incogneato"
"Ahrg!," said Blankenship, "The grout's-a-stopped a-growin', but we canna' have the old Busterd a-fahrtin'!"
Sudenly the whole shed started to shake. Some old rubber strap bunjees were hangin from the wall by a nail and they began to knock gently agianst the wood. We dont get allot of earthqaukes here but I grew up with little tremors here and there in Califomia and this seemed like it was between 2 and 3 on the Richtor scale.
But he is NOT normal: The man lives to fart. The old basterd began viollently quaking and by now the belly and chest were actualy larger around in witdth than the grout barrel atached to his ass.
"My God!" creid Ripke, who was the most sensittive of the three criyptozoologists, "We are looking at the closest thing the universe to an Unstoppable Force meeting an Unmovable Object!"
(Ripke is also the most dramattic and exaggatory, but having observed Granfather's gassy exployts for most of my life I wasnt about to complain)
"Those a-bowels aint-a-budging," added Blankenship gravely, "And Unstopabble FAHRT is more like it.
Will Granfather exploade? Will he blow?
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