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The Summer 2001 Update

Page 27 of 50


Granfather was chewing tobaco (in addition to smoking -- I dont know how he does it), and with squishy noises, he spat sqiurting loops of tobbacco juice right at his brother's neck and head. Uncle Zeke thrashed with anger, and tried to wrench free, but coud not undo himself. Plus the brass poker he held was now dug deep in the cheap ceiling, holding him fast, while his knees apeared to be locked, from standing in one spot all day.

"That feels poorly!" Zeke grunted as lizardly venommous saliva whipped his long sad face.

But Granfather was just gettin started. Wiggoling his lips and tounge around, he finaly was able to produce a steady ten-foot stream of brown tobaco spew strait out of this little hole betwean his two front teeth. It splashed agianst the side of Zeke's head, just above his ear and beside his temple. The sustianed gushing volley sounded like a garden hose at full blast being held just inches from the bottom of an empty plastic pail.

"That whut you're doing right now might be construed as assault, Grampy," the Sheriff warned, but only half-interestedly, as the distraught lawman now sat collapsed in despair on the couch, and holding his head in defeat.

"ASSAULT? NAW IT AIN'T," said the old basterd. "I'M JEST AIMING FER MUH SPITTOON TWENNY FEET YONDER IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM, BUT MY DANM BROTHER IS STANDING IN THE WAY."

Granfather now shifted his gummy lips to redirrect the spray directly into Zeke's ear. The splashing sound quickly rose in a higher and higher auditory pitch as each crevice of the ear, (and the ear canal itself), filled with high-pressure fluid, alltogethor creating a series of sounds that you might hear if sombody had been pointing that same garden hose back and forth into an array of difforent-sized bottle caps all lain out on the picnic table.

"...AND IF HE'S STANDIN' IN THE WAY, BETWEEN ME AND MAH SPITTOON, IT'S ONLY CAUSE HE'S TRESSPASSING IN MAH HOUSE...
"NOW THEN SHERRIFF, ANSWER ME THIS: AIN'T I DONE TOLE HIM A HUNNERT TIMES TO GIT HIS ASS OUT MAH HOUSE?"

The sheriff sighed, "I supose so."

"WAAL THEN, ALLS I KIN SAY TO THAT IS ASSAULT MAH ASS."

Oh, Zeke wanted to hit Granfather so bad, and it was clear to see that the issue of Mr. Clinton realy never had anything to do with it. Uncle Zeke had hated Granfather for many years, even beffore Mr. Clinton was born.

"HEE HEE HEE," Granfather lauged like a rabid chimp, COME ON AN' HIT ME!"

Zeke grunted back, "I shore wish I coud, Younger Brother. But I'm done stuck fast."

"WAAL, IT ALSO APPEARS YOU DONE SLICED A GASH IN MAH TRAILER CEILING. THAT THAR'S DESTRUCTIVE VANDALISM."

Uncle Zeke was stuck for so long in that pose of his own his joints had froze up and he pleaded to the deaf ears of Granfather that he had to use the john, and unable to move he started crapping in his pants and making so much noise bellowing that Granfather once more asked the Sheriff to arrest him.

"I cain't," said the Sheriff, "He apears to be stuck."

"REALLY? I AIN'T NOTICED," said the old basterd, contineing the steady hosing of tobaco spew.

"Grampy. May I leave heah?" the exausted Sheriff moaned.

"HMM. IT DON'T LOOK LIKE NO ONE'S GONNA GIT HIT ANY WORSE THAN ZEKE'S DOIN' TO HISSELF, SO GO ON," said Granfather. "POKER NEXT THURSDAY?"

"See you then," said the Sherif as he shuffoled out.

At last the basterd got bored and stopped spitting. My Uncle was drenched. Granfather redirected his evil gaze at the TV set. I just noticed that the remote controle was now sort of pinned to his lapel, probly thanks to Junior, and with a few casual jabs, Granfather's long forked reticulated iguana tounge rapidly flitted in and out of his slightly parted lips, and tapped at the channel button just beneath his dribbley jaw.

"LET THAT SOAK IN A WHILE, BIG BROTHER, WHILST I DISTRACT MAHSELF WITH THE TELEVISION NEWS...

..."WHY, IT SEEMS THINGS HAVE CHANGED DURING THE MONTHS OF MAH PURPORTED DEMISE. CNN IS NOW THE 'CONDIT NEWS NETWORK', AND NBC APPEARS TO STAND FOR 'NOTHIN' BUT CONDIT'."

