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Page 6 of 7

"GIT ME A DRINK, BWAH!" he screammed at me. But I ignored him.


Granfather then spoke in a low haunting guttoral slow wavery voice that sounded like a demon which slowley grew to a loud rapid crushendo, "ONE...PART ...CANADA DRY...TEN PARTS STRAIGHT GIN, NO ICE, IN MAH L.B.J. GLASS, NOW!!!


Evil, sadistic old beast. The LBJ glass he was talkin about is this giant 24 ounce commemmorative brandy sniftor shaped like the head of Lynden B. Johnson. I think Granfather boght it at the LBJ Librery at least 20 years ago. It is the old basterd's favorrite cold drink glass. I am suposed to pour the Canada Dry in the glass only up to the bottem of the 36th President's pendulous ear lobes. In case you dont know it thats less than a quartor inch of mixer (and the rest all gin) because Johnson's earlobes (at least on this head mug) practicly touch his danm shoulders.

Granfather also made me make him (Yuck!) some Party Mix. Using the recipe they have on the panel of the cereol box. Only with extra hot sauce on it. Allot of people in Texas actualy like this stuff.

Somthin very scary

I left the old basterd in the yard as he puffed on the Wheeling Stogie in an almost efemminate way.

"THIS HERE SURE IS ONE TASTY SEE -GAR," said the old basterd, seemingly to our poor emaciatted dogs, who cowered in fear with flattenned ears before him on the dusty dirt of the yard, "WHY IT'S LIKE A PARTY'S GOIN ON IN MUH MOUTH, AN' EVERYONE'S INVITED!"

When I came outside the trailer i nearly tripped and dropped it all on our rickety porch. The old basterd was doing somthin very scary.

One of our goats, a big female named Madox-Lestor-Madox, (dont ask me why that is her name), was standin up on two legs. This is a trick that Granfather allways trains goats to do. Goats are pretty dumb animols but even still Granfather must know animal voodoo or somthin cause he can train most any goat to walk on two legs in less than an hour. It is probly proof that he is satannic, or at least demonnic.

The way he trains them is by holding food up in the air just out of there reach. Have you ever seen a goat reach up to get soft leaves off a low hanging tree? Just like that.

Anyway Madox-Lestor-Madox was walkin arround in wobbly staggoring steps with her snout in the air and front feet sort of curled up as Granfather jiggled a peice of rubbery stringy cheese a few inches from her face as she darted her toungue at it as it hung from the end of a tenfoot long flouressent orange colored fiberglass biciycle flag that while Granps wiggled it made swishing woopi-woopi-woopi sound.

Also her giant teats sort of hung low. Like a coupol of huge pointy sweet potatoes dangolling vertically by one end. Kind of like ballast. A disgousting image to be sure but if you have goats you know what Im talking about.

"LOOK BWAH!," Granps mocked me by screammin through the cigar cletched in his teeth,


Granfather, the saddistic old basterd, the knows that a goat walkin upright on two legs wavoring his hoofs for balance is one of the the things that scairs me more than anything on earth. Also the goat had this awfull subservient look on his face like he wanted to please the old basterd.

While I stood there traumattized the old sonoffobbich looked wistfully into the goat's beady black eyes and began singin "My Hands Are Small" in his best high-pitched Jewel immitation which I haveto tell you was pretty danm good. The poor animol meanwhile lunged unsucessfuly for the cheese as dark pellets dripped out of its ass in the dirt.

The Goat Whisperer

It is not just evil, but animal creulty. And there is a shamefull family history of it.

Back in the late 1940s one Sunday morning when Granfather was an evil addolescent, he trained a unusualy tall grey and white goat to walk 20 feet behind him upright as he encourraged it like a satannic Pied Piper down the centor of the main dirt road of a small town on the othor side of the state where his familly was living right aftor church just when the congregation was let out. The old basterd had put a lit Lucky in its mouth, pince nez glasses on its nose and a grey felt Trilby on its head. Also a large hand-lettored sign arround the poor animol's neck which read:

...compleate with mispelings just like some sort of bad taste film noire Far Side cartoon. But of corse you have to remmember that this was back in the days when things were not funny.

The way it ended up goat was stoned as a devil and its corpse burned down by the railrode tracks and Granfather and his now disgraced familly had to leave the county for good even thuogh theyd just put cotton in their rented fields. The mark of shame on Granfather still remains in that part of the state.

In any case it was now time for me to go to work. No mattor how bad things were at work it was allways preforrable to be THERE than with the old basterd.

I drive out of the driveway on my way to work.