Walter Miller's Homepage
It is not a crime to be immature

My Mid-Octobor Update First on Geociteis Update

Page 2 of 5

The auto shop came and picked him up with a flatbed. He is so horroble and disgousting and enwtined in the metal and remnants of puffey stuffing, crusty organnic mattor, matted cheesy body hair and putrid wadded fabbric, that it was begginning to be hard to tell in the last days of his hiddoeus ensconcement where the couch ended and the old Son Of Fobbitch began.

Belive it or not on their first atempt to hoist him up on the truck to tow him away, they misnteakonly stuck the winch hook in his nostril thinkin it was a large corroded looking hole or eyelet in the couch. Its hard to describbe but thats what Granfathers been lookin like lately.

Also the guy driving the flatbed wasnt too smart. He atcually thuoght Granfather was really an old Yugo autommobile that was sent to the metal cruscher while a refugee trying to be smuggoled into Austria was still hiding there in the trunk.

The County Clerk gets a wet one

On the way to the autobody shop, a poor locol gentolman, (our County Clerk), hapenned to be standing in front of the S&L bank mailing a lettor in the drop box by the intersection in town when the flatbed pulled up to the stop sign. Acording to Preacher Joe, (who was gettin his hair cut nextdoor to the S&L and woudnt lie), Granfather spotted the County clerk and sang out very loudley these words to the tune of that song Take It Easy:



And just then, insted of launching into the refrane of "Take it e-e-easy," the old monstor sang somthin like 'AINT IT CHEESEY?' (or 'IT BE CHEESY') then made a giant noise from deep in his throaght that sounded like this:
"Haa-a-ac-c-cck, Pah-TOOIE!
...and let a big creamey one ride. He tried to run and duck it but Granfather has incredible aim (even toword retreating prey from a moving vehiccle no less) and also knows just howto put 'english' on it as they say in biliards. It hit the clerk on the nape and he screamed probly cause it must of stung bad, which it sounded so.

Granfather vitupperously hates the County Clerk. The man led a failed legal effart back in the 1980s to draw the county line around our propperty as to cut off old bastord and atach him to anothor county.

Three hours lator of work with blow tourtches and heavy snips, the auto garage called me saying that the ogre was almost totaly loose. So i drove over to pick him up.

I was there when the last snip was made

Granfathor struggoled to balance himself on all fours, shook a bit, then sort of colapsed to the ground. I saw an African wildabeest being born once on a nature show. He fell out of his mother and colapsed all soft and floppy on the grassy savanna all covored with slimy stuff and then sudennly within 10 minutes he is able to right himself on his rickety knees and walk around. Thats kindof how Granfather was. (Ecxept hes alwayes covorred with slimy stuff.)

Flies That Fight!

After a few minutes of slithoring across the floor the released beast was scamporing around on hands and knees growling and yelping at the guard dog there and inexplicibly lapping at oil stains on the cemment floor.

The old bastord then tightened up into a threatenning battle stance, growling at us all most devilishley. His skin shone like chitenous armor. If you get the Nationol Geoggraphic Magazine take a look at the Novembor 1997 issue on the bottom of page 70 where there are 3 greatly magnofied insects. The bodilly stance and the look on his face were EXACTLEY what my beastly progennitor looked like at that moment. The name of the articol is "Flies That Fight!"

Then, suddenly Granfather colapsed again and started screaming

I call an amboulance

He spent the night in the hospitol for osbervation. I must say he did look horroble: twisted up, cut, gashed, bent, gnarled, sqaushed, and especialy scraggly and unbelievobly filthy because since August i coudnt wash every nook and cranny while he was caged.

And the smile. That evil smile. Once freed, the old troll looked exaclty as if a Tyrannosauros Rex had atacked him and vigorously chewed on him for an hour, angrilly chomping its massive jaws with no sign of sucess, in uttor frustrattion, while Granfather bounced hapilly between its massive teeth as he laughed and taunted it--until the thuought entered the T-Rex's tiny hazelnut sized saurian brain, "SCREW THIS PEICE OF TOUGH GRISTLE, I'M GONNA GO EAT JEFF GOLDBLOOM ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ISLAND," and then spit the old bastord out.

But the smell.

Granfather SMELT, howevor, like hed indeed ben consumed by the hungrey T-rex and then summarrilly excreeted. And left to cake in the prehistorric sun. But that was a diferent isseu.

The doctor gets Ill

That night at the hospitol our doctor exammined him and told me the old cretin had 78 broken bones and what was ammazing was all this unexplained twisted cartilliginous matter all thruoghout his body which was growing like crazy (no one know how, or why). Plus it had grown AROUND the rustey springs and metol pipes of the couch, many of which were still in his disgousting body.

In the midle of speaking, while the old bastord lay there on the bed like a decomposing gorrilla grinning up at us, the doctor ran into the bathroom and vomitted. You know it is a bad situation when a doctor who has see ALLOT in his life vomits, and not because hes lookin at surgery or somthing.

I descidded to spend the night in the hospittal room in case Granfather had any problems. He did one thing that scaired the hell out of me which was at 3 AM. He made the ellectric bed close him up and started screaming. I pannicked but as he threw the switch to open up the bed agian he said to me harschly to shut the hell up cause he was olny playyin a trick on me.

Just as we were checking out, Granfather screamed at me to make sure we dont leave the litle bottol of Ceapacol behind. Ceapacol is that yellowish mouthwash they always give you in the hospital along with the small sized baby powdor and it is a special treat for the beast. It is spelled with a little horrozontal dash over the letter "o" and acording to the twisted logic of my heinous atrocius ancester, never does it taste as good as it does in the hospitol as oposed to whats avialable for sale in the store. Granfather mixes Ceppocol with mashed up Junior Mints and chilled Kentuckey Bourbon to make a disgusting kind of mint Julep that i am sure they DO NOT sell in the stands the day of the Derby at Churchil Downs.

It will be the death of me: Granfathers NEW DIET