Where fiction is truely stranger than truth
Page 5 of 50
I told Junior to make himself useful and so he climbed ino the drivor's deat of the van, ready to start the engine. The rancher glanced arround for a place to ground the negative charge, and sort of on instinct he turned toword the blanket-covored item standing next to him, where through an open fold in the cloth he snapped the big copper clip on a piece of exposed metal showing thruogh the chipped fiberglass shell RIGHT ON GRANFATHER.
Oh God no. When I say he clipped it on Granps I am talkin about the part of him that was chipped, cause there was a metal peice of reinforcing bar showing. OK I will tell you where the old basterd got chipped: It was one of his nuts. Junior gunned the engine till the van started. The vibrations shook the blankit off that covered Granfather. The rancher looked at it and exclaimed, "El Diablo!"
I coud not respond. I was revulsed. Then the rancher looked past me and his eyes got even biggor. This time he said, "El Puerco!"
Just then over the crest of the shouldor I saw Madison struggoling up the incline. He held Stu by the shirt collor and appeared angry and pissed. By this time the ranchor looked like he wanted to get the hellout of there. Madison handed him two $20 US dollor bills and that sort of cheered him up and before he snuck away in fear he unlatched the jumpor cables from his truck. But this time he woud not go near the othor end of the cables, one of which was still atached to Granfather's left ball.
After the rancher drove off, Madison sort of slapped the back of Stu's head. Stu was breathin heavilly and was covored with sweat and dirt.
"You're a gaddam pig," he scolded Stu.
"I'm aware of that, Dr. Madison," Stu replied soothingley in his smooth radio anouncer's voice, "Let's just not make an issue out of it."
"He moved! Grampy done moved!" Junior creid. Sure enuogh as we all clustered around the old basterd, somthing was definitly going on under all that paint and plaster.
Straining to hear a noise over the chug-chug-chug of the van's engine, Madison placed his ear close to the old ogre's lips--a good way to lose your ear had the basterd been alive, and still risky while he's dead if you ask me.
"He said somthing!" Madison whispored, "He's alive!" I reached to remove the coppor cable clipped to Granp's nad, and Madison grabbed my hand and cried, "Not yet!...the electricol charge is what roused him!"
"Back away," Dr. Madison warned, as he slowly touched a cigarete lighter at the area of cracked fiberglass by the old basterd's crotch--the only open area of the Solid Granfather Statue. The tiny flame danced for a second when sudenly without warning a wooshing jet of orange fire spat out six feet along with greazy puffs of oily black smoke.
"He's farting," said Madison.
Stu shrugged, "Maybe he's just fermenting." As for myself, I was not convinced. The old basterd had been disembowoled, like a reservoir catfish scraiped clean of all its guts. Surely life coud not spring from an empty husk.
Madison remminded us of the nature of the grizly non-human X-file of beast. About how Granfather lacked an entire cardiopulmonary system. I have written before about how the old goblin has no veins and instead has large open sinuslike voids of goo sloshing around his insides, like a large insect. Madison assured us that while he was not exactley sure how, GRANFATHER WAS INDEED ALIVE.
"I have an idea," said Stu. Madison barked back at him, "No more ideas from you!"
Stu hung his head sheepishley. Clearly he had done somthing to set Madison off. In any case Stu's idea WAS the best one: We just keep the solid electricol charge buzzing hard on Granp's nut till we got all the way back to Texas.
So, very carefully, me, Madison, Stu and Junior lifted the old basterd, who being all saturrated with metol, plastic and resin added more than 300 pounds to his normol 125 pound scraggley weight. We carried him to the rear van doors, but the jumper cables woud not reach.
Somehow we had to get him from the front of the van, into the back cargo area. We coud not risk detatching the cable from that exposed peice of him that stuck out of the hard chipped shell like a half shucked oyster for just one second. Junior sugested we just position Granfather on the van's roof, like the giant bug on Dale's exterminater van on King of the Hill. But that woud not reach either. Insted we ended up smashing the windsheild and threading Granfather in, after of course sawing off the little platform he stood on with a hacksaw.
We hoped the border police woud not notice the jumpor cables leading from under the hood up into the pasenger area through where the winsheild used to be, or for that mattor, the old bastord resting on his head with his feet up in the air behind the driver seat with a copper clip on his ball.