The story you have been readding is true. (Well, as true as allot of stuff on the internet.)
Page 8 of 8
The stall next to me had one of those Cuidado/Danger barriors on it becuase the toilat was busted. So I swiped this and then I somehow slipped it out in the lobby without no one seeing me so no one woud come in the men's room. I threw my undorwear in the trash spent the next two hours washin my danm pants in the friggin sink with hand soap and dryin them off with the hand dryers.
They were still wet when I finaly had the nerve to go out in the hall to call Junior to come pick me up. I treid to explain what hapenned. Granfathor scampored over to Junior's extention phone and listened in.
"WHUT THE HELLSAMATTER WITH YOU, BOY?" he yelled, "Y'AIN'T SUPOSED TO EAT SHORTENING ON A EMPTY GUT!"
"UNLESS YOU WANT THE DAMN HERSHEY SQUIRTS, WHICH I DO DECLARE APPEARS INDEED TO BE THE CASE."
Well the last thing I needed right now was a lectoure. Also Junior started hemming and hawing about coming ovor to pick me up, becuase this hotel was 80 miles even farthor from my office, which was alredy 150 miles from our town. So I told Junoir that if he didnt come and get me RIGHT NOW I woud use my powors of the Great Nostrildamus to put anothor mysterrious hand mark stain somwhere else: Perhaps on one of the fancy beer mirrors on his TV room.
It was almost 1 AM by the time Junior came. He was tired and slept on the way back while I drove. I told him that I was sorrey for thretoning him and in fact I gave him fifty bucks for coming to get me plus I boght all the gas. I asked him where Granfather was and he seemed very upset. He told me that the old bastord seemed to have a light bulb go off on his head, and demnanded all the shortning and lard and Crisco that Junior had in his house and told him to give him a ride into town becuase he was, in the bastord's words, "FETCHIN' TO FIX THET DUMBASS SUMBITCH VARMINT COUNTY CLERK."
Whatevor it was, it coudnt be good. I was nervuos the whole ride home.
It was 7 in the morning by the time we finaly got back, and so i got off the freeway onto the Business Route so to swing thruogh town to see what kind of havoc the basterd wrought.
The County Biulding is a small brick affair with wrought iron fencing going up the steps. It is standord size wrouhgt iron, with five and one-eihgth inches between each verticol ballister. And there, wegded between one straight ballister, and one of the twirly ones, was the small evil head of GRANFATHER.
All beside him stroon on the slate landing upon which he squatted his evil feet like a giant cruel lean toad were the empty boxas of lard and shortning. Ovbiously he had been there all night, because between his ear and clavicle was what looked like a wispy caterpillor nest. A small crowd peered around at the spectacle like it was some sort of caged wild monstor.
"FIVE-AND-ONE-EIGHT-INCHES, 'TWEEN STANDARD SIZE FENCE POSTS," the bastord marvelled as soon as he saw me and Junior approach.
"KIN YOU BELIEVE I DONE SQUEEZED MUH HEAD THE WHOLE WAY IN?
"I TELL YOU: 'TWERE THET LAST EIGHTH INCH, WHICH WUZ A BITCH."
Granfather began rambolling and yammering on about how now he was REALLY gonna stick it to the County Clerk: By means of a lawsiut agianst the county for negligence on public propporty.
"LOOK!" Granps bellowed with fake tears to a slowley growing earley morning crowd,
"A PORE OLD MAN DONE GOT STUCK IN YOUR COUNTY'S FENCE!"
I asked Granfather if he used the lard and shortening to squeeze his head thru the bars. He said he started to use Crisco shortning at first, but then found this othor marvellous substence, in Junior's bathroom.
He started describbing this amazing new substence to me: smooth, sqaure shaped, slippery, foamy...It sounded like plain old soap to me.
"YEP, THET'S THE NAME O'THE STUFF.
"I AIN'T USED THE STUFF IN YEARS, BUT THAT'S WHUT THEY CALL IT..."
"YES, ANOTHOR MIRACLE!" he sudenly screammed, looking off to the side, craining as far as his well ensconced head woud let him.
He bleated and wailed "I'M STUCK! "I'M STUCK!" ovor and ovor, and kept moaning on tearfully abbout how mean the danm County Clerk was, who he now claimed stuck him there on pourpose.
"THET THAR'S MUH GRANDSON, AND A REAL 'LEAKY PETE' HE WUZ LAST NIGHT, SO I HEARD."
With a blank serious face, the pretty reportor asked me if 'Leaky Pete' was my nickname.
"Um, no," i said weakly tremboling and unable to think, "My nickname is Nostrildamis."
"THE HELL IT AIN'T," Granfather barked.
"WE CALL HIM 'THE CRISCO KID!'"
And then the old bastord launched off into a versian of that Rock and Roll song from the 1970s called Cisco Kid:
"CRISCO KID, HE WUUUZ A FRIEND OF MINE...
BUM -BUM-BUM- BUM!
I told Granfather to please stop singin that song, especialy on camerra, and so he said OK BOY, I got anothor song:
"MOMMA'S LITTLE BABY LOVES SHORT'NIN, SHORT'NIN,
"MOM-MA'S LITTLE BABY LOVES...
....WHUT WUZ THET THANG YOU ET AGINN BOY? A PENGUIN?
OK, all this is enuogh houmiliation for one update and so I will end it here. I am only glad no one watches danm Channel 18 anyway or else it woud of been allot more worce.
Tune in to see what hapenned with Granfather's new public ensconcement. There will be a second June Update arround the week of the 30th of the month. One day i will totaly catch up and i apollogize for always running a week or so late all the time. As you know I am working on all areas of inprouvement in my life.