Walter Miller's Homepage

Look Ma! No investors!

The Big Triple Update for May-June-July 2000

Page 13 of 26


Yes the state Aggies Are here: Remember, they are under orders.

Orders to douse Granps with insectiside.

Before the Haz-Mat vehicle even parked, and while Blankenship grated away with hard strokes at the bolt tops on Granp's head with a heavy rasp file, Madison was outside readin the Agricultorul Pest crew the riot act IN THERE FACES.

The state aggies were all ready to work at night too. They broght along floodlights and tenting aparattus. Night time is the best time to sprey Granps anyway as all the creepy crawlies in his danm scalp unburrow themselves up to the surface

Howevor, after reading the directive that just arived that day by Fed Ex, the Hazmat crew was pretty pissed that they now had to yeild control to the United Nations.

"Waal, its an election year," one of them finaly drawled in resignation, "And with Dubya runnin' for President, there ain't no sence in fighting the UN."

A compromise is needed

The Haz-Mat guys did point out that Granfather's ecosystem nonetheless remainned a threat to croplands, and not only that he still smelt like an elephents ass. So, when I went outside to feed the dogs, and while Blankenship stayed inside to finish burnishing up the placque, I saw Dr, Madison and the state aggies sit at the picnic table under the pecan tree in our dusty yard. There they treid to hammer out a compromise. One that woud find an alternative to state mandated (but now UN-outlawed) spreying but at the same time do somthing for Godsake to control the old basterds stink.

After the poor confused canines got fed I went back inside the house and Granfather was sort of slapping Blankenship around by one of the disguarded rubber gloves the old basterd held between his thumb and fourfinger. Blankenship shreiked and hid his face from the wallops. But it probly made more noise than it actualy hurt.

"YOU DUMBASS!" Granfather screamed at him, "AH DONE TOLE YOU NOT TO FILE THEM BRASS NIBS DOWN FLAT! MAKE 'EM POINTY AT LEAST!"

I said to him, "Why? So you can look like a devil?"

"AH ALREDDY DO ," Granps snarled, chewin an unlit cigar, "THIS HERE IS SO'S I KIN BUTT HEADS IN A BAR FIGHT."

By this time Granfather had turned off the TV and was now checkin his Email on the web. Granfather is such a pain in the ass abuot wanting to get on the web that I actualy set up my old laptop in the living room for him.

Just as long as he stays off MY computer.

I am tired of cleaning snot and boogers and wirey hairs and tobacco juice off my danm screen and keyboard.

"WHOA NELLIE, LOOKY HERE AT ALL THIS HEAH SPAM FROM YOUR GIRLFREIND.
"CHECK THIS ONE OUT: 'GEORGE CARLIN-ISMS'......WHY, I DONE HEARD OL' GEORGE CARLIN DO THAT THAR ROUTINE ON THE MIKE DOUGLAS SHOW BACK IN SEVENTY-ONE."

YOU NEED TO HAVE HAVE SOME WORDS WIT YO GIRLFREIND, BWAH."

"She is NOT my girlfriend!" I said.

Even thogh Cathyann is NOT my girlfreind, I did agree with the old basterd that someone had to stop her newfound habit of freindly spamming.

"You are absolutly right, Granfather. I will speak again to her," I said.

"YOUR CONCURRANCE ON THE ISSUE IS A NICE GESTURE, BUT IT AIN'T ENOUGH," replied the mean, abusive old coot. "HOW 'BOUT THIS: FOR EVERY NEW SPAM THAT GAL SENDS ME, I KICK YO' ASS?"

I pleaded to him that this was not fair. But you canot argue with evil. Especially pure evil.

More Grattuitous cruelty: Next he started smackin around Ripke.

The poor gimpy-minded Dr. Ripke hapenned to get too close to the Hefty Bag-wrapped package of colectibles that was still lying there on the carpet -- the items that just a day before, Granp's two brothers got arested for trying to steal out of the basterd's shed.

The poor drooling criptozoologist gibbered and cowered in terror as Granfather rubber glove-whipped him. The basterd was actualy half-jokin around too, going off in his Joe Pesci imitation from Goodfellas.

