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Walter Miller's Homepage(TM)

There are people out there who buy this kind of crap. I just have to find them.

The Summer 2001 Update

Page 32 of 50

Just as I hung up, Spike was on the phone.

"Walter, I need to borrow 280 bucks."

I hollored back at him very upset. Dammit he is the one with all the cash and I am the poor one. Spike said he was just busting my horns cause he was in a good mood: no, he does NOT need to borrow money from me. But he is very happy cause it looks like he will soon become the owner of "Bourbon Boy Red," the large deformed monster of a turkey locaited in the other part of the state.

Some of us have a hard time makin ends meet. But my danm brother has discrettionary income enough to spend almost 300 dollors on freakish farm beasts. For pureley ornamentol purposes.

He spoke for a few minnutes in a thrilled tone about how he would build a special enclosure for the bird, and mabye train it as a watch dog when he just as quickly changed the subject to the real reasen why he called.

"What happened there at the trailer? You know, 'Maestro's Last Movement'."

I said, "How do you know about THAT?" Spike was refferring to the situation with the HazMet truck's latest cargo. He told me it is allover the news on the Local Acess Cable TV station.

A minor envirromental disaster

This is what hapens when amateurs are left in charge. The people loading up the HasMat truck neglected to bring the special wax-lined containors to transport the ghastey biomatter. Granfather's supernaturol digestive system (even when it has been scraped out so it seems) contains high levels of hydroflouric acid which in case you dont know can cut right through glass.

There is also weird unexplianed bacteria in there that eats through plastic. Well anyway to make a long story short after the truck was on the road for two hours it rotted through the cargo bed and dropped onto the highway. The part of the highway it fell on was a small shallow bridge that crossed ovor a small creek.

Granfather's Dump was right now the biggest story in the five-county area and was being covored live on not only cable TV but 2 radio stations. Someone had to stop Gramp's poo cause every minute that went by as it sizzled thru the concrete highway in a mass of acrid poisonnous bubbles put it closer and closer to the groundwater table and for that matter eventualy China for Godsake.

"Granfather is right: The county Clerk is a jerk," said Spike, "If only for selling the Hazmet truck to a bunch of amateurs." In fact it was just then that I noticed the sound of emergencey vehicle sirens in the close distance. Where Spike said the small bridge was at, was only a mile from Cyberblop.

An awful Day

Part of my duteis at work is to do Workstation Support. I had allot of emergency calls that day. It seems as if Mr. Bouvard, (the president of the Company) is just learning to use email. He sent along a .JPEG atachment of a photo of this stupid $200,000 system of steel playground slides that is being used to connect floors within a building of some company in Silicon Ally. Bouvard is thinking of tearring out the stairwell here at Cyberblop and instaling the same danm playground slides in ORDER TO IMPROVE MORALE.

Meanwhile me, the Little Insiggnificant Olive in the First Class Salad had to run arround and tend to all of these idiots who were having trouble viewing the .JPEG, and in their stupiddity decided to call Workstation Support. Just before I responded to the Support calls, Tilde, my boss, appeared in my office agian, her tiny pained face pinched and frowning like a wilted dwarf pansy flower.

A horroble shocking sight

I had not seen her yet today. The way she was dressed was horrofying. She was wearing the same type of clothes as Cathyann was but even worse. And even worse than that was the way her body AND OTHOR ITEMS were boulging out of it. .

"Do you like my costume? I was goingto dress like Marilyn Monroe. See?" she said, pulling this red dress and wig out of her bag. "The dress is much too long for me, and I dont look good as a blonde," she began to whispor, "With blonde hair I look like Barney Rubble."

I felt like I was goingto puke but she kept on talking, "Insted, Cathyann inspired me to be to well, to be myself. You know, let it all hang out." And, my God she was hangin all out. She told me she was dressed as sort of a brunette version of a cross betwean Britney Spears and Jenifer Lopez, and the problem was, she did not have the body for it. And indeed she was all hangin out.

What else can I say. This is a pearshaped woman close to fifty and while Cathyann, who's half her age was wearing a similor outfit that revealed a little repulsive fringe out of the top waistband danm Tilde was showin the whole danm Nationol Forest.

"Oh, Walter. Do you know why I stopped by your cubicol? I came to say Thank You for loaning me your new laptop," she whined and then began to rub the skin off my arm in codependent concern with her annoying little hands. "I prommise, I'll take good care of it. And try not to be so accident prone Tee Hee Hee Hee," she trilled in her exaggorated whiny laugh. Then she started pettin my arm more and givin me a hard time about my not having been Dressed Up today.

