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The Summer 2001 Update

Page 18 of 50


That night aftor work I did get togethor with Spike for a few drinks.

My poor Brother, my danm heart is breakin for him.

Spike got clobbored in the danm stock market crash. Yeah right, he went from a net worth of eight hundred thousend dollars down to about $490,000 when he finaly cashed out. Let me tell you that is not so bad. There are worse things that coud happen to you than to have a half millien bucks hanging around, (in cash!!) with your house payed for, and a wife and kid who love you. It is not like he was goingto give any of that extra money to ME for Godsake.

Being such a morbid soul, it is a rare thing when I am able to chear someone up, but I did point out to Spike that his 500K in Texas was probly worth more here than in California. Yes he did apreaciate it, and he was encouraged.

But nothing coud cheer him up from this current horror

Spike had stuck around the house somemore and gave me an update on Granfather's mirraculous progress.

"Its the same old Granfather," Spike stammored, as we sipped drinks down at the small saloon a few miles from my job. (I had learned my lessen of drinking too much and so I had ginger ale.)

Spike contineud. "He's yelling at the criptoes, and Junior like nothin happened," he said. "He's still frozon with all that plastic in his body, and still can't move, but from the neck up its like nothin happened. Except his breath is worse."

I said, "That is inpossible," but Spike said it is true. Also Spike told me that Granfather is already torturring Junior to tears, both mentally and phiscically.

Poor Junior

Junior is the only one who held out hope that Granfather would somhow survive, and so he boght a few boxes of the old basterd's favorite Mexican cigars as a future get-well gift while we were down there in Mexico. When he presented them to Granfather the old bastard hollered, "JUNIOR YOU DUMBASS, YOU SHOULDA GOT ME SOME CUBAN SMOKES."

Junior wept and trembolled and reminded Granfather that his favorites were Mexicons, which he actualy liked better than Cubans, but the ungratefull old basterd screamed back, "Y'ALL KIN GIT MEXICAN SEE -GARS HERE IN TEXAS DOWN AT THE MINI-MART. BUT THEY DON'T SELL CUBANS.

"ONLY A DUMBASS DRIVES ACROSS MEXICO TWICE AND COMES HOME ONLY WITH MEXICANS."

In case you are reading this website in anothor country: It is illegol to sell Cuban goods in the USA. You haveto go to Mexico to get them.

Then Spike told me, that Gramps, (because he coud not yet move any other part of his body but his head), spit at Junior and demanded he not duck, and just stand in place and take his punnishment for not gettin Cuban cigars. Then when Junior went to lovingly wipe drool off Granfather's chin, the old bastord bit Junoir's thumb to the bone.

"What were the danm criptoes doing during all this?", I demanded, and Spike told me that they just stood arround making notes and logging the old beast's behavoir. However, the criptoes turn to be abused was to come: After Granfather terorrized Junior he turned his savagery onto them.

Spike is a tough guy, but he was clearly traummatized to tell the story. He bit his lip, nervously runnin his hand thru his hair, and told me more.

"Madison asked Granfather what he felt like," said Spike, "And Gramps said, 'WHUT THE HAYLE YOU THINK AH FEEL LIKE AFTER BEIN' ASLEEP FER HALF A YEAR? I GOTTA TAKE A CRAP!'"

(Spike by the way does the best inpersonation of the Beast that anyone does). He told me that Granfather hollored at Madison to get the plaster saw and make the hole in the fiberglass arround his ass even bigger. And Granfather warned, that if durring the procedure he (Madison), "SO MUCH AS NICKS MAH DELICATE MACNUGGETS WITH THAT THAR SAW, THEN I WILL BITCH SLAP YOU SILLY WITH A SACK OF DOORKNOBS."

I said with awe, "Really? But Granfather is still glued like a statue!"

Spike nodded yes, as he gulped his fifth drink, and told me that Granfather had actualy made Madison cry. We have never seen Madison cry. He is the toughest of the three criptozoologists. Madison is an even tougher sonofobich than Spike.

A cold shivor of familior fear buzzed up my spine.

"Oh crap. He is back," I said, "Granfather is BACK." Me and Spike sadly in silence hung our heads and staired into our drinks.

