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It is times like this i pray the spray will wafft up toword his face while hes smoking and his danm head will burst in flame like the little matchhead guy in the Match Lihgt briquette comercial.
There on the kitchon table was 2 empty cans of Spam luncheoun meat. Yes long before this fine products name was asociated with the Internet it was always in our house. You wont beleive how he eats it.
First he takes a big nail from the drawer popping a small hole in the bottem of the can and he puts his lips on it & sucks out all the clear jelly. The sound will take the frigin enamel off your teeth. Outside, one of the dogs always crys when he hears it.
Then he peels the can top off, opens his moulth & fits the WHOLE CAN IN and then with his finger he stops up the nail hole. Then he sucks real hard till his face turns white his lips turn black & his body shakkes and convulses. it takes 20 seconds to get the momentem up and at the exact moment he takes his fingor off and the whole rectangulur cube of prosessed pork shouldar and ham shoots down his throat in a splashy whack. It sounds just like when you take a cooked tommato and throw it hard agianst the side of the barn.
Granfather also gets that catolog that has Spam logo T-shirts, earings etc. He boght himslef the blue hooded sweatshirt in the largest posible extremly baggy size. When he wears it he looks like a cross betwean a elderly urban gang membor and a giant evil Smurf.
The poor lanky woman looked at the cans on the table swooning with naushea then looked at the bathroom door which seeped out clouds of bugspray and sudenly she ran to the sink and threw up. Then she oppologized to me. I asked if it was the smell of the bug Spray and she said NO: It was granfather. Not his smell in particulor but just everythin about him. She also said that years ago, I mean YEARS, she used to do this sort of thing for a living. And at least in those days she coud make some excuse to herself like: 'Its not just an adventuore its a job.' But no more becuase now shes just lonely for male conpaninship. Even if the man hapenns to be
The woman went in the bathroom next; granfathor began snikerin like crazy at me. When the wator started runnin he burped very loud then picked somthin quiet big outof his nose that he flikked at me then lit up a Lucky and says:
IN MY DAY YOU HAD TO MARREY TO 'GIT' SOME. KNOWUTT I MEAN? He started creully insulting me for my rommantic ideals and said that his way was the better way cause the way things are now you coud even get a squaw to live with you to cook and clean up: AS LONG AS YOU KEEP PROMISIN' TO GIT HITCHED. Like a 'test drive' that never ends till you got tired of her and then you coud (in a still socialy aceptable way) declaire you 'need your space' then find a yuonger one and take the one you got and throw her out on her ass.
Or at least move in with the other one and leave the first one to pay the rent alone. I started cryin because I am a very lonley person with NO girfreind. I ran out of the room. Granfather cackled and luaghed then started hollering all angry COME BACKHERE AN DO THESE DISHES YOU WHIMPORING SISSY. But instead i went in my room and got on the phone...Youll find out later who I called...
Now im scarred for life