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The Summer 2001 Update

Page 26 of 50

I said to him, "Stu, dont think you have to bribe me to keep quiet this choclate pudding thing." Stu waved his hoof in dismissol, "Nah, dont even think that. Its strictley business. A good deal for a good freind, whose been thruogh a lot of rough times lately."

Stu said he'd also get all kind of expensive annimation software installed on the laptop too. Alls he wanted in return was six percent interest for the loan plus half of the ownership of any new charactors or cartoons I come up with while using the new computer till it was paid off.

I went down to Stu's office. He called the guy who handols orders for his computer selling operration, and put him on speakerphone. I did not care that Stu was gettin a piece of the action on the sale, nor that I had to pay him interrest. Insted I was grateful. After all a loser like me cannot even get a credit card. (Well. Not any more.)

Then I told them all the software I wantad on it, which I coud get at cost. Stu said he'd even pick up the laptop and bring it over my house tonite.

"Okay, Walter," Stu finaly said, as his freind took the order over speakerphone, "We've got five hundred bucks left to spend on whizz-bang software. Whaddya want, dude?"

I am too nice for my own good.

You know, life is more than just wallowing in one's own selfish immaturrity, whining in self pity and spendin all your waking hours writing a website about Granfather that who the hell knows if anyone actualy reads anymore: Part of being an adult is being considderate of others as well.

Along this line of thinking, I asked Stu if I coud sacrifice some of the more expensive bells and whistols on the new laptop in exchange for getting a copy of that expensive Customer Rellation software installed on it that Tilde just wrecked so she coud save her job.

A crinkley smile with smears of chocollate on his teeth grew on Stu's face and he fondly gripped my shouldors. With a lump of brothorly affection in his piggy throaght Stu told me that this is what life was all about: helping out othors in need.

I too am a self-destrouctive codependent

By the time i left Stu's office I wanted to kick myself. Dammit there was $2,000 in customer rellation software that I'd have to be financing now. Also why I am involving myself in the life of TILDE? She will be riding my ass for the next ten years persistently injecting her nosy toad like face in my life, in a continuous nonstop warble of simporing, whimporing gratitude.

Worst of all

Yes, worst of all, my so-called act of unselfishness was one where I have been stupid enough to freakin protect her danm job where as her getting fired instead woud of been for me a wondorrous occasion of serendippitous Tilde-free bliss.

Back at my desk. An angry phone call. Dad is pissed.

Just when I am startin to feel good about things, I feel bad about things, and then, I get a call where my ass gets chewed out from two time zones away.

It was Dad callin from California. Like I said before he is havin problems with the insurance company cause they didnt want to pay for the problem with his eyebrow. Howevor, it seems now that the problem has now escallated into a big awful infection that will need expensive microsurgery.

The insurance wussies really need to see that danm eyebrow before they will shell out a penny, and Dad asked if I coud please take some time and carefully search the area of the yard where Uncle Zeke wacked it off.

I said I woud try but woud probly not find it due to all the crap in Granfather's yard. Also allot of days have now gone by. Perhaps a bird has took it to add to her nest. Plus we had rain, and it may be under some mud. This was interpretted by Dad as my not wanting to look for it, and Dad got more pissed at me.

This is unfair, because we have goats, chickons, dogs, and acres and acres of piles of old carpetting and books and stuffed animals outside that get all rancid and falls apart and blows around and all of which coud look like an $800 Medium Sandy Taupe-colored Double-Knit Dacron(TM) Polyester Gentleman's Size Seven prostettic eyebrow. Which I once agian mention, the replacement of which is NOT covored by those friggin HMO cheap bastords.

I am tired of people takin their Pets to work

While I am on the phone that pain in the ass cat once agian shows up. He is looking for the African violat plant to crap in, but someone must of moved it. He starts rubbing on my leg and playfully biting it and this really is somthing that skeeves me out.

Cats allways do this to me. When I talk freindly to them, they hiss at me. When I do NOT want them around, (like when I am on the computor or phone, or reading or somthing) they walk arround and purr like a motorboat and rub their faces and asses in my face, and worst of all, they press those upper lips, the part where the whiskors stick out, hard agianst me, turning them inside out so the pink part underneath shows, and rub all that fish-smelling cat saliva on my skin even as I say "NO KITTY. DOWN KITTY."