Sudenly the door of the noisey saloon abruptley flew open

And in marched my friend Stu, Marketing Director of Cyberblop, and with him were two clients he was entortaining from the U.K. The saloon is a crappy joint to be sure, but Europeeans as well as people from the East Coast and Westcoast who do business with Cyberblop love it, becuase they think its a real authentic slice of Texas.

I've never seen Stu smile so much.

As they took there seats, Stu walked past our table, his tiny wingtipped pig hooves crunching the peanut shells allover the warped plank floor.

"Walt!" he whispored, "I can't talk now -- I gotta juice up these clients -- but guess WHAT dude: My sense of smell is back!"

I said to him, "What the hell are you talkin about?"

Wet tears welled up in his tiny porky eyes, sparkolling in the buzzing glow of blue and pink neon beer signs, as Stu cried, "I can SMELL! I can TASTE! I can LIVE!
"...But I can't talk now, see you later," he said hurreidly, following his awestruck limey clients, (who quite foolishly I thoght), had begun to gravittate toword the mechanical bull machine on the othor side of the bar.

Spike stared at Stu as he walked off, and groggilly said to me, "That man is a pig."

Spike was drunk. But Stu, (who heard what Spike said), was not offended. He was in too good a mood. Stu turned arround and said to Spike, "Yes, but on the Internet nobody knows you're a pig."

Stu's sence of smell

Stu lost his sence of smell back when we were kids growin up in Northorn California. I wrote about this in a past update. It happened as the result of a tragic, traumattizing childhood accident. I was there. Many times over the years I often was jeallous of that disability, being that I had to live with Granfather. Not having a sence of smell around the old basterd is not a curse but a blessing, believe me.

Spike has anothor. And anothor...And then anothor

"You should of seen the old basterd," slurred Spike as he reeled from the alchohol, "He's been asleep so long, he's like Rip Van Winkle. He kept askin questions about all the stuff he missed out on: The Florida election recount. All those skimpey dresses at the Academy awards show. Why that new guy with the funny combover and that badly-tied necktie is now hosting The Antiques Roadshow, and whar the hell is Chris Jussel for Godsake. And how a gallon of gas now costs more than the averege Internet stock. Now THAT pissed him off."

It was a chilling account

The more Spike told me the worse I felt. It was a feeling of inpending doom.

Yes, being with Granfather is scary and frightenning. But merely just hearing the acount secondhand was somhow even more terrifying. It gave a sence of the unknown, as well as a foreboding of what Horrific ghastly (and gassy) horrors were to come.

Spike was also upset cause the reanimation of Granfather was putting a strain on his marriage. There were few people alive who hated Granps guts more than Spike and my sisterinlaw Darlene. The old basterd knows this, and he allways takes special delight in being mean to Darlene out of revenge. Meanwhile Darlene is not affraid to fight back. She is strongwilled enough to hold her own agianst Gramps, at least for a while. It is a horroble family rellationship we have, that is for sure.

An hour lator Stu ambled back to our table with his cleints.

We decided to all leave at the same time, and as Stu called a taxi for the drunken Brits who now were wearin these awful vinyl souvenir cowboy hats they paid too much for, Stu whispored to me, "Walter, these European beef and pork diseases are the best thing that ever hapenned to me. All my clients on the othor side of the pond now have an excuse to come HERE to do business!" Stu went on to rave with delirious glee about his getting his sence of smell back.

"Its not just my sence of smell and taste. It's closure on this whole situation with Junior," he said breezily. "Remembor when Junoir offered himself up to us, after the van broke down? That's what did it, that's what openned up my olfactory nerve."

I was distracted cause Spike was getting unruly. I said to him, "Stu that is great, but I have to get my brothor home...But Stu kept chattoring, with tears of grattitude in his tiny piglet eyes. "Walter, now I see it all! I'm not a cannibal. I'm just a guy who hasnt tasted a good roast in a long time."

Once we got outside Spike stumboled in the parking lot and barfed. Yes he did have too much to drink. Spike is a tough guy, very manly and much toughor than me. I never saw him yak before from drinkin too much, so this was a first. (Of course, the shock and horror of GRANFATHER comin back to life after so many peacefull months was a first as well).

