A True Interactive expereince. (It makes you throw up).
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Madison came running back in the room. As mad as Madison was, he knew how Granfather coud easily destroy expensive equipmant and valuable data. Just one meduim sized fart from the geezerly horror has been known to erase hard drives in an ajacent room.
Also in case you dont know Scotish ghetto talk, the "vines and berries" are mens annatomy and a "nappy" is what they call a diaper there and right now Granfather indeed was not wearin one on his. A quartor century of college between them, and a decade more of studying the old basterd, and the danm criptos are THAT STUPID as to forget to put a freakin diaper on him. It realy makes you wondor.
Granps contineud yapping at the doctors and got loudor and loudor and at one point he even called poor Madison a "Jive Turkey" to which Madison retorted, no one's even USED that danm term since like, 1973, and then Madison grabbed the TV remote from Granfather and to drown out the old basterd, held the channol button down till somethin nice came on. He stopped at Daily Sermonette on one of the relligious channels.
I DON'T NEED NO SERMONETTE," Granfather growled.
"Why?" said Madison.
"ALL THAT IS, IS SOOTHING, FEEL-GOOD, PRE-CHEWED CHURCHY PABLUM.
I'D PREFER A NICE SCREAMIN' PREACHER TO HEPP MAH SPIRITUAL GROWTH, " he said haughtily.
"This show is staying on," said Madison calmly.
Granfather said pompousley, "WHY, I AIN'T JUST HOLIER THAN THOU, I'M HOLIER THAN Y'ALL."
Meanwhile the hippocritical old bastord has not been to church in decades. Exept for an occasional demmonnic exorcism, which might I add is always unsucessful.
"AW, SERMONETTES ARE FOR CHRISTIANETTES," he grumped.
"I said this is staying on, Madison repeated. Granfather then started screamming, "TURN IT OFF OR I'LL SING 'BABY GOT BACK' OVER AND OVER TILL YOUR GOLLDANG HEAD EXPLOADS!"
As it turns out Madison finaly gave in and put Granp's entertianment show back on, which is all the old basterd realy wanted in the first place.
All this time I was looking in from the kitchen out of morbid curriousity.
All of this time Uncle Zeke sat queitly on a kitchon chair in his pajamas reading this old mustey 1920's brochure, his small brain tryin to absorb the big words printed on it, his huge camel lips ruminating silently as he squinted at the mildewed page. Zeke was reading a handbill on Eugenics which is this old defunked sceince that believes that sub-standord humans (like perhaps Granfather) shoud be sterilized or else not be alloud to live.
Eugennics is very controvercial, even today. Zeke spied me, and shook the flimsey tract in the air.
"Did he say he needs a preachor? Why, the Lord's saving grace ain't available to him, is whut: Only to humans. An' he ain't human."
In all serriousness, I had mixed feelings about Granfather being "alive" again. On the one hand I was happy. On the othor the crap was scaired out of me.
Also I wondor if his feelings were hurt that I have not yet talked to him, or even acknowleged him. I am the only person who considers Granfather's feelings and cares enough to say to Granfather that I love him. He has his probloms, and he needs the nurtoring concern and emotional support of his family.
I care for him. And I take allot of abuse from the rest of the family about it. Sadly, this is the big thing that Granfather and I have in common: Each in our own way, we've been rejected by our family -- Included, but somhow exiled. Tolorated, but not embraced, and part of the family fold, yet never within it, and only so out of vestigal obliggation. This is why I love him, and though he will never admit it, I honestly beleive he loves me as well. But he is my grandfather aftor all. Even if you always canot get along there always must be the effart. Okay I am abuot to cry now.
By the time I came out of the showor, little Uncle Will was awake and both him and Uncle Zeke were dressed in their best formol clothes, which hapenned to be a coupel of tacky, industreil-grade polyester leisure suits. Like he kind Don Knotts used to wear on Three's Company exept insted of the bright pastel colors, my staid and dour uncles preferred conservattive, earthy variations of babystool brown.
Uncle Will and Uncle Zeke had meetings today with some attornys about levelling more legal sanctions agianst Granfather, and were also petittioning to start up new lawsiuts against the old basterd which had been previousley dismissed due to him being declared dead. The Uncles both sat at the kitchon table looking glum and upset. The survival of the beastly geezer was hitting them too, both very very badly.
Junior was now awake too, and Granfather was screamin bloody murder at him, yelling at the top of his lungs with the cigarete cletched tight in his teeth. It is the most horroble sound you can ever imagine.
Propped up agianst the TV was a copy of the Decembor 2000 Esquire Magazine, from which Junior, (who had probly never tied a necktie in his poor pittiful life), was trying to duplicate onto Granfather the exact knot shape and position as was pictured arround the neck of the defiantly shameless grinning Clinton.
