Walter Miller's Homepage

"A nation of slobs, leavened by freaks."
-- Richard Brookhiser

the Last of 1999 and First of 2000 Big Ass Multi-Update

Page 7 of 24


An endurence marathon

I called Granfather to tell him i woud be late for work. Hell, evereyone there called home to say they were late. This hapened each time the Generol Manager made his spiel abbout how "people arent stayin late enuogh."

Actualy, mostly everyone gets there jobs done and there is usualy no need to stay late. But for the next few nights, people just made plans to hang arround until after the old blubber ass finaly went home. You have to watch from the window, becuase he's been known to circle the building once or twice to catch people leaving right after him. If you want to fake him out you have to mak sure get gets on the danm freeway.

Suprizingly Granfather (who I thought woud scream at me for being late) was actualy nice about it. I also told him that I woud have to be going on a business trip (the danm offsite meeting), and he was nice about that too. Well, as nice as Granfather can be. What he said was, "GOOD NEWS FER ME, BWAH, CAUSE I WON'T HAVE TO LOOK AT YER DANM UGLY FACE FER A FEW DAYS."

Right aftor I hung up, I called Junior, our hapless neighbor who lives in town. My Dad told me to call him and tell him about the upcoming Conference Call about Granfather and his medicol probloms. Junoir alreadey knew about it and agreed to help.

Poor junoir does not have much of a life.

Also he is a glutten for punishment and so he is freindly with our familly. Who the hell knows why.

He is also weak-willed, even weakor than me and so I had to emphosize: This was serrious business. If we were all going to confront Granfather, we all had to hang togethor. We woud support Junior if Granfather retaliated agianst him -- remember, my Dad was paying him $40 to block the porn channols from the old basterd's cable box. I reminded Junior that Granfather as you know is a lecherrous beast addicted to impure TV, internet and printed mattor and that it may kill him.

It realy is true. I was not exagorating.

Granfather is living proof that free artistic expresion is wasted on the truly deviant, both to there own detriment and also the common good of soceity. Surely there woud of never been a First Amendment had there been a charactor like "The Granpy" prowling the streets of Philedelphia in 1776, lookin up ladies frilly dresses and genorally doing disgousting things in public. Like mooning people in Oldsmobiles.

The new Ergonomic guy bails out early

It turns out the Genoral Manager at Cyberblop had a tee time he coudnt miss and left at 4:30 that day. Also, the new V.P., the one I referred to as "The Ergonomotron" left early cause he said his "wrists and his soul both hurt."

Oh PUH-Leeze. It was his first danm day. He got on the company P.A. system to report all this in his effete fake Eurotrash acent. Also, he reminded us to all email him with our "killer ideas" that woud provide "instant profitability" for Cyberblop. (Oh yeah, I've been walkin around all week with ten of these up my sleeve).

Anyway I was able to leave my normol time and walked in the front door of the trailor at 7 PM.

I imediatly coud tell somthin was wrong.

Usualy Granfather is sittin in front of the TV but the old basterd was nowhwere to be seen. His rancid foul odor which permeates the house was also oddly subdewed, replaced even by a smell that was allmost nearly as bad, that of cheap men's colonge. Have you ever been near somone, about which you coud tell, thruogh one simple whiff, that they tried to substitute drenching themself in colonge with actual bathing? Thats what it smelt like. Only worse.

The radio was on in the bathroom

There was some pounding '80's rock music goin on, Iron Maiden I think, and the fuzzy whine of the blowdryor -- MY blowdryor.

I openned the door and clearly suprized him.

'WHUT THE HELL YOU DOIN' HOME, BWAH?" he demmanded.

Granfather was dressed for a night on the town. Which is a prety danm scary thing. The old basterd is stuck in retro mode. What he thinks is cool is very out of style. Did you ever see the movie Boogie Nights -- remembor how William H. Macy dressed with his hair blowdryed and combed down in a helmet-head 1970's bowl shape -- and the flashy clothes? Thats exactcly what Granfather looked like. He was even wearin a Quiana fake silk shirt. It was his favorite one with stitching of Western scenes up on the shouldors.

"What the hell are you up to?" I said.

"NONE O'YER DANM BIDNESS. I'M GITTIN A...UM, A NEW MAKEOVER."

We staired at eachother silently. Sudenly he frowned and said, "LEMME ASK YUH, BWAH:

"DO YOU THINK MUH HAIR LOOKS POOFY? TELL THE TRUTH, NOW."

I did not answor him and insted got up and went in his room where his computor was. And there in the printer I saw a peice of paper with a heading on it that said, "The Official Single, Over Fifty, And Not Yet Sick Of Clinton AOL Chat Forum" that had written on it this:

ALLRIGHTY THEN I

WILL MEET YOU AT

TEN P.M. EXACTLY

AND SINCE IT'S A

FIRST DATE I'LL

PAY I SUPPOSE...

"GRAMPY"

There was also a note from the old basterd below this that said somthin to the effect of, "how do you like my 'emoticon' of a man doing somthin nasty with a cigar," and then a disgousting 'emoticon' consisting of atleast seventeen charactors below that which i will not repproduce here.

I walk back in the bathroon

The old basterd just staired at me silently. The only sound to be heard was the blairing rock on the radio. Turning his head toword it he said nonchalantley, "THAR'S SOMTHIN' DISTURBINGLY MAINSTREAM AND WHOLESOME ABOUT 'IRON MAIDEN' WHUT I JEST CAINT PUT MUH FINGER ON....KNOW WHUT I MEAN?"

I said to him, "Dont change the subject Granfather! You are in big truoble!"

We had a huge fight.

I normolly do not scream but me and him were screamin at eachother. Also, I normolly do not win arguments, but I won this one.

After a few minuttes, Granfather just stopped yelling and colapsed into a seated position on the floor. Honestley, I'd thoght the fight woudnt of ended with atleast me first gettin my ass kicked.

The showor curtian appeared to be stuck to his back and as the old basterd sat down it pulled off the rod with the plastic loops poppin off and bouncing into the tub.

"I AM TOO TIRED," he said.

"TOO TIRED TO FIGHT WITH YOU, AND SERTAINLY TOO TIRED TO GIT IN ONE MORE LASCIVIOUS ACT WHICH I DONE HOPED TO SNEAK UNDER THE WIRE BEFORE THE NEW MILLENIUM."

Granfather said that he wanted me to put him in bed. I started to get upset, and began cryin.

Poor Granfather

Yes, I hate the old basterd's guts. But this was so unlike him. Yes, i am a big baby. More of an immature codependent than my anoying boss coud ever be. I was afraid he might realy be in danger like the doctor was saying.

Then I asked him why the showor curtian was stuck to his back and he turned arround to show me.

"IT SAYS HERE ON THE HAIRSPRAY, 'KEEP AWAY FROM OPEN FLAME.'"

"I DONE FARTED AND SET THE SUMBITCH ON FIRE."

I spent the next halfhour picking melted and fused plastic and Qiuana shirt fabric from the old monster's matted hair and leathory skin. When it woudnt come out with nail polish removor, I went and got some laquor thinner from the toolshed. Alls I needed was for him to fart NOW, and we'd both be dead.

Then I asked him if he wanted me to call the womon for him to cancel their date.

"NOPE, I INTEND TO STAND THE BITCH UP.

"I FIGGER THET'S MORE MAH STYLE THAN MERELY WUSSING OUT CAUSE I'M TOO TIRED."

But was I evor so WRONG about misreading a situattion.

What hapenned that Night