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But as you know ignorring him involves cutting off all 5 sences. Very dejectedly I went into my room and I wrote an email to "Hot Cheeks" to tell her what hapenned. Also I begged her to please considor going out with me anyway.
That night I coudnt sleep. I got up in the middol of the night to try to crap. (To TRY.)
I heard Granfather calling out to me: "BOY...BWAH!"
I saw the old basterd layed out flat, his grisly face lit up from the moonlight streamming in from the trailor window. He made a ghastley corpselike smile at me.
"WHATSAMATTER, BWAH?" he asked.
I said NOTHIN. I treid hard not to look at him. Granfather in the moonlihgt is a very scary thing.
Next the old basterd mumboled somthing in a crackly, mock-sweet voice.
"What did you say?" I demmanded.
"YOU CAIN'T GO, CAN YOU?" he said all creepy.
"YER ALL BOUND UP LIKE YER OLD GRANPAP, AIN'T YOU?"
"Stop it!" I shouted.
"IT'S THET LAMB SAUSEGE, IDDN'T IT?
The old abusive beast went on to say in his cacckly anoying voice that he had been betting that me and my brother were racking our brains tryin to figure out exactley how he, (Granfather) woud cause harm to us thruogh a simple, innocent supper at the Belchwood Arms, (or whattever the name of that place was).
"MAN NOR BEAST CANNOT DIGEST IT," said the old basterd sweetly. "HEED MY WORDS: YOU WILL SEE IT AGIAN.
The grisly geezer explained how he too ate one of those preservattive free British Style lamb saussages, back during the earley '70s, when the resturrant first opened, and it bound him so teribbly. How he didnt go to the bathroom agian normally for a full 14 years, tasting the danm thing and the dark oil it was cooked in by way of acid reflux every day durring all that time -- and how he was so sure that this sausege was exactley the entree that i woud of ordered if I ever ate there myself.
"I TELL YUH WHUT, BWAH, I DIDN'T CRAP LIKE A MAN AGINN TILL THE DAY REAGAN BOMBED LIBYA IN '86."
The light of the moon does horobble things to Granfather. Have you ever seen a cat or racoon when the headlights hit there eyes. This is what hapens to the reptilian old troll, exept the color that apears when the light hits it is green. Not a mossy, moldey green like arround his gums and teeth but bright and garrish like a green bottol horsefly buzzing arround a pile of fresh dog mash. Which is what the old basterd's eyes looked like, dancing arround the room in a dark funereal way.
"BELEIVE YOU ME!" he cryed out in the thundorring wail of a derranged prophet, "YOU WILL SEE THET SAUSAGE AGINN!
ALONE: AND WITHUOT GARNISH OF ANY KIND!
"Y'HEAR ME, BWAH!?"
Which to me, was a load of crap. How woud I see it again? Especialy since I never, EVER plan to eat that danm recipe again, ever.
I had teribble dreams all night about having a British-style Preservattive Free Lamb sausage chasing me thruogh the british countreyside. It wearing a bowlor had and is yelling at me, 'Tally Hoe, old Chap!' and othor trite english stuff. Then the next thing I know (in the dream) is that the suasage has now took the size and propportions of the ton sized grout plug in Granps ass. Exept it is now in MY ass. And it is stoppin me from crapping.
To mask the whole thing I put the last of the palm sized banddages (normaly used on granfather's ass after one of his boils are lanced) but like a jerk i put it on beffore I showered and when it got wet it fell off. I resigned myself to one simpol fact: When i went to work today, I was goingto look like a fool.
By the time i got to work I was preppared for the humilliation.
When I arived at my job, everyone looked at me. And bellive it or not this was not a probblem. I am not freinds enuogh with anyone where anyone came out and asked me why one side of my head was bleached yellow and my ear was all huge red and infectad, but I heard peoplle whisporing. Like I said, I did not sleep and my stomich ached with pain from the lamb sausage. I still hadnt crapped or ate. If I so much as thoght about food, I tasted greazy oil. If I thoght about crapping, I felt even worse. Yes somtimes I have problems with constippation, and this was a bad one. I huddled in my cubicol and checked my email with one hand as I gripped my stomoch with the othor.
In the note she said that the only sollution to getting one side of my hair acidentally bleached was to HAVE MY HEAD SHAVED BALD.
Also she said that a shaived head was not realy a bad idea: Yes, beecause ever since i wrote her the night beffore, she was havin this fantasy that had somthin to do with makin out with me (with the lights on, Whoooo), and slathorin my bare head with Estea brand diatettic pancake syrup and then lickin it all off my body.
And it had to be (acording to the note), had to be Estea because it is sugarfree and she woud insist on sugorfree because she has allot of gnats and clustor flies in the trailer she lives in with her disgousting smelly aunt who she has to take care of.
My whole body burned with rage just like my danm botch-pearced ear did.
I busted into the permissions folder on the mail server; (They are easy to get into because the network Admins here are jerks), and saw that the trailer she suposedly lives in is down in the basement area where the Java programmors are.
These three jerks were havin a REAL FUNNY JOKE at MY expence. They were sending me "alias" mail. What that means is that you can send and recieve e-mail under a diferrent name. I WAS MAD AS HELL. and i do not even realy ever get mad.