A hoax wrapped in a fake inside an enigma.
Page 4 of 7
Dad had a great idea: He said that if we got the phone numbor of the hotel my brother and uncle were at, we coud just call that number and locate them. Surely my brothor and Uncle Zeke were making status calls to my sisterinlaw and Uncle Will, who were now in posession of Granfather's house back in Texas.
Dad told me to call up Junoir and ask him to sneak into the trailer -- or better yet, drop by to play cards with Uncle Will. (Uncle Will used to take Junior fishing when Junoir was a boy).
Then, after Uncle Will drifted off to sleep, and while perhapps my brothor's wife was showoring, or takin a crap or somthin, Junior coud check the Incoming Caller ID History on our phone and relay it back to us in Newark. (We put Call History in a year ago, in order to keep an eye on Granfather and some of his reppulsive activiteis.)
But in order to checkthe call histery Junior woud have to type in the speceil seqeunce to see the last 10 numbers called on the LCD display. This was a tall order for someon who had an I.Q. of say, a cocktail-sized canned ham withuot the slice of pineappol. (Or atleast the guy who runs Cyberblop). But Junoir bless his heart showed us what he is made of.
"The first time I called y'all I done fergot to dial Ten-Ten-3-2-1 , so I hanged up," Junior explianed. He also told us that the screammin was from a teribble fight that Uncle Willaim and my brother's wife were havin. Also, the two of them were going thruogh all of Granfather's stuff, and laying claim to his varrious colectible treasures.
Acording to Junoir, they even discovored that hiddon ten gallon can in the old basterd's closet full of Susen B. Anthony dollors and two doller bills. There must be thoasends of bucks in there.
Junior said the fight they were havin was on how they woud slice up Granfather's assets into equol shares. They were hollerin and screammin. Uncle Will said that my sisterinlaw shoudnt get no share being that she is not a blood rellation. She was screammin back that Uncle Will shoudnt be so picky since he's been "milking" this whole thing abbout his supposed dying, becuase if he realy was dying as bad as he has been all this time he'd alredy been long dead and if she had her way there woud be two old basterds goingto Holland, not just Granfather. Again, this sort of thing is typicol of my disfunctionol family. And I am so uttorley ashaimed of my famly, so filled with discrace for them and there actions, not to mention there motives, that i canot even describe it and neithor can all the mispeled words in the world.
Junior also told us that while he was there in the middol of that fight my brothor actualy called from the hotel in New Jersey. Uncle Will was yellin at him on speakorphone and my brothor was yellin back but Granfather, being in the room with my brothor kept knockin out the speakerphoen transmision by makin loud farts in the backround. It was like one of those awful speakerphone meetings at work where no one can get a word in egdewise or even hear what anyone else is sayin becuase one idiot keeps yammering on as to dominnate the speaker.
"MOST THE TIME, THET THAR AIRLINE FOOD CAUSES A PERKY, ROSSINI-LIKE TUNE," Junoir said that Granfather said over the speakorphone at his hated brothor William, in ovbious reference to the great composer, "BUT GO ON AND ASK ZEKEY, NEXT TIME YOU MEET, IF IN FACT YOU LIVE THET LONG: THEM THAR ROBUST NOISES I DONE HAD COMIN' OVER THE SMOKIES WUZ DOWNRIGHT WAGNERIAN."
Finaly, Junior, tryin to hold back his tears while speaking abbove the hollering din of screams and breaking dishes and piles of uncircullated Susen B. Anthonies rolling and splashin all ovor the cheap trailor kitchon floor, was able to give us the phoen numbor. We got off he phone with him (not as easy as it sounds what with all his tearful pleads to be excused from havin to play cards with my crusty slowley expiring uncle), and FINALLY DAD called the number.
It turns out that the hotel was also right near the airport and onley a LESS THAN A mile away from where we were.
So I went up and down each floor until finaly on the 3rd floor I saw a familier sign: It was a handwritton note in what looked like my brothers writing, taped onto the door of the ice machene, and the sign read:
U R I N E
I knew imediatly that they were all hiding in the ajacent room. This is an old trick of my brother's. Whenevor he is asigned a hotel room near the ice machene he puts this exact note on it to keep peoplle from disturbing him all night long by loudley diggin for ice with that big ass metol scoop. This goes along with his sick, semi-Granfatherlike selfish sence of humor. My brothar told me once that a sign reading simpley "OUT OF ORDER" dosent realy do the trick becuase theres always some iddiot who will dig for ice anyway at 3 AM but that the thret of Urine On Ice suceeds every time. He said he read the idea for this in an internet industry magazene once, perhaps Fast Compeny but he dosent remmember for sure.
Clearley this man had seen and heard (and smelt) Granfather, becuase Granfather allways has that efect on peoplle when he goes out in public. He is that horoble and disgousting. People think i make allthis crap up but who can.
"LOOK BOY," Granfather whispored snakelike, very distracted, and pointing a twiglike gnarled fingar toword the latest Clinton Scandol debate on CNN.
The old basterd was eithor ovblivious to the fact that me and Dad had sudenly apeared in his room from a half continnent away, or else too stupid to even notice.
"IT'S THE FEMALE PAT BUCHANAN THAR ON THE T.V. DEBATING LITTLE CINDY BRADY ON LARRY KING."
I said to him, "Granfather, that's not the femaile Pat Buchanan, its Pat Buchannan's real sister. Also, that blonde lady is NOT Susan Olsen, (a.k.a. Cindy Brady) but former prosecuttor Barbara Olsen."
"WAAL, SHE COUD DEPOSE, INDICT AND PROSECUTE MAH OL' ASS ENNY TIME SHE PLEASES."
Dad took a coupol of tisseus and startad to wipe Granfather's ugly face down.