I walked past Granfather toword the kitchen. Our eyes met breifly. The old basterd frowned at me. I scampored away.

I coud not face him

Have you ever gone somwhere and run into someone you havent seen for years? Mabye a former co-worker? And you feel obliggated to say "hello" and they are obliggated to say "hello back," when deep down you both feel: "Danm! Why did I haveto run into this person? I coud of gone my whole life without seeing this person agian, and now I have to talk and pretend to be nice!"

Well this is sort of how it was between me and Granfather, except, insert in this sittuation someone you used to be really REALLY close with. To the point of changin his diapor for a few years and even lancing carbunkles off his ass. It was so extremly unconfortable.

I still had not acknolleged him, since he came back from the "dead."

I dont know if it was because of fear, or pride, but I just coud not face him. Mabye I was afraid he was back, cause he woud hurt me more. Mabye I was afraid of loving him, and then having to face the pain of losing him. In any event it got more awkword as time went by, and there was no way out.

I have to get supper all prepaired

I had to pull out that leg of lamb. The one the Madison told me about, that he'd put in the oven for the old basterd on slow-roast this aftornoon while I was at work.

But when I did so the roasting pan was hot. I burned my hand and inadverdentley tossed the pan in the air, and gravy splattored all over. The pan rolled end over end in orbit, rising higher till it graized the ceiling. Then as the metal pan fell, one corner of it hit the oven door, which was wide open. The ovon door happened to be rising at that moment on its springy hinge. It kicked the pan agian high in the air. And once more the roasting pan rose and fell. I'll bet youre wondoring where the roast was at this time. Well, each time the pan bounced it shot upward and hit the roast in midair, waist-level to me up as it tumbolled down from above. The spring on the oven door was quite strong, and as it snapped up, it hit the pan once, twice, and then a third time as it fell from the air, and slapped the roast which danced and twirled each time on impact like a drunken Russian acrobat on a trampoline.

It was a million to one shot

All of this hapened in the space of about five very loud seconds. On the sixth second, two potatos that had been sort of stuck in the roasting pan were shook free from the last bounce of the pan on the oven door, and they both hourtled straight toword me. On instinct I grabbed them, one in each hand, and clapped them on the roast leg of lamb as it fleuw past me, like a pair of earmuffs.

The pressure of my arms agianst the potatoes as I held the roast made it spurt up and out and across the kitchen, but by that time, the roasting pan had fallen in the correct position, straigh on top of the warming pad that sat on the centor the the kitchen table, as a split second later the roast itself landed square in the pan. There was gravy evereywhere, even on the ceiling but the roast, and two of the potatoes, were saved.

Granfather meanwhile heard all the metal clattor and coud see the spilt gravy everywhere and he started screaming. Nervously, I carved the roast while Granfather abused poor Junior, tellin him in a haughtey voice that he woud NOT eat no roast that hit the floor. (Oh, please. This is a man whose been arrested four times in the past 10 years for eating out of restuarant dumpsters, and not only that, once even at a Denny's for Godsake.)

Finally after allot of screaming Junior simpered in.

"G-g-g-grampy done wants to talk to you Walter."

And so I did. I had to face the old basterd. And explian to him why it was okay to eat that roast.

A scene right out of "JFK"

Do you know the courtroom scene in Oliver Stone's film "JFK" when Kevin Costner is describbing the improbability of how one bullet can hit Kennedy, exit Kennedy, hit Connoly, exit Connoly, make a turn in mid air, enter and exit Connaly's wrist, and finaly lodge in Connaly's thigh?

Well this is what I had to do. It was so odd to actualy talk to Granfather face to face, looking into his angry scowling face as a frown grew longer and longer on his ghastley visage with increassing skepticism of my fantastic story of a gravitty defying roast.

It was not like I was lookin at Grannfather at all, but instead one of those life-size cardboard celebrity cutouts they have down at Blockbuster. It just seemed so surreal aftor so many months to look into his lemon yellow reptile eyes with his undivided atention, as point by point I explained the speed, motion, vellocity, trajectory and final convergence of pan, roast and potatoe until finally, as his teriffying eyes bored angrilly at me with the purest of sadiststic venom, my own eyes welled up in tears as I threw myself right at him, locked my arms arround him and wept in uncontrolloble sobs, "Granfather! Granfather! Granfather! I am so glad you are well! I love you Granfather! I love you Granfather!"

