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This is what happens when you do something on impulse for five years.

The Humilliatingly LATE Update covering Aogust, September and Octobor 2000

Page 6 of 39


"THAT ARBY-TRATION MEETING WAS A PEACH," Granfather marveled. "AND MAH SILENT INCENDIARY AT THE END: HARD TO BELIEVE, BUT I DIDN'T EVEN PLAN FOR IT. IT WAS A PURE GIFT FROM ABOVE....OR, RATHER BELOW." I saw him make his evil frownin grin in the rearview mirror. Granfather is incapable of smiling. But his happy frown contineud as he began to yammer on about how he was going to gas his brother Zeke out of his trailer for good tonight.

"ONLY REASON WHY ZEKE DONE AIN'T LEFT YET IS CAUSE HE DON'T HAVE MUCH OF A SENCE OF SMELL LEFT.

"I GOT ONE WORD IN RESPONSE: UNACCEPTABLE."

Then he insisted we stop at the Mini Mart on the way home, and there he made me buy some of these disgousting crunchy treats they just started carrying in their Healthy Foods section. It is these bags of roasted soybeans with this nastey fake chocollate carob and dried yogurt coating. Its the kind of stuff you see in college towns but they now have invaded rural America.

Granfather insisted I go in to buy them cause he knows that Habib, the guy at the Mini Mart wont sell them to him and might kick the old basterd out of the store.

Reaching the house Granfather already ate half the danm bag.

His munching and crunching of the soybeans ON PURPOSE to harm the Atmposphere

Why the hell somone came up with the idea for whole soybeans as a snack is beyond me. Soybeans have the highest methane yeild of any consumable food. The only reasen why I know that is my family has paid allot of money over the years to research the issue.

"I THINK I WANT SOME CARMELIZED ONIONS IN LARD FOR LUNCH. GIT READY TO FRY SOME UP, BOY," he said to me.

"This is so wrong," I said. Uncle Zeke's car was gone cause surely he went to visit poor Uncle Will in the hospitol. The doctors said that Will woud probly die somtime today or tonite, or at the very most, tomorrow.

Dont forget: I made a promise

I did say at the begining of this update, and at the end of the last, that somone woud be declared DEAD in this update.

Personaly, (so far at least), I did not believe it woud be Uncle Will. Uncle William has been dying for years. Howevor I will say that I never saw him look so bad as when he got carted away after Granfather squashed that rubber hose that fed air to his lungs.

Somthing wondorous and mystereus

We coud hear the phone ringing inside the trailer as we mounted the rickety porch stairs. Granfather roughley pushed me aside screamming, "ITS THE VETERANS DEPARTMENT! THEY'RE DONE CALLIN' ME LIKE THEY SAID THEY WOULD!!" I toumboled down the splintery wood steps onto the gravel walkway and landed right on my ass. Dammit, and then when I tried to lift myself up I put the palm of my hand on the ground straihgt in a pile of dog crap. I hate Granfather's guts.

I bolted into the house and went to wash my hand off but the danm water pressure like I said was so low. I then noticed somthing strange. The phone kept ringing but Granfather woudnt answer it. Instead he was distracted; focused, and transfixed on somthing, somthing on the kitchon table.

When the answoring machine picked up, and indeed someone from the Veterans Administration was at the other end, Granfather still remained mesmorized by what was on the kicthen table: The glass of water with Metamucil in it that Granfather hadnt drank cause we were in such a rush to leave.

Somthing Glorious and Mirraculous

In our haste to leave for the meeting, he neglected even to mix it. And so, somthing curious and wondrous had occured. If you ever drank Metamucil you are already aware of the tasty orange fiber powdor's reluctance to mix with water. What happens allot is that small clumps of it often remain, even after vigorous mixing with the spoon. Some of these clumps float on the top, others sink, and some cling to the sides of the glass.

What all these clumpy nodules have in common is that in their center are isolated pockets of pure dry powder. Even the clumps which sink deep in the water, though appering wet and soggy outside, have chalky deposits in their middles, which must be crushed and re-mixed before you drink it or else the scratchy dry powdor will get coght in your throat. (When it happens around here, the old basterd will smack me around ).

Ah, but what hapenned today was nothing short of mirraculous. The Metamucil powder, the entire teaspoonfull of it, when heaped into the glass, sat bone dry and completely intact on the very surface of the water. Like a scoop of ice cream in a rootbeer float. Like a Baby Ruth tossed in a child's swimming pool. Like a piece of...Well, OK, there's no need to go on, but in any case there it was, heaped up like a small sandy isle, dead in the centor of the water so no part of it touched the sides of the glass. Around its edge where it met the water the island was ringed with a moist, almost fluffy perimeter of soggy half mixed powder. Gently the small island bobbed in the almost- still liquid, remaining afloat only by the mysterious powers of water surface tension.

Mabye it was the way the old basterd dumped the powder in, mabye it was the hard properties of our mineralized water, or perhaps it was because our slow kitchen tap delivers especially flat water with no air bubbles in it. No mattor what caused it, I must say it was pretty cool.

Granfather knelt on the floor. He rested his greazy chin on the table. His evil reptilian diamond-shaped yellow eyes, with their pure red pupils gazed thruogh the glass, and as I was onthe other side of the table, saw them as being frightenningly magnified by the water and so they appeared bigger and more disgousting than ever. Opening his mouth ever so slightley the evil beast slowly licked his brown, slimy raw-chicken-liver-looking lips with his forked, reticulated blackish purple leech like tounge.

"IT'S A MIRACLE," he softley mused out loud, and then just as sudenly began to scream,

"GET THE GUINESS BOOK OF WORLD RECORDS ON THE PHONE NOW YOU DUMBASS!"