"Never kick a fresh turd around on a hot day"-- Lyndon B. Johnson, when asked for his philosophy of life
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And then he told me thats not why I am cryin -- he was bawlin cause he was so shocked and astounded cause hed never been so close to Granfather before and coud not comprehend how ghastley he looked sounded and smelt from just inches away. Cause the closest hed ever got in the past was 20 feet away in the courtroom and even still Granfather was surroundad by lots of police and Fish & Wildlife deputies.
"It's not human! It's not human!" he sobbed, "What do my balls matter, when we know that 'THEY' are have now arrived to colonize us?"
It took me 20 minuts to convince him to get out the wheelbaroww and when I did he moved very gingerly as not to cause an explosion. He is sort of a portly man in his 50s and sort of clumsey and he shreiked in fear at one part when the latch of his overalls scraped on the edge of the wheelbarrow as he slowly crawled off on his belly and at the same time cut a fart that he thoght was sure to blow our damn toolshed to smithereens.
When we were safely out of doors me and him stood there silentley, Junoir stairing at his shoes which were planted in fresh goat doo on the red clay path with a look of enbarassed shame on his face. A soft rain began to fall.
"He lied to me. The toolshed didnt blow up," he sighed.
"I'll go git some SoftSoap(R) an' a pair of wa'ar cutters," Junior continued, still staring at the ground, "And done climb up an' free the nice man whut raises them birds that sound like Grampy's manly giblets out of that computer cord b'fore he done gits 'em burnt fast to the roof from a lightning strike."
I entered the house and Granfather was watchin a dirty program. How the hell they are alloud to show this stuff during the day is beyond me.
"I'VE FOUND I DON'T NEVER NEED TO TIE UP JUNIOR, AS TO RESTRAIN HIM, SO AS TO PROCEED WITH MAH EVIL DEEDS," he gruffed at me withuot looking up, "HE'S DUMB AS A STUMP AN' IT'S A WASTE O'ROPE."
Withuot sayin a word I went in the othor room and pulled out a 25-pound bag of dry Purina kibble and dragged it onto the livingroom floor.
"WHUT THE HELL IS THIS", he spat. But I remained silent.
Then still without sayin nothin I went outside to one of the buildings on the cornor of our sprawling propperty (tryin real hard as I passed not to look at Junior and our poor neighbor noisily strugolling to release our poor neighber's testocles from the CPU lock cable tied to our roof) and returned with a steelwire kennel cage.
I mounted the trailor steps carrying the cage, draged in in, and placed it right in front of Granfather on the living room floor, betwean him and the TV but he ignorred me. I tapped on it with a small wrench and it made a loud ping. Still the old basterd was glumly silent. Finaly I spoke.
"The Granp Caddy is in the trunk of the car back at the hotel. This here cage is a little smaller but it is strongor."
Granfather looked up off in the distence away from me with watory eyes and at last replied in a severe ponderrous tone,
"I AM A DANGER TO SOCIETY AS WELL AS TO MYSEFF.
"'COURSE, I DON'T GIVE A RAT'S ASS FER SOCIETY: ONLY MAHSEFF. HOWEVOR, IN LIGHT OF THIS SITCHUATION, THAR ONLY IS ONE THING FOR ME TO SAY:
"GO ON, BWAH. SLAP ME IN."
I said to him, "Granfather, it woud mean allot to both me and the family therapist and especialy the new State Caseworkor if you went in on your own. It woud show that you are takin responsibility in your life."
I opened the wire hatch wide enuogh for him to get in and then began filling the 24 Hour Feeder on the side of the cage with kibble. The brand of kibbel is Purina(TM) Monkey Chow(R) the same one all the best zoos use. Medicaid will not pay for it. Howevor a few times Dr. Blankenship, the head criptozoologist wrote a presciption and the HMO allowed it with our $10 co-payment.
Granfather slowly got on all fours and slinking like a starved hyena with shoulders hunched and licking his lips crawled into the cage muttoring, "HMM, THE STATE CASEWORKER WHUT DON'T WEAR NO BRA. I SURE DO WANT TO IMPRESS HER."
I closed the door of the kennol cage and Granfather loudly sniffed all 4 corners of it, circled a few times sniffing it, grunted, growled, and then sat on his haunches. Next I got a big greasy quilted maroon colored service station blanket (keeps the smell out best) and draiped it ovor the cage. With a few woofing grunts the old basterd was asleep. Its ammazing how he just goes to sleep like that when you throw the blanket ovor him once he's caged.
I explian to Junior that he must stay and watch Granfather and feed him and mak sure he has plenty of water. I say to him please dont mess up this time.
Junoir starts cryin and says hes sorry he keeps makin misteaks and alls he wants is for people to like him.
They had a coupel of creative comments they were running by me. Let me tell you somthing: NOBODY ever runs anything by me. Insted it's allways, "Do this, Miller NOW or your fired." This was a change. I have to say I was pleased becuase finaly someone was treatin me like a humen being.
"It's dysfunctional," one of the developers said in a comment about the cartoon, "I like it."
Then anothor one of them said, "Yes it has that dysfunctional family edge to it. 'Dysfunctional family' is really IN this year."
Thank God Granfather was in the cage. I coud hear him snicker a few times from benneath the blanket like he was makin fun of me but I treid to ignoar it.