Also Dad was holloring at me becuase only the day before, while in California at their home, both him and Susie got served with papers by a process server in a new lawsuit being broght by my two Uncles who think that Dad and Susie are ripping them off in regard to colectible treasures on Granfather's property that they feel bellongs to them.

WOW this made me mad.

The nerve of Willy and Zeke. And this is aftor I was for four months taking special personol care of both of them! Besides Dad and Susie do NOT have an interest in Granfather's collectible crap. Most of which consists of old unworking apliances, hub caps, tin cans, piles of unopened junk mail, and even a few thousend old steyrofoam supermarket meat trays stroon around with dryed blood on them. (The old basterd saves everything. He threatens me with a beating if I dare throw anything out.)

Dad told me I had to throw my Uncles out of the house.

I told them I canot: They are grown men, and are my supperiours. Plus I get afraid and I do not like confrontattions. I said to Dad that maybe family therapy is the answor to this problem. Where we will all share our feelings and then try to find the good in one anothor, and hopefully all end up by compromising and supporting and boosting up each others esteem as a family shoud.

This dream of mine is NOT that farfetched an idea. But it also was not what Dad wanted to hear. It made Dad very angry and he yelled "Walter! Be a man for once!" and this made me cry (Okay, I am a big immatture child but I cannot help it) and it was just then that I noticed the creature, the cat, squatting on the desk in a half crouch with his butt in my face and with his tail upright and verticol, slowly waving it back and forth just inches from my face like a drowsy mesmorized cobra. As the animal turned its head around over is bony shouldor and staried at me in a nonchalant gaze of wistfull feline menace that only a cat can give it pissed a loud stream right on a pile of floppies I stacked on the desk agianst the cubical wall, one of which held a 99% finished version of The Walter Miller's Homepage Spring 2001 Update and so in case youre wondorring had to be re-written into a Summer update: And thats anothor main reason why this here update is so danm late.

There was somthing I'd forgotton to do

Yes in the trauma of the whole thing Id forgotton to go to the bathroom. I still had to, you know, GO, dispite being shocked by Stu's antics regarding the slourping up of the Pudding. And right now the last thing I wanted to do was sit right on the bowl, for that mattor, on any bowl: even my special one.

YES TO HELL WITH MY SPECIAL BOWL: I was never using "Lucille" agian. And I coudnt use the one to the left of her, Old Yeller; (don't ask). I decidded now on the one just to the right, up agianst the far wall -- the bowl inside the Handicapped stall: Big Bertha.

I always feel guiltey about using the big, extra size handycap toilet stall. After all, its just a toilat: its not like parking in a handycap parking space. Plus no one at Cyberblop realy needed to use it...

...Oh, danm. It looks like somone just DID use it...

Well, by now it was too late to go anywhere else. At this point it was do or die for me, and boy did I have to "do." And so, there above Big Bertha did I practice that anceint and hallowed sanitary restroom ritual:

The Dellicate Art of the Hover

Folks, if your mother never tought you to "hover", then you weren't raised right. Good thing I am tall and skinny, because this particulor stall was extra wide, the size of a horse paddock, really, its walls far apart from one anothor, a broad expanse of empty tile floor sweeping out from the sweaty white circumference of Big Bertha, who sat in the dead centor of the stall.

It was the danm size of Sasquatchewan in there. And so, the only way I coud effectively master hovering over the toilet water without actualy having to touch my bare ass on the seat was to plant the soles of both sneakors, one each, on the brushed steel pipe handlebars bolted to eithor side of the interior stall walls.

And there I hung in space. Though initialy proud of my gymnastic prowess, I am deep down a doofus with poor balance and so I started wobboling. Reaching foward, I grabbed with one hand the coat hook at the top of the door infront of me. And so I teetered and tottored. (And did othor stuff too,)...while silentley, very carefulley counting off to myself:

...each time somthing plunged below, and, expertley calculating in my mind a full accounting of gravity, matter and vellocity, sweeping my body aside like a leaping gazelle at the end of the second "one thousend" as not to get splashed way up there on my eagle's perch from the rising plume of wator creatted by each plummetting depth charge.