"DO I AMUSE YOU? AM I HERE FOR YOUR AMUSEMENT? HAH? HAH?"

Considoring Ripke's mental state, to bring any kind of fear to him is the most barest of naked cruelties. Finaly Granfather stopped.

"IF YER GONNA CURL UP ON THE RUG IN THE FETAL POSITION," he gruffed, "THEN DON'T DO IT ON MAH PRECIOUS COLLECTIBLES."

And then he cleared his throat, farted, and went back to checkin his e-mail. Old cruel inhuman monster. "HEY, BWAH. WHUT'S THIS HERE THANG YOU DONE FOWARDED ME?"

"Oh, that is from the county Clerk. It is a sworned statement that neither you or him were ever lovers togethor. He is still realy mad you anounced as much to everyone in the diner in town."

"WAAL, OF COURSE NO ONE B'LEEVES ITS TRUE. HELL, THAR'S ONLY FORTY-ONE SINGLE WOMEN OF LEGAL AGE WHUT LIVE IN THE WHOLE COUNTY, AND AH DONE TRIED TO MAKE MOVES ON THIRTY EIGHT O'THEM"

I said to him, "Yeah, cause the other three are hiding from you, and all the rest said NO."

"YOU'LL NEVER GIT NOTHIN IF YOU DON'T TRY!"

"Yes, but what you did to the County Clerk was realy mean."

Granfather then gave me a look that I guessed I coud only interpret as sadness.

"IF I HAD FEELINGS -- 'COURSE, I DON'T -- THEY'D BE HURT.

"I'M SUPPRIZED AT YOU, BOY! AIN'T YOU PROUD AT HOW I COME ALONG TOLERANCE-WISE?"

I said to him, "What the hell are you talkin about?" The old basterd gazed gently at me thru lemon yellow cobra eyes.

"FIVE YEARS AGO, I WAS SCREAMIN' AT THE TV SET ABOUT GAYS IN THE MILITARY. NOW I'M DONE PRETENDING TO BE ONE MUHSELF, IN ORDER TO HUMILIATE MY ENEMY!"

I said to him, Granfather you are an inhuman, cruel mean slob, but more than anything you are irrational." And then I stourmed out of the room.

The funny thing about Granfather, though, (other than his pervasively funny smell), is that he realy is not prejudiced. He never was prejudiced either, even though he grew up in the segragated South. Instead, Granfather has always EQUALY HATED ALL OF HUMANITY irregardless of who and what they are.

The only exeption to that rule

The only exeption to that rule is his more intense, special hate for his familly and those who love him. Evil basterd.

"AH KNOW SUMPTIN' ABOUT BEIN' A HATE VICTIM MAHSEFF!!", he screamed out after me as I closed the door of my room.

Yeah right.

Oh pleese. "Hate" my ass. I KNOW what he is talkin about. Uncle Zeke told me the story.

Back in the late 1940s Granfather was an evil teenager who was just as ghastly and frightenning as he is now, exept in a more youthful, vigorous way. One aftornoon he drank corn whisky in a small dusty saloon way on the eastern side of the state where as migrants his family travelled to pick cotton.

Little Granfather started insulting some rough local men who sat at the bar. You know, calling them names, burping, spittin tobaco juice at them, and quickley dropping the single-strap overalls he wore in those days to flap up his rear trapdoor and light bare ass farts in their direction across the room like a freakin flame thrower with his Zippo. (This was before he gained the abillity to "throw his voice")

He did all of this for no reasen

Granfather delights in creating meaningless terrer. He allways was a wiseass who, in those days, just as today, picked more fights than he ever did cotten.

They were big burley men in that saloon. Meanwhile Granps was small and scrawny. However, alarmed by the scraggly basterd's animal like appearance, leathery hairy hide and devil's red and yellow eyes they were afraid to fight back.

It turned out that these same men were the sort to go out at night and do mischeif while they wore pointy headed sheets. Yes they were Klu Klux Klanners. That evening they located the pine shack where Granfather, Zeke, William and their mother stayed, and, not knowing who (or even WHAT Granfather even WAS for Godsake) they arrived on horseback and lit in front of the shack not a burning wooden cross but a large flaming Question mark.

A compromomise is reached with the State Agriculturol Officers