So bad its enbarasing
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Tuesday which was the next day, I was scheduoled to work at home, but before the morning was half ovor, I had to just get the hell out of the house. Uncle Zeke was planing to stay over till the day after Thanskgiving, I had to sleep on the couch. In the middol of the night I got up to go to the bathroom. Granfather met me halfway down the hall shuffoling along with his walker. Usualy Granfather is mallicious and mean but on rare ocasion he shows a small bit of humanitty, even kind thoughtfull mercy, which he did display at this moment.
"STAY OUT THE BATHROOM, BWAH," he gruffed, "THET IS, IF'N YOU EVER PLAN TO USE YER LUNGS AGINN."
The toxic old geezor sugested I go outside and drain myself in the yard, or else sqaut in a ditch if I had to drop somthin more substantial; (preferrably in the ditch that borders our neighbor's propperty; but I tell you I was in no mood to hike a few hundret yards in the dark.) It was only then that i noticed that the small steel wheel that Zeke nailed to his head was red hot and violentley spinning all by itself like a buzzsaw.
"That bad, huh?" I asked him. Granps tossed his head ovor his shouldor, pointing his chin toword the bathroom, (which, despite the fact that the lamp in there is busted, an eerie X-Fileslike smoke and blue glow pored out of the cracks and bilowed into the hallway), and responded in an allmost humble voice, "I DONE LEFT THE FIRST 20 MINUTES OF 'SAVING PRIVATE RYAN' IN THAR."
It was bad enuogh to wake Uncle Zeke who started hollerin from inside my room where he was sleepin, to, "Shut the golldang door." Granfather screammed back that the door WAS shut, and he oughto insted shut his danm moulth. In minuttes they were both screamin at eachothor. I grabbed a roll, ran out of the house, and into a queit area of the yard to do my business in peace. You havent lived unless youve crapped under the stars outside in the dark in the middol of the night. I mean that sarcausticaly. Because I used to have a danm civillized life. Now I live like a danm animal.
I also decidded I was not going back inside the house while they were going at it. There is an old pickup truck in our yard that hasnt run in years and (please dont laugh) but my familly uses it as an outdoor pantry becuase we live in a trailor and there isnt too much room for things like potatos and cases of 2-liter Diet Coke and big puffy bulk packs of granfather's adult diapors. The door closes nice and tight so rain and vermin wont get in. I made sort of a nest for myself in a sitting position ontop of a giant pakage of paper towols. I was squasshing them but I dont care. I also had to open the windows cause there was a box of big white onions ballanced on the steerin wheel and dash and they stunk. Man what i woudnt do for a nice 9 to 5, far, far away in Sunnyvale or somplace. Cause Ive had it with this Woody Guthrie crap.
Just as the sun rose I was havin a dream that I was back in Califonria where I grew up and I had a happy life. My mom was still alive, and dad had a stabel job.
Its funny, I was not a kid, i was a grownup, but even so I was still in the house i grew up in which my dad actualy had lator sold. You know how dreams are. I had a good job, and no emottional problems. Even my dog, who got hit by a car when I was 10 was still alive. (Granfather, of course was not still alive, but the musuem in London had payed us a million dollors for his freakish corpse where he remained, nakad and stuffed and in an attack pose, gnasshing his fangs at a sabor tooth tiger in the Royal Evolution of Man and Ape Exibit). My face had clearred up, the sun was shining, and Mom was downstairs fryin bacon as i was just waking up and I coud atcually hear the crackling sound. Do you know how real dreams can be. Finaly i opened my eyes and sat up and looked out the windoew of the truck and dawn was breaking and there five feet away stood big tall uncle Zeke stooped over and with both hands releiving himself on a segment of dented 8-by-12 coruggated tin roof that must of blew off the barn during Hurricane Charley and layed in the yard and the sound of his releif landing from so far up in a concentrated stream onto the metal made a sound that is ecaxtly like somone was frying bacon.
He looked over at me with his sad, stupid eyes because if it was aneyone else, (OK, mabye dumb old Junior woud of done what Zeke was now doing too), but if it was anyone else he woud of picked a peice of the yard on which there was no noisy tin on which to pee.
"Sorry boy," he mumboled, "Yer Granpap done polluted thet ol' john inside nigh six hours ago an' I still cain't go inside."
"They orta strap the fat sumbitch to the table and tell him he's gittin' one yer ladyfriend's newfangled enemers.
"Then when he wakes up, let him see Hillary holdin' the knife, an' have her say to him, 'I DIDN'T LIE, BUBBA I MISLED YOU'."
Next Uncle Zeke said some more insulting things abbout the Clinton White house. Granfather sprang from the easy chair brandishing his cane and broght it down with a violent whack on Zeke's face and blood spourted evereywhere.
At first glance you may think that Granfather is probly the only person (male persen anyway) who woud fight for the honor of President Clinton. But in realitty, the dishonest sonofobich (Granfather, not Clinton), only fought with his brother becuase he hates him so much. And so much likes to fight.
I am sorry but Uncle Zeke is somwhat to blame for allot of his own problems. He cannot help but provoke the old basterd. The two have been arguing politics since the Roosevelt Administrattion.
But then agian, in a peculoir way, the Clinton-Lewinskey affair provides sort of an even match for Granfather and Uncle Zeke: On the one hand, Zeke is dull witted and slow, while Granfather is witty and smart. But on the othor hand, there are so many more jokes to say about Clinten which are funny, so that a bonehead like Uncle Zeke can get his digs in efectively. So, for the first time in 60 years Granfather (the Democrat) is losing the battol of the insulting politicol jokes to Zeke, (his older Rebublican sibling), who has a fraction the I.Q.
Only thanks to Clinton is Granfather stumped by such wisecracks which end with lines like, "Please return the Flight Attendent to the Upright Position" and guffaws which focus on the U.N.-estabblished "No Fly Zone" surrounding the Executive Genitallia.
"I know you were involved in the 'Layla Incident'," she glowered at me, "And Corporate is very pissed about it."
I answored, "I am too stuppid to be involved in an incident."
She retorted, "Who the hell BUT you woud be stuppid enough to come in the day before Thanskgiving when he is not scheduled?"
The fact is that she was the one who was pissed. Since not allot of work gets done on the day before a holiday she had been planning to spend the whole frikkin day burning up the company T1 line on Ebay bidding on unicorn figurines. I know that this is all she does at work becuase we share a PC and Ive seen usage logs.