After a moment of this i pulled myself togethor and ran off to my room and flung myself on my bed and bureid my face in my pillow and creid some more.

Over the next half hour I coud hear thru the closed door there were terible noises where Granfather was holloring at Junior to cut up the food and feed him, Junior simpering in reply, "YES, Grampy! RIGHT AWAY, Grampy!" and Uncle Zeke bellowwing out like a wounded wator buffalo who'd stumbled in a bear trap that he was hungry from being stuck all day with his arm ovor his head. But the old basterd didnt share none of the roast with either of them.

Then 40 minutes later there was a knock at the door, and it was Junior, all haggard and thin.

"Grampy done wants to see you AGINN, Walter."

I went back to the old basterd who was outraged at me He glowered at me in silent rage.

"I AM SO PISSED AT YOU BOY," he snarled. "DON'T YOU EVER, EVER ACT LIKE THAT AGINN. YOU SENSITIVE PANSY. YOU FAINT LITTLE POSEY. YOU FRAGILE LITTLE LILY. YOU DAINTY, DELICATE, LILTING, WILTING FLOWER OF MANHOOD. YOU GOLLDANG DAGNAB WUSS."

"WHY, YOU DONE JUST DID IT JEST TO EMBARRASS ME IN FRONT O'MAH BROTHER, NOT THAT I EVER CAN BE EMBARRASED, 'COURSE YOU ONLY DID SO FOR PITY. AND NOT PITY FER ME, NOT THAT I WANT OR NEED PITY, BUT PITY JEST FOR YER OWN GOLLDANG CONSARN PITIFUL SELF."

Granfather paused, licked his lips and farted. I just stood there blubboring, with tears rolling down my face making high-pitched whimpors. Then Granfather spoke agian, this time in a low threatenning tone.

COME HEAH CLOSE, DANDY-LION DAISY BOY," he gruffed. (I dont know how he does it, but Granfather is very glib with all his insults. It is allways somthing Ive found remarkable.)

"HOLD OUT YER INDEX FINGER UP TO MAH FACE."

When I did he said, in an even lower, meaner voice, "GO OUT IN THE FIELD BESIDE THE BROOK, AND CUT YOURSEFF A HICKORY SWITCH AS THICK AS THAT THAR FINGER, AND BRING IT BACK TO ME.

"'CAUSE YOU'RE GETTIN' A WHUPPIN', BOY."

I went outside and got the switch like he said, (like Ive done many times spendin summers with the old basterd), and broght it inside and peeled the bark off like he said. The old beast was frozen and coud not whup me, and just when I thought he was going thruogh the motions just to scare me, he told Junior to whup me.

"Naw! Naw I caint! PLEASE don't make me whup Walter!" Junior sobbed.

"THE BOY DESERVES A WHUPPIN' AN' SINCE I CAIN'T DO IT, YOU WILL."

I creid some more. But Granfather the evil abbusive old basterd told Junior if he refused, or if he faked hittin me hard, we'd both get it worse aftor he got better, and so there in front of Uncle Zeke who just staired at us unable to move on his own like a giant dumb girraffe with his feet stuck in cement unable to move, watched. As the whole time me and Junnior cried and sobbed with shame. It was the most hoummiliating experience of my life.

Meanwhile after a couple of minutes Granfather hollored at us to not to make so much noise cause he was once agian watchin the Fox News Channol, and it was time for the 90 second news break, the one they show evey halfhour, and Granfather loved to watch the rotating bevy of beutiful woman they always have each half hour on these 90 second breaks -- exept when the one token man newscastor is on.

To cut down on the noise, Junoir stopped whippin me but started to dig the stick painfuly in my ribs. The whippin realy didnt hurt, but this did, and I yelled, "OW!, Stop that Junoir!"

He wailed back, "But Grampy said to whup you! This way I'll be hurtin' you without makin no noise!" and I hollored back "Pokin aint whuppin" and by this time the Fox News Break was on and Granfather was distracted and howling

"CONSARN IT! THET TOKEN MAN IS ON AGINN!" he screamed. "WAAL, AT LEAST THAT PURTY OL' PAULA ZAHN IS COMIN' UP NEXT," he leered at the screen. "WHAT A TOMATO!"

All of a suddon Granfather stopped the beating.