Improving in quallity at the same pace as the internet
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There is nothing, nothing in creattion more horroble, more repulsive and more conpletly disgousting as the inside of Granfather's moulth.
The tounge has actuol hair on it. Not those little pale, stumpey buds but true hairs, ranging from patches of thick downey fur to huge individoul hairs, some of them disgoustingly long, black and wiggly. All inside the mouth are scaly examples of excema, seborrea and psoriasis, as well as somthing called Adult Oral Acne which is somthing you do NOT want me to go into detail on. Normaly the whole area inside the moulth is dark and bloody brownish from his smoking but aftor his moulth was closed for all those weeks in the coma is white and grey and clammy.
There are couliflower like growths and giant knobby warts. It is clearly non humen. There is also som sort of unexplianed parasittic barnacle-like life form that lives in there, clinging to his gums, inner cheek and also hard and soft palate. Yes Granfather is not only a parasite to his family and an unexplainned form of life, but a host for other unexplianed parasittic forms of life.
Also do you know how when you eat Captian Crunch cereol how the roof of your pallate alwayes feels like it is hanging in schreds. Well Granfather's moulth is always full of those things. Some of them are fleshy protrudences but others are actualy alive. The white and pink and red and brown wiggelly life forms look almost ecaxtly like the rubbery nipple lookin things on the end of some types of toothbrush.
The inside of Granfather's danm mouth looks like a refuge for homeless oysters withuot shells or else a freakin nursery farm for freakish strains albino seaweed. You have heard the story of peoplle who stick there tounge on a flagpole in cold weathor and have it freeze there. When Granfather was a child he got his touonge stuck to a flagpole too exept it was 90 degrees out when it hapenned.
He is a creul, abusive, and wantonly mean old man. There is no purpoce served by his continuing to live, and he causes anyone he comes in contact with fear, teribble emotional distress and mental hazard. And beside that he is an enviromental hazerd. Mabye a little less so now that he cannot fart or crap, but still a great stinking hazerd.
At the same time, they started up Internet World agian, but we cannot get it, because we are gettin WIRED insted, and that we if we happen to see Internet World in the newstand or somthin, we shoudnt be pissed about that. I can bareley understand this myself but I had to explain it to Granfather who hept hollerin at me:
"AH STILL DON'T UNNER'STAND IT: EXPLAIN IT AGINN"...and hittin me with his giant apelike paw. It didnt stop till I got hit, like 17 times, and had tears streamin down my face. Not from pain but the houmilliation of gettin hit. Then he started sayin bad things abuot the internet industrey, which I take personolly because I am part of it.
"NO WONDOR NO ONE KIN MAKE NO MONEY IN THIS HERE BIDNESS," Granfather screamed, "NO ONE KIN BREATHE!
"EVERYONE'S HEAD IS UP THEIR DANM ASS!"
There is no more hiddeous sound than Granfather's voice. I have describbed it before. It is like croaking, allmost metallic sound, a cross between one of the evil apple trees in Wizerd of Oz and the sound of a loud belch in an emptey coffee can, and which gives you the underlying sensattion of scratchin fingernaiols which were just cut raggedy and much to short onto a a blackboard as hard as you can. This is not an exagorration.
"I MISSED OUT ON HISTORY!"
The stupid ass old basterd started shoutin at me, and tossing to me one by one a stack of internet industrey maggazines that were piled on his scraggley heaving chest.
"I WUZ STUCK THAR IN THET COMBER FER A MONTH!," he yelled, pronouncing "coma" as "comber."
"THET'S TWO YEARS IN INTERNET TIME!"
He kept harranguing me for not keeping all of his danm mail, or atleast not making a list of industry advancements while he was hospittolized.
"YOU MEAN THEY DONE ROLLED OUT SEQUEL SERVER SEVEN? AN' YOU DIDN'T' TELL GRANPY?
"YOU DUMB-ASS FAT-HEAD POLECAT-BRAINED SUMBITCH WUSS!"
I said, "Please Granfather! No more fightin with me over the internet!"
This projjecting that he does is somthin that we covered in many of our familly therapy sessions.
"You are just projecting," I said to him, thruogh my tears and standing dirrectly over him and just as i did that his hollow bristly.
cheeks caved in even more as he made a loud:
"HAAACK -- Ptooie!" sound, and right in betwean the "HAAACK" and the "Ptooie!" Granfather heaved out a big creamy loogie that I coudnt move out of the way fast enuogh for and it creamed me right on the side of my head and got coght in my hair.
"WRONG, BOY," he said.
"I AM PROJEC- TILE -ING."
Then my brother, who was stayin with us for a few weeks hollored in from the other room for both me and Granfather to SHUT THE HELLUP.
The next day I wore those red socks. There is a very tackey men's clothing store a few counteis just off the freeway over on the way to my job and the only socks they had that were a true red were these overly puffey, very woolly ones.
So there I am walkin arround the office like an idiot wearin red socks. No one said anythin and all day I kept waitin for someone, (hopefuly a pretty woman) to come up to me and say hello.
I tell you I am so danm pittifull that somtimes I actualy feel sorry for myself.