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Somtimes you do your best...and it still turns out to be crap like this.

The SECOND of Two Febuery 1999 Updates

Page 5 of 5


What this fight was about

There is a fammous list that is circullating around, which is called somthing like: "With Friends Like This, Who Needs Enemies? The Body Count of 53 Mysterious Clinton-Related Deaths".

Mabye youve seen this list on the internet. It lists all kind of peoplle going back 20 years to when Clintin was Govoner of Arkansaw, of varrious people who Clinton suposedly had killed ranging from state trooper bodygards to former bisness partners with fat sideburns and ugly suits to shady drug dealors and of cource assorted and sundry big-haired bimbos.

The female versein of Perot had printed a copy of it and was taunting Granfather with it. As you know there is a second list floating arround, which contradicts all 53 of these so-called mysterrious deaths one-by-one. This is the list Granfather had, and he was holdin it in one hand streched out there on his back, thrashin his legs and hollerin back at his ladyfreind.

With the two of them fighting, it was an awfull noisy sound of his croaking howls and her shrieking yaps. It sounded like the final confrontattion of the new, tiny mammals versus the old bellowwing dinasaurs on the last day of the Cretaceous Period, 65 million years ago.

Well if there is one thing I canott stand it is politicol bickering, and so I went inside my room and shut the door.

The two of them were screammin for a few hours

This fight was going beyond pollitics and was gettin quite ugly. I cowored in the fetal posittion on my bed while gripping the pillow arround my ears as hard as I coud but even still I coudnt help but hear very loud thru the thin alunimum walls of the trailor Granfather's girlfreind yell at him, "You're more stanky than a 'pig!," and I heard Granfather make fun of her by hollerin back that line that Samual L. Jackson says in Pulp Fiction, "Yeah, but I got mo' personality than Arnold the Pig from Green Acres!", and then she screammed back that Granfather, (in so many words), is such a bad lover that all during there, Ahem, foolin arround she cant help but keep her mind from wanderrin off thinkin about the NASDAQ.

After a few hours of this hollering compleat with slammed doors, breakking glass and pots and pans gettin throwed around plus what with the dogs outside howling in fear from the noise, the vertibble female version of Perot bardged out of the house as her pink Caddy roared off out of our yard up the dirt road toword the county route in a cloud of dust.

I layed in bed queit for anothor hour.

Granfather was conpletely silent. Finaly i had the nerve to venture out of my room to see what was going on. He was so queit I thoghht he might even be dead for Godsake.

The old basterd was just layin there flat on his back sadly stairing at the ceiling. I coud allmost swear there was a bit of a tear in his yellow, diamond-pupilled reptilian eye. In his gnarled paw he clutched a printout from the Web. It was a printout that the old basterd tracked down on the Web in order to use in his Pro-Clinton argument against his Anti-Clintin, Reform Party ladyfreind. It was entittled (somthing like): "Fifty-Three Lies: Peoplle who died of Naturol Causes that the Vast Right Wing Conspiricy Says Clinton Murdered."

Finaly the old basterd spoke.

"TAKE A LOOK AT NUMBER 47," he croaked softley, pushin the soiled stack of papor into my hand.

"THIS HERE FELLER DIED BUCK ASS NEKKID WHILE SITTIN ON THE TOILET.

"THE DEMMYCRATS SAY IT WUZ NATURAL CAUSES. THE REPUBLIKINS SAY HE WUZ MURDERED..."

Just then Granfather's lowor lip began to trembol. It was the closest thing I ever to him actualy crying.

"ALL I KNOWS IS THET I WISH IT WERE ME!"

Granfather then began bawling. Ive seen him fake it so many times that i dont know if he was for real or not.

"BWAH, THE REASON I'M BEING SO ORNERY LATELY IS CAUSE I CAIN'T CRAP....AN' IF I CAIN'T CRAP, WHY, I CAIN'T BE GRAMPY!"

"BWAA-HAA-HAA!"

I coudnt belive it, but it apeared that the old basterd was actuoly crying. And yes, I felt pity toword him. He asked to to come closer.

"HUG ME, BWAH...COME CLOSER....HOLD ME..
....I SAID, HOLD ME, YOU DUMBASS SUMBITCH!...A LITTLE TO THE LEFT...YEP..."

...and just at that momment, mabye it was a visuol prompting by Granfather, mabye it was his evil E.S.P., or mabey it was just instinct, but in any case, I looked up to see somthin...

It was a flasshback to my childhood.

... And insted of me lookin down from a ricketty laddor to see a peice of dog crap being flung at me, I was lookin up at a giant phlemm wad which at that instent dislodged itself from the snapping narrow slimy string which atached it to the ceiling of our trailor...and just like Wiley E. Coyote i just stood frozon there as it slapped dirrectly onto my face.

"BWAAAH-HAH-HAH!!

The sound and the tears were still there, exept now the old basterd was laughin and not crying. Mean creul basterd. He said some comment to me about watchin the clammy thing stuck on the ceilling for hours, and just waittiing for the right instent to get me undorneath it.

The worst part abbout it wasnt gettin spit on, but having to admitt to myself that my heart was touched with simpathey by his fake crying. Evil, mean abbusive basterd. OK, I will end this update here becuase I am so pissed and houmiliated.

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