"WHUT'D I DONE SAY TO YOU FIVE TIMES ALREADY? FROGGY GOES ROUND AN' ROUND THE DAISY TWICE, THEN DIVES IN THE PURTY BUNNY'S HOLE FOR TEA!" Granfather screamed, while Junior fumbelled with the knot, his fingers scrambling furiously, "YOU STUPID DUMBASS BRAINLESS BUTTHEAD SUMBITCH!"
Junior shook with fright.
"I'll git it right, Grampy I promise!" he wailed, his face wet with tears of terror, "You'll look jest like Mister Clinton, whut with his laigs all spreadded in this here pit'cher, boo hoo hoo!"
You woud think the criptozoologists woud help poor Junior but insted they just examined what was going on, and took notes. In my disgust I went back into the kitchen. (I woud of helped myself, but I canot tie a tie either.) The two old uncles were still at the table, so I leaned on the ovon, and was suprised to feel it was hot.
He got closor and whisperred, "Plus he's hankering for more fresh meat. I fear for Blankenship," said Madison, "Even more than I feared for Junior back in Mexico."
"THAT'S BETTER," Granfather gruffed at Junior. "NOW TAKE ANOTHER LOOK AT THAT THAR MAGAZINE COVOR. IT IS A PICTURE OF THE GREATEST PRESIDENT THIS NATION HAS EVER KNOWN, AND WHO'S GLORIOUS EXIT FROM THAT OFFICE I SADLY MISSED WHILE UNDER AN INCH OF LAQUER."
"Y-e-e-es, Grampy," Junior trembolled, "Why, I done only OWNS me one proper necktie. And that one's right now back home, hunged around the lampshade in muh room, all perfecktly tied by my Momma all them years back."
"SHUT YER VITTLES HOLE JUNIOR, AN' LISSEN UP," the basterd spat. "I WANT YOU TO TAKE THIS HERE TIE, AN THAT THAR CAN O'THICK GLOPPY CLEAR SPRAY GLUE ON THE TABLE...
"I WANTS YOU TO SOAK UP THIS TIE WITH THE SPRAY GLUE, AND POSITION THE SILK POINT TIP JUST LIKE IN THE PHOTO: STRAIGHT DOWN SO WHEN IT DRIES IT POINTS DIRECTLY TO TO MAH POTUS."
A "POTUS" in case you dont know is an ackronym for Presidient Of The United States. Many of Mr. Clinton's critics (and atleast one suporter: Granfather) have used the word in sentences as to disrespectfuly suggest a synonym for the most famousley controversial extension of the Executtive Office.
"MADISON! GIT YO' ASS BACK IN HERE!" Granfather screamed, but by then, both he and the Scotsman, plus Ripke had left, their white dented research van clattoring up the rutted access road.
"Okay...(sob)....I got it...(sob).....The tip of the tie is pointin' down to the POTUS, jest like you wanted. ..(sob).....Oh Lordy! I done feel so dagnab violated!"
"GOOD!" Granfather hollered back. "NOW GIT INSIDE HERE, ZEKEY, AND SEE WHUT I LOOK LIKE NOW!"
Huge gangly Uncle Zeke slowly rose from the tiny formica kitchen chair and stiffly shuffoled in to view Granfather. Zeke's jaw allmost dropped to the floor.
"Blazes! He done looks MORE like the sumbitch than the Sumbitch Hisself!", Uncle Zeke thundored.
"YOU LIKE THE CHEEKS?" Granfather crowed. His usual orangey burnt hotdog skin color was oddly tinted a cheerful pink with ladies' rouge: the exact Clintonesque complexion hue, that of a rosy uncooked Big Mac(TM).
"JUNIOR ALSO DONE PAINTED SOME O'MY LATE WIFE'S MAKE UP ON," he brayed.
"AND DO YOU LIKE MAH NOSE?
"I HAD HIM POP THE PELVIS OFF AN OLD BARBIE DOLL WHUT I HAD HANGIN' AROUND, AND SLAP IT ON MAH SNIFFER. SEE THE LITTLE CLINTON CLEAVAGE THAR AT THE TIP? WHY, THAT'S HER LITTLE PLASTIC ASSCRACK."
Junior meanwhile wept with shame at the sink, washing makeup and rubbor cement off his fingers, while beside him on the drainboard was splayed the gruesome, dismembored doll's remains.
On instink, Uncle Zeke picked up the fireplace poker agian, approached Gramps, and wielded it over his head.
"YOU GONNA HIT ME, YUH BIG FOOL?" Granfather screamed at Zeke. "GO ON. I DARE YUH!"
Zeke swung the poker and it dug deep in the cheap plastic ceiling of the trailer. Zeke thrashed to free the pokor as to bash Granp's head in, but coud not wrest it free.
"Oh, Walter. Lean on me. I'm here to tell you that you can lean on me if you need to," she whined. But I do not WANT to lean on her, and just as I started to tell her this, she bourst into tears and starting bawling.