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If you can't be a good example, you might as well be a fair warning.

The Humilliatingly LATE Update covering Aogust, September and Octobor 2000

Page 19 of 39


Zeke, who has the IQ of a Ritz Crackor and an atention span of a gnat even while not Zima-impaired sudenly forgot what he was doing.

Tossing back a second bottle which he held in his hand Uncle Zeke swallowed the last inch of liqiud and announced blankly, "I got to make a pee but the big loud fleshy gal's in the john."

He then stumboled past us and out the front door. "WHOO, THAT WAS CLOSE," said Granfather, "NOW, GIT ALL THESE PEOPLE THE HELL OUT OF MAH HOUSE.

"WHY, CATHYANN DONE LAYED A WHISKY SOUR FART IN THE KITCHEN BEFORE, AND IT WAS SO BAD, SOME OF THE MORE VULNORABLE AREAS OF MAH WORLD RECORD ISLAND GOT WARSHED OVER BY THE WAVES!!"

Granfather desperratly wanted everyone to leave.

But no one left.

Well, at least not at first. My brother Spike left, but not before he stuck arround for a few minutes to share a personal Family Secret to the film crew of "Esta Milagro!".

It was the contents of Granfather's secret coresspondence with the Veteran's Bureau. My brother, (in broken Spanish), declaired his open hatred for the the old basterd, and also told them about the secret role the grisly beast played in the certain Classified Military Manuevers, (which I too personally swore to keep secret as well, howevor, now that its already appeared on Mexican TV I guess I can tell you): Granfather was an early space traveller.

Not exactley "The Right Stuff"

Yes it is true: NASA took an earley interest in Granfather, back in the days when chimpanzees were sent into space beffore men were.

In 1959 or '60 Granfather, (doctor-certifeid by Army doctors at Area 51 as a "rare unexplianed monkey" and not a man) orbited the earth three times. Like other spacebound primates, old basterd was suposed to pull various levers in order to steer the craft. His reward was a banana pellet. But greedy old beast that he is, he pulled all the levers at once and freakin crashed into a small lake in Australia which is now still desolate and polutted.

Granfather has been fighting for a NASA addition to his pension for years, and thats what the lettors were all about. OK, that is all I'm aloud to say about it.

Spike makes Tilde cry

When my brothor finaly did leave, he coud not get his car out cause Tilde's big black Lincoln Navigater was blocking him. Tilde is short and has these thick rubbor blocks lashed to the gas and break pedals because her tiny toad feet canot reach them. In any case the car is way too ridicullously big for her.

Spike kept hollerin at her, and she got flustored and kept confusing DRIVE with REVERSE. More than once she slammed into the trailor while tryin to unwedge the huge Sports Utillity Vehicle, scraiping her pink and yellow flowery bumper stikors which read, "PRACTICE RANDOM ACTS OF KINDNESS" and also, "BE TOLERANT: LOVE ONE ANOTHER"

"Turn the wheel, you idiot fool!" Spike screamed at her. He is mostley a nice guy but has inherrited Granfather's insensitivity and bad tempor.

Tilde got tears in her eyes and whimpored, "Oh dear!" and she had had a Zima or two herself, and as she thumped the big black bumper into the thin alunimum outer skin of our tiny stinking trailor while unsucesfully trying to Navigate the Navigater, Granfather stuck his freakish Haloween mask-of-a head out the window to also hollor out her, "CAREFUL, DUMBASS! HALF OF THE GILLIGAN'S LAGOON REGION ALMOST WENT FULL UNDER WATER THANKS TO YOU!"

Tilde burst into loud sobbs. But it is her own danm fault: It is not worth it to focus one's codependent energies onto a disgracefull waste of a family such as mine. Even if you are the extra-pittiful type who deep down (in my humbol opinion) truly loves to get treated badly, like Tilde.

