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Speciel Double Decembor 1998 Update: Part I

Page 2 of 6


Thannk heavens for exciting Colege football

I canot explain this, but after a few minutes of sittin arround, my brother, my uncles, Dad and the old basterd started talkin about college football and it seemed that we were all calmed down. Yes that is the Lonestar State for you. Colege football and even High school footbal is a great can be a great bridge for families. Especialy our familly, at the point that we are bored at being shocked and Granfather is bored of being reppulsive.

After the counselor finaly ran out of there very upset we who remained descidded that as long as a good portion of the family was togethor from all parts of the countrey, we shoud put aside our diferences and go out to supper. Yes it is weird that one minnute a jury in all 50 states coud feasibly considor what goes on as atemped murder and the next we are havin a simple argument over where to eat. (Except my sisterinlaw and the Lady Perot, (the female version of Ros Perot). They didnt talk about football at all but insted was just bitchin at each othor).

We finaly settoled on this steakhouse that I was once at anothor time. The counsellor politely ecxused herself and said she had a prior engagment. Meanhwile in the parkin lot a few minutes later i saw her sittin at her car with the radio real loud as to drown out the noise of her hysterricaly pounding on the steerin wheel with her fist while hollerin at herself with tears in her eyes. I dont realy know howto read lips but i coud tell she was screamin over and ovor "what a bunch of effin animols."

No one wanted to drive with Granfather only because (as usuol) he smells so bad and so me and him coght a ride over to the place in the Mary K. cosmetics pink Cadilac that bellonged to the Female Ross Perot's freind that she was borrowing from her.

Inside the restuoront

It was one of those steakhouse chains i always forget the name of that has the plank walls and buckats of peanuts at every table that you are alowed to throw the shells on the floor after you eat them. Only problem is that Granfather always throws his stakebones and potatoe skins on the floor too and somtimes at othor diners. Also it has the sallad bar in the shape of a conestoga wagon. I dont know what the deal is with salad bars. There suposed to be healthey and all but why all those gluey dressings and whys there allways such a low porportion of skinny people on them. Plus this place allways has a giant pot of nacho sauce but not one thing you coud feasibly put nacho suace on. But of course that dosent stop Granfather who allways does disgousting things like make a giant foot-high pyrammid of cherry tommatoes in his salad bar bowl and then with the ladle, fills up all the emptey spaces between them with the creeping orenge mass of the sauce.

Mean arrogent bastord

Granfather allmost started a scene when he threatenned a young womon on line behind him. He scowled at her, with the big black furry scab (which had formed arround the small steel wheel from the Wet-Dry Vac that Uncle Zeke powor nailed into his forehead), pleating and rumpling up in disapprovol as Granps raised his eyebrow -- his one, thick eyebrow.

"TELL YER KID TO STOP GAWKIN' AT ME, OR I'LL DROWN HIS ASS IN THIS HERE DRIPPY CHEESE," the old basterd barked.

"I DONE JEST COME BACK FROM A 'FAMBLY ENCOUNTER' AN' I AIN'T IN NO DAGNAB MOOD TO GIT STAIRED AT."

Our poor disfuntionol family just sat there queitly eating. Actualy queit is not the word. Its rather quite noisy. Granfather always makes loud disgousting grunts and burps and mandibulor bone cracking and unspeakoble intestinol noises thruoghout the whole meal. Not to mention mucky loud chewing sounds and and a sinphony of gargly mucus. Dad, and my brothor and sisterin law, they sit there and mutter and curse to themselfs. Uncle Will wheezes and breethes desperatley to stay alive. Uncle Zeke droans in a mumbley monotone as he slowley reads the menu cause readin outloud is the onley way he knows how to read. And I sit there thru the whole danm meal sniffoling because I am allways either cryin or atleast on the verge of tears about how awfull the whole sitaution is and how I wish insted I coud of been born into a normol family, a regulor family, insted of such a friggin enbarasingly disfunctionol one. Like perhapps a familly of incestuous cannibballistic Praying Mantid insects. Hell, I woud trade my famly probloms for theres anytime.

While everyone sat there moroseley Granfather's new girlfreind did most of the talking. She was yammerin on extremly rapidly abuot more of her dumb ideas for inventions that she wanted us in the family to pitch in money for. Remmember, I wrote in my last update about how she has all these stuppid ideas for dumbass inventions. Like The "Paint Bomb." And Glue with Yeast in it. And also for somthin called a "haircut recorder," which she explainned to us in detail as we ate.

"D'jever git the best danm haircut you ever had?," the little crone twanged with her high-pitched steel wire voice.

"Then, next time, two months later the stupid barber cain't duplicate it. Yunnastand? Knowutimean?

Knowutimean? Yunnastand?"

Her voice was like a mosqito in my danm ear. She went on sayin about how they coud put a motion recorder on the electric haircut razer just like the needle grooves on an old fashion record player. Or else record the movements like they do with the mechanicol arm on the Mir space station that allways knows exactly how to grab the wrench as it floats thru space after the drunk Russain astronuot drops it durin a spacewalk.

"This way you git the same fine, fine, FAAAHNN haircut every taaamm!"

Granfather chearfuly piped up that he "recorded a movement" once and even sent pictuores of it to the Giuness Book Of World Records but that they declined publishing his effert.

A Furby Scheeme

Othor invention ideas the little female meggalomaniacal demagog had was for glue with yeast in it, so it expands as it drys rathor than shrinks. And also a weird, totaly mentaly unsound scheme to buy 50 or 100 of the new Furby dolls, and train them to be Java programmors.

The female Ros Perrot even had a bunch of Powerpoint charts with her which she dissplayed at the table that outlined the whole thing.

"Step one, you git some o'that IBM voice reckognition softwarr. You with me? You follow?

"Next, you buy the 'Java For Dummies' book. You still with me? Good.

"Last step is, you line up all them lil' furry critters and you read thet book out loud, an you teach them sumbitches to code."

No one paid atention to what she was sayin, even thuogh she kept goin on about these ideas and more. Aparantly she alredy had some funding for the yeast-in-glue idea and was even aimming for an IPO in early '99 if all went well.

Finaly she (thank God) shut the danm hell up. A few silent unconfortoble moments went by as the only sounds we coud hear was the tedious slow voice of Uncle Zeke reading out loud to himself. Like I said, its the only way poor Zeke knows how to read.

"WHUT THE HELL YOU GARBLIN' TO YERSELF ABOUT?", Granfather finaly snapped. The oldor man looked back at Granps, his face a slowley crusting mass of raw flesh and matted carpat fibers.

"I'm readin' these here Specials O'The Day off'n thet thar board," he repleid, pointing to somthin tacked up to a nearby wall.

Granfather retorted, "ZEKE YOU DUMBASS.

"THET THAR'S THE HEIMLICH MANEUVER CHART IN ESPAN-YOLE."

A breif program note