I am sort of ashamed to admitt this but Spike's getting drunk made me feel justiffied and less guilty about getting drunk myself the other day. Howevor, while I had to shamefully face the conseqeunces with my parents for gettin drunk, Spike had to deal with Darlene.

Spike was angry and screamin, not so much that he was mad at himself, but for the reaction he woud get from his wife. I woud not call Spike henpecked, but she is nearly as tough as him, and it is hard to get away with it after youve pissed her off. And right now, the whole front of his shirt, this fancey expensive suede shirt that Darlene had got him for Christmas was all covored with barf.

"What the hell am I gonna do NOW?" Spike growled, "She never even let me wear this thing around the kid, in case he spills somthing on it. Even if there's a drizzle out, Darlene starts bitching at me: 'SPIKE! YOUR SUADE SHIRT!' ...and...and now LOOK at this shirt!"

Stu saves the day

"Dude, I may not be a married man like you, but I have an idea," Stu told Spike, throwin his piggy armshank over Spike's shouldor, but carefully enough as not to touch no puke.

"You got any cash?" Stu asked. Spike nodded, and took out his wallat.

"Stick a twenty dollor bill...right...here," said Stu, taking a bill from my brother and stuffin it in Spike's left shirt pocket.

"Now, listen carefully: When you go home, you tell Darlene that a man...a stranger at the bar, vomited on you," said Stu suavely, "And then he gave you this money because he felt bad about it."

Spike swaggored, then grabbed a few more bills and shook them at Stu's snout. "Naw, she paid over a hundred dollers for this shirt. She'll never believe it. She'll be so pissed!"

Stu gentley took the extra bills from Spike's hand and tucked them into Spike's right breast pocket. Then he buttoned the right pocket shut, but on the left brest pocket, he tucked the single $20 bill so it stuck out a little. He soothingly said to Spike, "No, the story is more beleivable if the guy gives you only twenty. She'll be pissed, but she'll be pissed at a stranger, not at you. Look Spike, the issue isnt replacing the shirt, it's gettin your wife off your back, right?"

"You got THAT right, Porky.," Spike slurred." Stu looked enbarrased and mumbled a goodbye to me, "See you at work, Walter. Remembor, tomorrow's the first meeting of the Morale task force."

The ride to Spike's house

Spike lived only 13 miles or so from the saloon and so I drove him home in my car.

"And THEN," said Spike, reeling and tossing and ranting in the passengor seat as he drunkenly recounted more and more of the Granfather Horror, "The old basterd doesnt even BELIEVE he's been unconscuios for so long...He says it CAN'T have been that long, because "Nash Bridges" is still on the air."

Again with Bourbon Boy Red

"I want that turkey," Spike frowned, wipin his mouth with his soggy sleeve. "Its the only thing I can think abbout. I'll feed him canola oil and sweet corn and heavy cream all the way till Thanskgiving by which time it'll be the biggest turkey in Texas and it will be MINE dammit, MINE!"

Like many young men I suppose (including myself), poor Spike is sufforing with feelings of failed acomplishments even while still not yet thirty. Having acomplishments is inportant to him because he is ambitious.

When we got there there was no chance we coud sneak in thru the garage. Walking into the house Darlene stood at the front door and she was very pissed to see and smell Spike all covored with yak on his beautiful suade shirt. Spike imeadiately started to explain very convincingly, and I think Darlene believed it.

"This...this stranger, this guy, he puked on my shirt! I'm tellin you the truth!" Spike yelled, teetering on his heels, and whippin out the $20 bill from his left pocket and waving it in her face.

"So a guy...a stranger puked on your shirt," she said warily. Both me and Spike nodded.

"Oh yeah," Darlene began to scream, "Well then what's THIS MONEY FOR?", and she dug her hand into his right shirt pocket and pulled out more twenties, the rest of the money that Stu stuffed there, and Spike had this dumbstruck look on his face and it was only then that I saw the spreading stain as Spike, now in a considerrably lower and less strident tone of voice stammored weakly, "Um, well, THAT was the money I got when the same guy shit in my pants!"

I got home at One oclock in the Morning