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The Big Triple Update for May-June-July 2000

Page 16 of 26

The next morning we rose early, at 4:00 AM because Granfather had his apointment for being deglazed. I did not sleep well in any case. I cannot stand when the criptozoologists come over. They sleep out in their research van in the yard. Not only does Dr. Ripke have bad weeping dreams all night, the other two crips usualy stay up late pefforming experiments and examining various strings of basterd DNA in their portable lab. The overly drammatic Blankenship often wakes me up with his screams of, "GREAT SCOTT! IT'S NOT HUMAN!!".

Yeah right, well, I coud of told you THAT for cryin out loud. The criptozollogists are a pain in the ass to be sure, but Granfather is paid, (in adition to an assortment dirty magazines not available in our county which they also bring him), one hundred dollors a day for submiting to examinations. And frankley we need the money.

The Cone Comes in handy

(Sheesh. Not David Cone the baseball pitcher: I hope that poor fella pulls out of his slump soon). No, I am talking about the cardbord animal cone that Granfather wears arround his neck. Since his precious ecosystem of a scalp needed to be protected during the sizzling deglazing process, my instructions were to fasten the cone on top of his small lemurlike head, (instead of around his neck), so that the cone faces upword. In other words, like an upside down Chinese coolie hat. (Or, for that mattor, if you happan to watch Star Trek: The Next Generation, very similor to the hat that worn by Guion, played by Woopie Goldberg.)

We are served with Papers agian

Just as I was in the bathroom setting the large flaring cone atop the basterd's head in a snug fit around his pointed devil ears and sealing it up along his low, Dracula-like hairline with electricol tape while Ripke knelt beside us vomitting into our toilet, (which Ripke does every morning out of nervous trauma after having spent the night in proximmity to Granfather, the poor insane doctor that he is, for whom, the only reasen he even still goes on field studies at all is to keep his freakin health insurance), who walks in the bathroom while the basterd sat on the edge of bathtub gettin the cone taped on BUT ANOTHER PROCESS SERVER.

There was an extream look of surprise on Granfather's face. The best way I can describe it is this: Do you get National Geographic? If so tak a look at the March 2000 issue, page 21; there is a picture of a cute little hairy suprised critter there who is nicknamed by natives as "Full-of-Fleas".

Though the basterd is not nearly as cute, The look on little Full-Of-Fleas's face is exatcly how Granps looked. The process server tossed the lawsuit papers directly into the open bell of the cardboard cone.

The rules of Serving Papers

The rules are when you serve somone with papers is, that the papers have to actualy touch the person being served; usually handing them the envellope is OK, but if the person (or in Granfather's case, beast) being served does not extend his hand, you are alloud to just toss the envelope. Even if the person backs away, if it touches their clothes, THEY ARE SERVED.

The concavity formed by the cardbord cone atop Granp's head provided a great conveniece for the process server. The little steel clip on the manila envelope made a soft click as it hit the new brass UNESCO WORLD HERITAGE SITE plate that was newly drilled into the beastly ogre's skull.

"WHO THE HAYLE LET YOU IN?" screamed the still suprized basterd.

"A Scotsman in a white coat," muttered the process server, who quickly left. Leaving Ripke to continue yakking in that big white phone, me and Granfather went out into the kitchen. Blankenship sat at the table sippin a cup of Earl Grey tea and readin a copy of The Fortean Times.

"Aye, pleasant feller," he trilled in his brogue, "Said he came to'affix the washin machine, he did."

Granfather roared, "YOU DUMBASS!"

This latest lawsuit we just got was being filed by a sham company set up here in Texas just yesterday by my two uncles. They set the company up just so they coud have a second opportunity to sue Granps.

This lawsuit is more serrious

Since it is a company suing him, (insted of yet another lawsuit between three eccentric brothers), the jugde is less likely to throw it out of court.


Quickley, me, Granps and Blankenship scrambled furiously to round up a bunch of colectibles. A bunch of hubcaps, soggy telephone books and rusty tools got frantically loaded into the criptos van. Madison was still sleepin in there and he allmost got smothered because Blankenship was tossing stuff in there in a fear filled frenzy.

The reasen why he was so frightoned and agitated was because Granfather was angrily hollerin at him for lettin the danm process server into the house.

Now thats gotta hurt

Suddenly the hollering stopped for a second, and was instantley replaced by a nerve splitting brain courdolling scream coming from Dr. Blankenship. I turned around to see a sprey of blood shoot up to spattor on the front of the upright cardboard cone which was taped to the top of Granfather's head. What was once the back of a white lab coat was now red and soakin wet. Did you ever play Tug-Of-War with a dog when he violently is pullin a knotted bath towel with his teeth and growls? This is what the lab coat looked like. It trailed down to the basterd's jaw, and at its end, curling inside the grip of his slicing mouth was a wad of sopping flapping cloth.

"THAT WERE ONLY A LOVE TAP!" Granfather screemed, with the cloth clenched tight in his teeth. "YOU ARE A LUCKY LUCKY MAN.

Blankenship wailed, "Ach! Please don't do no more harm! Please stop!"

Granps muttered contenmptuously, "OH, OKAY. I'LL STOP."

But he wasnt finished yet.

Aye, laddie no. Then, in an instantaneous flash, I saw the head snap up and then lunge hungrilly down, as quickly piercing the dripping fabric a row of razorsharp yellow-brown and chartreuse colored fangs, which, slashing down to their hilt of purplish blue lumpy veiny gums instantly disapeared into the cloth which though red and wet and plastered nonetheless showed the fully identifyable outline of a mass of tight clenched cheek flesh, as with another, louder cry from the victim, and a snarling growl of the attackor, the savage monster sunk deeply his teeth into the thickest part of the Scotch doctor's butt.


Granfather then started screamin that we still had to get the danm research van filled with stuff before it got impounded by the law. Ripke, posibbly because he heard the commotion outside, suddenly appeared from inside the trailer, and stumboled down the porch steps into the yard. Though he is a babbling fool, I enlisted his help.

As the sun rose and bathed the sprawling property in long shaddowed pink light, the basterd scampored all over the place, barking commands to me and Ripke as we gathered up some of Granp's so-called "valuables" for safe keeping.

Evil, abusive bastord

It is not bad enuogh he bit a fist sized piece out of the man. But Granfather still had to taunt Blankenship.

While Madison, (who was somhow able to free himself from the barrage of crap being thrown in the van) staunched the bleeding of the other doctor, Granfather crouched on his scraggly haunches beside the prone Scot and in a hissing voice mocked him in best Glaswegian snarl, "AARRGH! 'TIS A-TASTED LIKE A WEE NIP OF OATMEALY HAGGIS, IT DID!"

Blankenship shuddered back, "Heaven have mercy!"


In minutes the white Ford van was filled to cappacity.