Meanwhile, inside the house:

Cathyann causes more problems

She still had Ripke cornered and was blathoring at him loudly. In her fingors was a small plastic belt clip from which hung the photo ID pass of her brachiocephalous boyfreind, Duwayne.

She still was wagging it in Ripke's face, while recounting in bludgeoning detail some long winded story about how DuWayne incurred a broken leg once while particippating in one of the famous Texas state sports: Spreypainting your gilrlfreind's name on a freeway underpass.

Sudenly Cathyann looked up at me and barked, "Walter, you didn't tell me lil' old Uncle Willy was in town!"

I treid to change the subject. I asked her why it was she carreid Duwayne's TechnoDigiMeriCom(R) ID pass, (which, afforded him access only to clean the carpets and nothin else).

"Oh!" cried Cathyann, "Thanks for reminding me! Stay RIGHT THAR WALTER."

With a loud grunt she hefted herself up and grabbed somthing off the couch.

It was a geniuine TechnoDigiMeriCom(R) shirt

The realy neat black tunic style shirt that evereyone admired. The shirt that ONLY TechnoDigiMeriCom(R) employees wear: No one else is aloud to.

"Here's a present for you Wally. Can I call you 'Wally?' BWAHAHAHA!"

I said to her, "Where in the world did you GET this?"

"Waal, I tell you WHUT," she began. "Lets just say that one night when DOOOwayne was on duty, it sort of sprouted a pair of legs and walked out with him! BWAHAHAH! BWAHAHHA! h3BWAHAHAHA!H3"

(NEXT PAGE) Cathyann told me that Duwayne's big old head was coght on the security camera and he was asked by the company that cleans the TechnoDigiMeriCom(R) carpets never to come back.

"SAY WALT, THE SHIRT IS YOURS," she shouted, and she coudnt TOSS it to me nice and easy, she had to wing it very hard. The thick pollyester fabric of the shirt slapped poor Uncle William in the face and he was in such a fragile state that this was very life threatenning.

The way the shirt fell it momenterrily blocked his airway and until I was able to step over the coffee table to get ovor there and pull it off him, the little EKG machene hooked to his chest started to beep and flatline.

"Oh poor lil' Uncle Willy! I'm sorry!" Cathyann bleated.

"Why he is so CUTE! Like a little version of Grampy, exept not so...Waal, not so 'GRAMPY!'
BWAHAHAHA!"

Before anyone coud react Cathyann was on her way over to where Uncle Will was. "He's so cute Ah caint STAND it! Come heah an' git cuddly with ole Cathyann!" she blathored.

Silently, so that I coud not even see her feet moving, Cathyann moved backward, like a giant flesh colored mountian, and without even the slightest noise gliding thru the room like the enormuos ship Titanic slicing soundlessly the black glass waters, butt first, in a straight line closer and closer to poor Uncle Will. When she reached him she heaved upword and her giant thighs and hams rose aloft and she settled her bulbuous buttocks right on the poor dying man's lap.

Her big pink ass, allmost totally visible thanks to the hot pants she wore (hot pants!) landed with the sloppey slapping sound of an oversized tuna flopping belly first onto the laquered wood deck of a trawler ship. A loud bloodcourdling crunch folowed.

What hapened

Cathyann had busted the poor man's legs above the knees. They fell apart like a thousend splinters. She bounced as the legs colapsed, Uncle Will's tiny sparse thigh bones disintegrating like a air of Kit Kat bars crushed by bowling ball dropped from a hundred feet up.

"Woops: I done did it NOW!

BWAHAHAHA!"

We call an amboulence

Uncle Will had stopped breathing. A puddol of dark colored liquid pooled under him. Well folks, I did promise you in my last update that somone WILL be declared DEAD in this update, so listen up good: Holding his fragile wrist in one hand, his own wristwatch in the othor, the Emergencey medical Technician who arrived minutes later, now tending to poor, still, white, prone Uncle Will drew a big breath and declaired dramatically:

"At exactley eleven fifty seven this evening I hearby pronnounce this man to be...