And that terible itch came back to me.

The itch was on the back of my neck. I cant explain it. I kept immagining there was a big furry spider in my shirt. For the last few days its been itchey. It is getting worse. I dont know what the hell it is. Also I keep tryin to wipe off Cathyann's sweat from it, and Tilde's mascara, and whatevor else that is inexplicobly skeeving me out on a spot on my neck I cant reach.

I did not expect to be in the bathroom long. But sudenly I hear the alarms go off that unmistakably announce that there is now anothor firedrill. But I had more inportant things to finish.

Then just at the most cruciol moment, I look down below to see the shiny plastic blond head of Peaches stick his head undor the door!

He started screamin at me

"Mr. Miller! There is a fire drill! Dont try to hide from me by climbing on those bars to hide your legs!"

I hollored back, "I am crapping!" But he kept screamin that he was the danm company Fire Warden and he had the power to have me fired, or arrested, or both.

In this warm, remote cornor of the building, where the cold shadow of Air Conditionning dared yet that day to intrude, my balls which had hung low and swung freely in the teppid air suddenly flinched as the panic of Peaches fast shrunk them agianst my shivering, shrivolling body as upword they shrinkingly rose in wrinkly retreat.

I shouted at him Let me wipe for Godsake but he woud not remove his danm head from being under the stall door. Peaches sort of resembles that inspirrational speaker, Anthony Robbins, exept insted of being six foot ten or whatever he is, Peaches is barely five-six. It is as if somone put Tony Robbins on the color Xerox machene and pressed 75%.

"I am writing up a dissiplinary report on you!" he screammed up at me, and I screamed back, "Good, just make sure the last line of it reads, 'He Crapped On My Face', cause thats what I am about to do."

Finaly he moved out of the way. Sick little basterd. I guess I woud of told him to kiss my ass only that being my pants were down you never know he might of tried.

I was shakin with terrer.

My life is nothin but one big Houmilliation punctuated by periods of worry, fear, being mistreated in displays of aggressive beastly inhuman cruelty, and long, long stretches of time, (which to me are just as painful), of mind-numbing meaningless tedious rote. But I am an Internet industry proffessionol, so I am used to it.

I nevor went back inside the building aftor the firedrill.

Insted I went home early that day.

Back home when I arived the three criptozzoologists had gone back to the University to deliver their latest data, but the Sherrif Was still there from when I called for him this morning.

Granfather, still temorparily parralized, was completeley still and frozen in his Clintonlike-Monica's-eye-view pose as was seen in the December 2000 Esquire magazine. (Which Uncle Zeke pronnounces as "Ess- KWEER -Uh," not becuase he is particulorly doing so on purpose but because he is an unedducated old fool.)

Zeke still held the brass and iron fireplace pokor above his head, poised to slam it on the old basterd's sloping simian skull. Junior, still terriffied and stressed, knelt on the floor with the palms of his hands up, silently imploaring them to stop. I have decidded that the only person on this earth who I feel sorrier for beside myself is Junior.

"For the ten thousandth time. Put the weapon DOWN," the sheriff drawled to Zeke, who answored, "Naw I won't. I aim to split his haid like a winter squarsh."

The exasportaed Sherrif cried, "Well, you've ben saying that for hours. Why haven't you done it yet?"

A tence moment went by.

"Waal, a couple o'reasons," said Uncle Zeke, turning his eyes away sheepishley. "I CAIN'T hit the sumbitch," he said. "Muh dagnag arm is done frozen in this spot jest like already is HIS whole consarn body."

Granfather, clearly enjoying all this, just sat there watchin TV and finaly chirped up, "LET'S SEE IF HE'S TELLIN' THE TRUTH."

The old basterd clearred his phlemmy throat and warbled out in a perfect Clinton raspy voice:

(and now the old basterd paused for a double beat and finaly said): "WHY, THERE JEST WASN'T ENOUGH TIME! HAW HAW HAW!"

Murder in my uncle's eyes. But he canot move.