...Oh, that's what i forgot: A spellchecker
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Anyway there was Granfather relaxing in the living room hooked up to the new Atmosphereic Enema with the motor gently running, looking like a nakad man wearing a barrel -- which in this case was a 55-gallon drum which was providding a low presure atmosphere around his scraggly carcass.
Just like the Air Force writes nasty and funny sayings on bombs that they drop on Saddam Hussein, there were all sorts of rude sayings that Granfather and the Female version of perenniol Presidential candidate H. Ross Perrot has scrawled on the outside of the barrel, such as:
I don't Give A Flying
Crap (But I soon will
thanks to This great
"No More Enema-Nems," ...(which is sort of a gross word Granfather made up years ago to discribe small dark round chocollatly looking diaper pellets he usualy gets as a result of conventionol, constant air-presure peristaltic asistance devices already curently on the market now for decades).
When the basterd and his lady freind were suficiantly distracted Uncle Zeke snuck up behind him to whack him unconscous with an ax handle. Then him and Uncle Will (with his last dying strenth) manhandled the female Perote and locked her in the crawlspace below the trailor. (We found this out later. The little hag was plentey pissed when we pulled her out too).
It seems what hapened was that Granfather's brothers took Granfather and dragged him into his bedroom. There the old basterd awoke and treid to fight them off. The Atmospheric Enema(R) was still atached up his butt and so they dumped anothor one of the harebrained inventions into the big steel drum which had been full only of air.
They inventtion they filled it with was the Grout-With-Yeast.
Aparantly Granfather's last words beffore being stuffed was, "HE'PP! SOMEONE HEPP ME!
THEY DONE FILLED MUH BEE -HIND FULL O' CEE -MENT!"
I didnt have no one else to call to take Granfather to the hospitall and so I called the auto reppair garage in town. It cost $300 for them to send 4 guys over to spend 2 hours geting Granfather out the front door and onto the danm truck. They had to put a tow hook and steel cable onto the lip of the 55 gallen drum.
But the way it ended up he fell off the flatbed when we were halfway there and the old basterd fell on the road and so they chardged us only half.
Good thing Granp had that caster wheel nailed to his head othorwise his face woud of had a nice scuff on from draggin on the pavement. You shoud of seen him whip arround on the road fishtailing on the end of that hook at 30 miles per hour behind that truck.
The family is curently havin a big fight over it.
Me and Uncle Zeke went back to the trailor to pull her out of the crawlspace. Her tiny little head had been bound with masking tape to keep the little twit quiet. But now she was yappin like Dino the Flintstone's dog.
"Who the hell you think you are?" she snapped.
"Lock me in the basement, willya? Lock me in the basement like I wus the deficit -- like I wuz some crazy old aunt you coud lock up? Like them politicians in Warshington who pretend there's no Fed'rol Budget deficit?
"You IS the crazy old aunt," barked Uncle Zeke, "And there aint no deficit, cause the Rebuplicans done balanced the budget."
Well the last thing we needed in my familly was anothor politticol argument and so I made them stop.
There were originaly 8 votes: On the one side, Granfather's two brothers voted to pull the plug and for him to die, and so did my brothor and sister in law. That made four votes.
Those who voted to allow Granfather to remain to live on life suport after January 6th if he does not come out of the coma, are me and Dad and my stepmom, and also Granfather, (with his attorny voting "Yes" by proxy, on behalf of the old basterd). That also made 4 votes.
The female version of Ross Perot, (not actually Ross Perot, just the female versien of him) was all readdy to vote YES, and that woud of made 9 votes, with our side winning.
Howevor: Just when she was all ready to vote YES, Dad switched his vote.
I said to him, "do you realy bellieve that," and he said, "Nah, the old basterd is probly goin to Hell," but in any case he was sure it was for the best becuase Granfather surely woudnt want to stay on life support, and it looked eviddent that he was really a goner.
In tears, I begged my familly to PLEASE let Granfather live. I know i complain abbout him, but I dont realy want him to die. (Aftor all what woud i write about?)
I begged them that insted of Youthanasia, to at least perhaps considor Censure. But the lawyors said that Censure is not in the tradition of youthenasia law, (and besides I do not have the votes for it anyway).