Deadlines, schmeadlines. This danm website has lasted longor than most aneything on the net.
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The exam was ovor and we went to the pharmacey area to pick up some anti biottics. Granfather had not been using his wheelchair much in recent months but this large obbstruction in his adbomen was efecting all of the motor skills of his body, (ecxepting those of his ass I shoud say) and therefour the old basterd needed to be carted around.
I wheeled him down the hall into anothor waiting area. This one was kindof crowded. Granfather sat there reading a maggazine out loud, which is somthing he likes to do. It was one of those thick fancy womon's fashion magazines, and an articol about how womon can acheive all kindof physicol satisfaction even withuot a man. I told him to please stop readin that out loud: it sounds vulgor.
Granfather proclaimmed loudly in reply (I will not qoute his exact words) that if it was so danm vulgor they shoudnt even have it in the waiting room, and besides, if there was ever an articol in a men's magazine about the same subject, it woudnt be alowed in the mainstreamm, and perhapps only barely so, and if so, only kept undor the countor of certian stores wrapped in brown papper, (and certianly not in this here county at all).
It is not just that what Granfather was saying was disgousting enogh to make somone throw up, it is also the horroble way he says it. His voice will cut to your soul, if you have one. He, being either an animol, an alien or demon, of course, does not.
In family counselling one of the counselors told us all what to do when the old basterd makes a scene in pubblic: We are to look arround the public area of disrupption, smile weakly, and say, appollogetically to all and to no one in particulor:
"Please excuse Granpy. He is having a Senior Moment"
This is what I said out loud. I actualy also said somthin else to him, which I said softley into his ear.
"Granfather," I whispered, "I got three words for you, if you keep up this danm crap: 'Physicien Assisted Suicide'."
The old ornery basterd gave me a mean stare back.
I have said it while writting in this hompage beffore and will say it agian: He is a horrobble, dissgusting man. For somone like me, your very being is a life of hummilliation, even just by bieng related to him.
I felt extremmly used and said YOU OLD BASTORD, you had me going crazy changing battories all week. Then I asked him if this is what Junoir was doing when he fell back at our trailor and got that danm shiner on his eye, and did Granfather in fact poke the back of Junoir's knee with his cane to make him fall just for luaghs, and Granfathers face got staid and glum. And for me, who knows him well, that meant YES, even thuogh he didnt say nothin.
Sadistic old basterd.
"GET IT, BWAH?" he hollored sternly, "DON KING'S HAIR DONE STANDS STRAITE UP....LAUGH, I SAYS LAUGH, YOU DUMBASS SUMBITCH."
But i did NOT luagh.
"BIG DIDDLY DEAL," mutters Granfather, "I KIN MAKE ALOT OF PARTS O'GRAMPY STICK OUT, AND A HELLUVA LOT MORE'N ELEVEN CENTIMETERS, I TELL YOU WHUT."
I was extremly angry and started yellin at him tellin him it isnt with humans he bellongs but insted in a zoo and he screammed back that he hopes I set the world record of ringworm and while I was tryin to figoure out if ringworm was realy a worm or else some sort of rash or if even No Currant Record Exists, the old basterd distracted me by grabbin his favorite teaspoon to beat me with from off of the drain board and started whackin me with it, and despite all the comottion I almost bareley noticed a gurgling noise and sudenly saw that Granfather the horrid abbomminable apalling sonaffabich that he is, was peeing in the sink right inside my Microsoft(R) Bob(TM) cofee mug which was sittin in there beneath him. I will never use THAT danm thing agian, (I alreaddy dont use Bob(TM) no more -- I am talkin abuot the danm mug).
The whole time my pain in the ass boss kept patting me on the arm and whisporring to me with her bad breath all kindof useless touchy feely industrey blather like, "Its a new nimble paradigm!," and also: "This is goodness!"
Aftor the morning meeting, both me and her, once agian, at the reqeust of her boss, the Nose Picker, met one-on-one in her pissy smelling basement office for more "re-grouping" and "re-focusing".
First I went to check my phonemail and on it was a frantic message from Junoir tellin me to please call imeddiatly. So I did call, and all I got was his answorring mechene. Oh well. It was probly just annothor Granfather-rellated-toilet-type of reppulsive medicol emergency, but you know what? I HAVE MY OWN DANM LIFE TO LIVE, thank you very mutch and it woud just have to wait.
There in the hidden subterranean office of my exiled boss, with the pervaisive damp odor of programmers who dont lift the seat wafting in and permeatting our noses, the Chinese water tourture of 'refocusing' once agian resumed.
I told her that I DID NOT WANT to meet with this freind of hers, and she said Please, and I still said NO. (I just did not see any point. Besiddes, the guy lived like a 2 hour drive away).
And then she startad begging and whineing and pleading with me. She said that she promised her boss that she woud "Get me back on track" and if she didnt, then we bolth woud be fired. The the danm bitch started cryin.
Finaly I said, "OK I will meet with the guy" and I did so only becuase she looked ugleir than ever when she cryed, and plus I was gettin the shiverring skeevies from her patting my danm arm while she was begging. She is so danm pittiful that even I cannot feel sorrey for her.