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Nature-lover my ass. Betwen his natural odors, unnatoral behavor & unworldly secretions hes the frikin living walkin Exon Valdez.
Then he wheeled in my room demanding I 'take a letter'.
TONITE YOUR WRITING A LETER TO THEM FOLKS IN MY DEFENSE he growled. He sat there as i typed, screamin out rambling dictation. As soon as Id type somthing hed change his mind & make me revise it. Hed get frustreted & hit me. He slaped the back of my head each time i made a typo: YOU KNOW how many I make. I started cryin. Then he said OK BOY, YOU JUST WRITE THE DAMN THING, YOUR THE BIG LIAR IN OUR FAMLY.
He left me in my room with the door open while rolling aroun the trailer screamin out ideas for me to put in the letter to suport his claim to 'love nature':
TELL 'EM I READ GORE'S BOOK.
TELL 'EM BETTY WHITE'S MUH FAVORITE 'GOLDEN GIRL.'
WHEN THAT LETTERS DONE I BETTER FRIGGIN OUTSHINE MARLIN PURKINS DAMMIT.
i dont even know who that is.
The doctor insists he suck ONLY fresh new ones and NOT fish them outof public johns--Not that hed catch a disease, (and not that the Doctor cares); but becase new fresh ones are larger & have sharp egdes which increse the lucky chance that one mihgt lodge in his throat an hed choke, fulfiling the Docters singulor career fantasy of prononcing the old basterd dead. I ordered 4 dozen boxes over the Web last year.
Then I hear a car pull up an who comes tothe door but the witchy lookin woman who exacly resembled Howord Stern we saw in the roadhouse. I finaly remembered her as a womon of low morals from another county who used to entertain granfather about 5 years ago for WHO KNOWS what incentive. Oh MAN he was goin on a date with her YES HE WAS cheatin on his girlfrend! Granfather grabed me by my Adoms Apple (which HURTS) an harshly pulled my face close & whispered so the woman coudnt hear: LISTEN UP BOY I AINT GOT NO NOOKY IN LONGER'N I CARE TO FANCY then he told me if I stooled on him to so much as a soul hed personoly administer a whole unopened box of urinol tablets long side first up my ass so far Id taste lemmony mint freshness in my mouth for a year.
Well i didnt "tell" no one but I WROTE about it. And NOW its on the Web: Theres nothin he can do about it. SORRY GRANFATHER: iF YOUR such a mean basterd dont suprised if Im a stool pigeon.
The next day I got up at 7am and had to go somewhere. Gramps wasnt home yet! I came back at 1pm and saw the old basterd sittin in his whealchair sound asleep in the yard, spattored with barbecue sauce and nasty lipstick marks. His head was way back, his moulth was open and YUP, a giant raven was pertched on his huge jagged hatchet shaped Dr. Kavorkienlike nose as you geussed it--pickin food out of his teeth.
Years back, my Dad says granfather actualy woke up once durin a 'feeding' because a big crow somhow got his beak cought in the old basterds teeth while pickin at a big morsol. Man and beast (or rather beast and semi-beast) then wrangoled in the dirt 5 minutes till both were loosed free. Later on granfather said he was GLAD it hapened cause he had shred of steak cought on a upper molar for a week an it bothered him. FELT LIKE A DAMN PEICE O'ROPE STUCK BACK THERE AN IM MIHGTY GRATEFUL TO THE BIRD.
Looks like there will be more than PIGEON 'STOOLS' to come around here...
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