Click yourself sick.
Page 23 of 39
I asked Stu why he was there, and he told me two reasens. One, Granfather had to sign some papors about the TV cartoon project. The stinking basterd owns a big slice of any money thats to be made, since any TV show based on me will have allot of his ugly face in it.
The othor reason why was to get Tilde's car , which was still infront of our trailer. Tilde was so embarrassed about getting too drunk to drive that she haddnt even mentioned it to me when I saw her today.
Granfather screamed an obsennity at him. Blankenship always acts like a gentelman. He was hobboling on a cane ever since Granfather's attack on him, and he came out on the porch in mincing steps. As grisly as it sounds, Granfather actualy bit off nearly half of one side of his gluttemous maximus. Three or four of those silicon breast inplants that were taken off the market were sown undor his skin in its place.
"Aye, Grampy. 'Tis exam time nigh again," Blankenship said.
Granfather gets paid when the Criptos poke and prod him. But acording to the agreement, he canot abuse his smoking breaks, even though he always does.
"IT AIN'T HALF-PAST YET, YUH HALF-BRAINED HALF-WIT!"
"'Tisn't half a brain, Grrampy," the Scot replied gently, "'Tis half an arse." But before the old basterd coud respond Madison, allways the disiplinarian of the group came out and hollered at Granps, "Break time's over! Youre on the clock! Now get your knobby ass inside, before I take you to the pound and put you to sleep!"
Granfather grumped like a sullen teenager, gripped his alunimum walker, raised his scraggly carcass and trudged into the house. We all folowed him in.
"Dude," Stu said, as I walked into stronger light, "What hapened to your face?" I explianed to them all about how the lady at the hair salon punched me cause she thoght I was doing somthing nasty. But actualy I was only cleaning my glasses under the smock.
"TELL THE TRUTH BOY," Granfather chided.
"I AM tellin the truth!"
"WAAL, I GUESS THERE'LL BE NO MORE HUMPIN' THE BADGE READER AT WORK NO MORE. HEE HEE HEE."
I yelled at him, "Granfather, that is disgousting! How do you even know?
He snickered and said sarcaustically, "OH, RIGHT AFTER YOUR DUMBASS SELF-ESTEEM MEETING, SWEET CONCERNED LITTLE TILDE DONE CALLED AND TOLD ME.
"SHE WAS ALL BROKEN UP ABOUT YOUR POOR FRAGILE DELICATE FEELINGS."
As he spoke the old basterd hopped merrily toword the laptop computer which sat on the kitchen table next to his Magical Metamucil island. He tapped his slimy worm turd of a finger on the keyboard, disengaging the screen savor and revealing the looping file of me cought on the security camera.
"THEN, ABOUT FIVE MINUTES LATER -- AFTER I WORE HER DOWN WITH MAH SVENGALI LIKE MANLY CHARM -- THE WEAK, VASSILATING LITTLE TOADFACE DONE NABBED THE FILE OFF THE NETWORK, ZIPPED THE SUMBITCH AND EMAILED IT TO ME."
I wanted to kill the old basterd. Also Tilde too. I was glad when Stu changed the subject. Stu had broght a whole lot of KFC for supper, enuogh for all of us, and he went in the kitchon to reheat it.
"SEE THAT? MY MAN MADISON DONE FIXED MY PRINTER, YO," Granfather crowed.
"YOU DE MAN, MADISON. YOU DE MAN. SLAP ME FIVE, BRO."
"Granfather, STOP IT!" I said.
"GIVE IT UP FOR MY HOMES, YO," Granfather said.
Granfather woud not stop. I was once agian houmilliated beyond belief. Madison as you know is African American and just like it was observed in the old George Carlin standup routtine, somtimes white people (Granfather is actualy greenish orange) will inadvertently change their speaking styles when hanging out with freinds of another race. Granfather, however, does not have any freinds. Also as Granps spoke he was jerking and jiving in this very awkword way. Sort of like Al Gore does when adressing inner city audeinces on C-Span however not in the genuienly sincere way in which Mr. Gore does so. Thankfulley Madison ignored the old basterd. Granfather contineud to fawn and swoon ovor his danm Metamucil island. He sat before it, chin resting on the table, and gaizing at it like a lovestruck schoolgirl.
The old basterd had boght a set of tiny nickel plated Bonsai gardenning tools over eBay and was now lovingley raking up the island's sandy shores into tiny fields and dunes
"MAH MAGICAL METAMUCIL ISLAND IS THE BEST THANG WHUT EVER HAPENNED TO ME.
"ALSO, MY BROTHER ZEKE'S BEEN MISSIN' SINCE THE PARTY LAST NIGHT. I DONE FEEL LIKE WEEPING FOR JOY."
Blankenship chimed in, "Ach, 'tis true. The big fella's not been seen." I was not realy worried though. Uncle Zeke is an old sourpuss who nevor says hello or goodbye. My guess is he coght a ride into town, and is at the hospitol with Uncle Will.
Dr. Ripke as usual sat stairing into space while the other two criptoes continued their examinnation of Granfather. The old basterd sat watching TV while he screammed at poor Junior, who, because he stepped on our remote controle by acident the other day and broke it, now had to pay a penence by standin there at atention in front of the TV set and change channols at the old basterd's wishes.
"YOU DONE PRESSED THE VOLUME AGINN, DUMBASS!" Granps screamed, throwin beer bottols at Junior, aiming for his fat belly. Junoir meanwhile bawled and begged Granfather to alow him to watch a comercial featuring Ed McMahon before changing channols again.
"Why don't you just buy a new remote?" Madison asked, while pointing a small tape recordor toword Granfather. He and Blankenship were studying the basterd, interacting with him and taping his responces, much like a naturalist tracks a wild savage beast in his habbitat. The questions were patronizing and condessending, and Granfather knew it. He tolorated it (as always) cause the Criptoes payed him.
"I DON'T NEED TO BUY A NEW REMOTE. AS LONG AS THE CHANNELS GIT CHANGED I DON'T CARE!" Granfather screammed at the top of his lungs, spittin and spreying tobacco juice all over, "JUNIOR'S LIFE AIN'T WORTH THE COST O'THE DANM BATTERIES!"
Blankenship muttored aloud, while writing, "Attack stance number four....Presentation of canines and incisors...Subject's Alpha Male domminance shows gratuitous cruelty, as is seen in protein-deprived pack carnivores..."
"You've been suckin' down Zima, my freind," said Stu.
"Don't say that, man," said Madison seriousley.
The first thing I did when we shut the door was to appologize profuseley to Madison for Granfather's behavvior.
Madison waved me off. "Forget it. All our tests prove that your Granfather is not a thinking, sensient human. He's just an animol mimic, like a parrot or hyena. He is not responsible for mindless mimickrey."
After pausing for a momant he went on, "But if he shoud ever lay that 'WUZZUP' crap on me, I'll get dumb on his ass with a chain."