"I do have this Marylin Monroe dress and wig nobodys using, tee hee," she said, but I coud not even look at her.

"Walter," she said, "Be honest: Do I LOOK like someone dressed like Britney Spears?"

My head nodded, but my heart said silently to myself that she looked like somone trying to shoplift "Buckwheat."

And that's anothor thing. About Dress Up Day.

Dressup day MY ASS

Have you ever worked for a company where there are no profits coming in, life is cheap, people allways get fired, entire departments silently disapear in the night, yet Management pisses money away on frivollous spending, while scratching their heads in wondor as to why the Rank and File employees cannot get all excited about workin for such a stupid company that engages in such things as Forced Houmilliating Events That Are Supposed to Inprove Morale like a cumpulsory Dress Up Day? Yeah well I do.

Tilde started whining for me to hand ovor that Customer relation software so she coud start working.

Just Say No To Crack

I walked down the hall over to her desk makin sure that I was in front of her the whole time lest I'd have to look a the major part of her ass. It was so odd to see her familor toadlike face atached to this nearly nakad body, all jiggly and waffly and fluffy as she walked, with legs like Corinthian colunm cornices of cottage cheese. And this of course was her GOOD side being that the other so promminently featured (there is no othor way to describe it) The Nationol Forest.

Back in Tilde's office

Or shoud I say Tilde's cubicol. Yes, she was demoted (for being such a screw up I might add) and so where she once had her own office she now had a danm cube like the rest of us. She shared a modular six-cube unit (at least today on Dress Up Day) with two guys in Dubya Bush masks, the Incredible Hulk, and a very realistic looking Janet Reno who was actualy this other demoted managor with a pissed off atittude who really just spends his workdays checkin his stocks online and trading NASCAR stuff on eBay.

Tilde's phone rings

It was Stu. He wanted to see me imediatly. Stu also told me not to let on to Tilde that anything was wrong.

His office is only 20 feet away and I dashed ovor. Stu rose from his desk and met me at the door. I was very nervuos but Stu said there was "one slight issue."

He paused to take a sip of his cafeteria cappuchino from a paper cup. A fluff of foam tipped his snout and his toungue swept up to lick it off.

"Listen Walt. You didnt install that Customer Relation package on the laptop yet, did you? I said I did and Stu sighed, "Ive got some, well...some not so great news."

Stu told me that Tilde told him earlior that once you install the softwere it must stay on that machene. The softwere company is very strict about licencing their product and so Tilde woud have to CONTINUALLY borrow my new laptop that is not even payed for yet.

My jaw dropped. I bolted up and ran back to Tilde's cube with Stu tromping behind. I said to her, "Tilde, you dont expect me to hand this laptop OVER to you, do you?"

She looked hurt and said, "Well of corse dear. The software I need is installed on it." She scooted closer to pet my arm, as I recoiled in fright as the overabbundant fluffing up of the Nationol Forest encroached so near as to almost touch me.

"We'll be spening lots of time together, Walter!," she chirped. I stumboled backward in a daze toword the entrabce to the cubical.

"Come on, Walt. Whats gonna happen?" whispored Stu, "Look, she's not Granfather, so she's not gonna crap on it or sit on it." I took him aside and whispored back that the problom was that that I was now CHAINED to her in this new unforseen and revoltingly incestuous rellationship.

A workstation is a VERY personol thing. My God I woud rather share a toothbrush with somone than a danm computer.

Yes, I like my files, and my directories and all of that, but the thuoght of sharing it with Tilde was abbomminable. Why, the way it is now, she goes onto my machene while Im at lunch to change the background pattorn, my screensaver banners, and one time she even arranged my desktop icons into a pretty flower design.

Tilde's little face bunched up like a squeesed lemon like she was goingto cry. Stu stammored, "Uh, Ive got to take this call," and he ran off leavin me alone with her. Her eyes welled up with bitter tears and her tiny mouth opened like a starved hatchling bird and I began to speak before she did just so I didnt have to hear her friggin whiney voice.

I told her to be VERY carefull with the laptop. Because it cost allot of money that I did not have and was not even payed for yet.

I grilled her: "What are you going to do with this laptop when they have anothor freakin fire drill?" I asked. She said she saw no reasen not to leave it right there on her desk. I was absolutley blown away by her stupiddity.

The Steel Security Twine lock