Best part is, I dont haveto waste time spellchecking.
Page 9 of 24
"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?"
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!
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."
Granfather hollered back at my brothor and his wife, "VERY FUNNY, YOU TWO. YOU KNOW, UP IN OREGON, THEY'RE TRYIN TO CLONE A MONKEY -- HOW'S ABOUT I GO UP THAR, AND THEY CLONE MAH ASS, AND WE BOTH COME TO LIVE WITH Y'ALL?"
My sisterinlaw screamed, "Fine! They have an Assisted Suicide law in Oregen too, and we can forge your name and get you signed up!"
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.
"I WANT TO LIVE MAH OWN LIFE!" Granfather screamed thruohgout the whole conference call.
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.
"YOU ANTI-WORKING CLASS DESIGNATTED-HITTER-LOVIN' OLD FART DUMBASSES," Granfather screamed.
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.