Walter Miller's Homepage

Best part is, I dont haveto waste time spellchecking.

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

Page 9 of 24

Yes, the Ergonomotron was all dressed in black and with varrious new peices of green and pink foam around his head and arms. One of them looked like a pink foam bowler hat. Suposedly this dumbass invents these things. I ovorheard him tell somone else once that he "sees the forms locked in the foam, and then he sets them free." Even if he is the only one in the world who has the nerve to wear them.

"Interesting ergonomic solution," he said to me, pointing to my metal eyepatch, "What's it for?"

I mentionned that Granfather crapped on my laptop and some got in my eye, but without listening he interuppted in a pompous tone, "This one on my arm protects my ulna and scapula from repetitive stress. Meanwhile, the Occupational Derby on my head seals in my essential aura, while the holes in the foam allow free passage of my flowing creative juices."

I repleid, "Oh yes sir that is very interresting." He is only, like, 29 years old but he likes when you call him 'sir.'

"Anyway, I am here to tell you somthing, Mr. Miller," he contineud in his robotic fake Eurotrash accent.

"You do not own your ideas here. They belong to the company. You signed an agreement. The credit is not yours."

Then he silentley walked off, but not before eying with desire the steyrofoam clamshell breakfest tray that my boss was draggin her tounge across. Probly cause he saw locked inside it the form of some new butt strain releiver.

"Ouch!," my anoying toadfaced boss said as she grabbed her tounge with her hand, "Oh, dear, why do they close these things with staples?"

Oh, boy!

The reasen I said OH BOY was that in his hand, in the Ergonomotron's hand, which I saw in it before he tottled off, was a printout of MY EMAIL IDEA that I sent him to win the $1,000 prize.

I come up with a great idea: And I saw it in a dream

The idea came to me in a dream. Not just any idea, it was a true interactive idea, a whole E-commerce Busines Model idea that woud probly make the company allot of money. And perhaps even earn me some long overdew recognition. Hell, by next year I woud probly get a huge promotion and raise and be making, like, $30,000 a year.

I wont go into specifics, but it involved getting a speciel type of paper that users woud lay across there computer screens, and then use a speciel pen or crayon to trace images...Well, Cyberblop is very secretive about there new technollogies, and so I'd better not say no more. But atleast I had a hundred dollers coming!

That night -- the big Conforence Call to discuss HOW TO KEEP GRANFATTHER UNDOR CONTROL

The conference call ended up having more people involved in it than originaly planned. And it turned out to be a disastor. My Dad in California got called from the rest of the family -- the anti-Granfather faction, and undor threat of a lawsuit my brother and his wife dialed in from Los Angeles. And on the East coast, Granfather has two older half-brothors. There names are Uncle Zeke and Uncle William. They too were in on the call.

Granfather owes all of these people money. All of these people visciously hate Granfather's guts.

Much of the conferrence call was screamin and hollerin between the membors of my family. We did NOT stick to the topic of the old basterd's health -- specifically, how to keep the grisly coot away from objectionoble material, and how NOT to have him strain his bowels in order to gross peoplle out. Both were behavoiures that coud kill him.

My sister inlaw especielly hates the old basterd, and so does my brother. Her take on it is that Granfather is not human, and since he is probly some sort of Gigantopithecene remnent of a large recentley extinct ape, he oughto be in the danm zoo. Or at least a research facility that has allot of thick plexyglass, moats and cement walls.

My brothor said very angrily that we shoud set him loose to his own destruction. My brothor is very diferent from me and my dad who both are shy and queit. While he dosent (thank God) look like Granfather, and he is also able to function in soceity, my brother does have a similor bad temper and wiseass way about him.

My brothor said: "Let's feed the old basterd a couple of cans of beans, and then buy him some dirty magazines, and watch him expload."


My sisterinlaw screamed, "Fine! They have an Assisted Suicide law in Oregen too, and we can forge your name and get you signed up!"

Live from France

In adition to our family, and Junior, (who just sat there at our kitchon table weeping for the whole confrence call), the other people on the call were Madison, Ripke and Blankenship.

These are the three criptozoologists who study Granfather. They were on the line from France, where they were atending a Paranormol Herpetology Summit on mysterrious reptilian beasts and creatures. (Actualy, they woud be presenting some over overheads of Granfather's Xrays as evidence; actualy, only Madison and Blankenship spoke at the summit; Ripke as you know lost his sence of speech as a result of a rare conditon called Exposed-to- Granfather-for-an-extended-Period-of-Time-Post-Truamattic-Stress-Syndrome where he no longor talks but insted just sits there with a glazed look on his face gripping his forearms, drooling and rocking like a distourbed child.)

Ripke has tenure and so they cant fire him, despite his incurable emotionol scars. But you know what, I dont feel sorrey for him. It was his choice to closely study the old bastord for 5 years and so he deserves what he gets. Me on the othor hand canot avoid him.

Granfather is sick, mentaly I mean.

He allways has to be the center of atention. You woud think hed be enbarassed by having everyone take time out of there busy schedoules to attend an intercontinental conferrence call to discuss WHAT TO DO WITH THE OLD BASTERD. But no, he actualy revels in it.

"I WANT TO LIVE MAH OWN LIFE!" Granfather screamed thruohgout the whole conference call.

I coud not get anyone to listen to me

I tried to mention in the conference call that Granfather ruined my laptop and also caused my eye to get dammaged. But my brothor and dad told me to "KEEP ON SUBJECT."

It is not fair. Meanwhile, Uncle Zeke and Uncle Willaim also coud not get a word in edgewise. Everytime they spoke, the old basterd, (who, not suprisingly, is referred to by his older brothers as the "young basterd"), interupted with some sort of rude coment or noise.

They allways have Politicol and Sports arguments

What dosent help mattors is that Granfather's two older brothers are Rebuplicans and Granfather is a Democrat. Also they are American League fans while Granps is a Nationol Leageu fan.


One of his brothors replied that even if they DID hate the workin class, lazy old Granfather never worked a day in his life and so why does it mattor. Granfather's answor to this was to sing this very, very disturbing song that hes been taunting his two older siblings with for allmost 40 years now.

Frank Sinatra actualy had a vareity show on TV around 1960 and of his guests was Ellenor Roosevelt who must of been, like 80 years old at the time. Sinatra hands her the mike and she starts singin "High Hopes" -- not realy singin it but sort of reading it. Granfather does this high-pitched bloodcourdling Eleanor Rosevelt voice that hes been taunting his two Republican brothors with for years.

"JUST WHAT MAKES THAT LITTLE OLD ONT," he trilled in the blood curdollingly high, upperclass Harvard-accented voice of the formor First Lady, "THINK HE CAN MOVE THAT RUBBER TREE PLONT?"

"Yeh, we know yuh lil' basterd, HIGH HOPES," one of Granps's older brothers screammed into the phone. Granfather woudnt stop with his Mrs. Rosevelt voice and it just got loudor and more shrill till the whole meeting then desdended into everyone just hollerin at one anothor.

It was a giant waste of time.