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Constistently worthless, from even before the market crash.

The Summer 2001 Update

Page 43 of 50


(That wasnt so bad, was it? I appollogize for the spastic, fitful build-up.)

I ran to the door of my room, on the way to the loo to puke. Granfather wblocking the door, snickoring sadisticaly.

"YOU JUST FIGURED IT OUT, DIDN'T YOU, BWAH?"

I pushed the Clinton-grinning basterd's wheelchair aside, dove in the bathroom, dropped to my knees and as they say in this part of the country started yakkin on that Big White Phone. All while I convulsed in nausea, Granps stayed parked in the doorway, gleefulley chattoring all the details. Which to me, realy didnt matter Why?

CAUSE I AM NEVER USING THAT LAPTOP AGIAN.

No wondor Spike was so pissed at me. While I was confortably lounging in jail, Spike it turns out had to dig out his fishing gear and spend the next 2 hours carefuly trying to snip free Tilde, who'd not only drove the whole 80 miles to our house with the laptop atached, but had also takon with her, (on the roof of her car!!) a five foot square modular section of the cubicol wall that that she was able to remove (that she HAD to remove cause the steel security twine had still been looped around it.)

Taking a break in mid-spew I stammored, "Wh-wh-why did Spike bothor to help at all? He never helps anyone. And somthing like THIS.."

Granfather diabolicaly cackled that Spike did not WANT to do it, but sevoral hours of Tilde's whining had reduced him, and the Criptoes to insanity.

Spike said that the Criptoes shoud do it, but Madison said they are not licenced to "treat humans." Tilde meanwile begged for help, assuring evereyone that she'd leave as soon as SOMEONE clipped her free. At one point she even lectured the men in a vailed threat, "Shall I stop these anoying whines? Or like Emeril, shall I kick it up a notch?"

A compromise deal

The Criptoes, desperate to achieve less Tilde, (even at the high cost of more Granfather, offored to hand ovor $5,000 from their own research grant money for lifetime laboratory care of "Bourbon Boy Red," being that it too, (like Granfather) quallified under the guidelines as a genuine exibit of freakish animal life. Plus they'd throw in some frozon mutant turkey DNA they had, so Spike coud breed a desendent the size of a friggin ostrich.

By now Junior had waddoled over and he stood in the bathroom doorway to provide aditional color comentary. "Five grand! Betcha Bill Gates never paid that fer a haircut!" Junior added that despite Spike's anger toword Tilde, he was still chivolrous enough to wheel Granfather in the corner so he coudnt watch the proceedure.

"He said I coudnt watch neither," said Junior. "But I was alloud to make polite chitchat though the closed bathroom door. And Tilde done said to me, 'Junior, alls I kin say is thank God I didnt have to stop short with the car."

Granfather, always happy to see his loved ones suffor, added with unrestrainned joy that when Spike's wife Darlene called and asked, "What's Spike doin, Junior," (Cause it was Junior who picked up the phone), Junoir casualy told her in detail.

"'COURSE, THE BOY CAIN'T HOME, ELSE SHE'LL RIP HIM A NEW POOP CHUTE WITH HER BA'AR HANDS," Granps puffed on a smoke. "'COURSE SPIKE BLAMES, YOU AND NOT JUNIOR, KNOWIN' JUNIOR'S SUCH A DUMBASS. AIN'T THE RIGHT, JUNIOR?"

Junior stared at his shoes and nodded.

Spike eventualy freed Tilde but he nevor got the laptop open and so what remainned inside the clamshell was somhow jamming the hinge in the shut position. All of which realy dont matter. Why? Havent I alredy addressed that?

CAUSE I AM NEVER USING THAT LAPTOP AGIAN.

I dont think I ever barfed so much in my life. Afterword I brushed my teeth for what seemed like an hour. Then I staggored out into the living room. Granfather, gaining in both energey and evil by the hour, wiggled after me, like a vennemous crustacean in his hard shell with vigor enough to propel himself down the narrow hallway. All these days later, I was still marvelling in gratitude that Granfather is back from "death." I slowed down my walking untill he cought up. "YOU POOR, POOR FELLA," he said.

Why, that was kind of nice of him to say. Dispite all the bad things that hapened to me, I was glad I still had him. In fact, I turned around, and I told him so. I realize now that my tellin him, "I Love You" the other day embarased him. But saying, "Im glad I still have you" was more mature, and manly.

Granfather winked. He beckoned me to come closer, with a stiff tossing motion of his almost immobile head, like he wanted to tell me somthing. I hoped it woud be somthing kind.

"BOY," he grunted and then he paused. "UH, I DON'T RIGHT KNOW HOW TO TELL YOU THIS..." I responded, "Granfather do you have somthing to share with me?"

"YEP," said the old basterd. "TAKE A LOOK AT YER TEETH.

"I DONE STUCKED A MAGIC MARKER NIB IN YER TOOTHBRUSH. AN' YOU WUZ TOO STUPID TO SEE IT OR TASTE IT."

Granfather paused to chew on his cigarete butt. Brown dribbol trickled down his fake, double-cleft Clinton chin.

"I'D SAY YOU'RE A VERY VERY STUPID BWAH. IN ADDITION TO BEIN' UGLY, THAT IS."

"'COURSE, NOW THERE'S THIS SITUATION WITH YER TEETH, AN' THAT WON'T HEPP MATTERS MUCH."

I ran to the mirror in the hall to see a shiney swath of black where my teeth used to be except for one triagulor shaped piece of white right in the middle where I must of missed. It stuck out promminently like a sharp white fang.

"That marker you used: That's a whiteboard markor. It will wash off," I said hopefuly.

Granfather calmley gazed ahead, not looking at me. Smoke puffs rose from his beastly lips.. "NAW, IT'S WATERPROOF. PERMANENT. YOU GOT BLACK TEETH NOW, BWAH."

I screammed, "WHY!!", and he hollored back, "WHY THE HELL YOU THINK, YOU DUMBASS? 'CAUSE I AIN'T WELL ENOUGH TO HIT YOU!"

Just then Spike, who'd been out in the yard tromped up the stairs and into the trailor. He was covored with sweat, grease and soapsuds. The hideous gurgles of his turkey trilled thru the window as the gargantuan poult hopped about in the dust, one monstrous foot short-leashed with twine to an anceint ice pick thrust in the dry clay. Spike told me to log him on the web so he coud check his email.

Saving the Trabant

Spike had been spendin a few hours outside with airplane soap and othor industriel cleansers trying to clean the upphoulstry of the Trabant. It seemes that the original fabrics of the poorley made little Commie rustbuckets is the hardest thing about the cars to obtain in originol condition. Spike wanted to send an email to the Germans who just bought the Trabant, and see if he coud buy a few days while he cleaned the Gramp-spattored cloth. Spike grabbed my arm and shook me roughley. I am afraid of him when he gets like this.

"Whatever happens, dont let them know the uphoulstrey was damaged!" he warned, "Ill never get the price I asked for othorwise!"

Just before Spike ran back outside, he turned to Granfather. "Oh, your brother Zeke will be here in a minute, I saw his car make the turnoff. I hope the two of you kill eachother."

Granp's eyes rolled skyword. "THANK YOU DEAR LORD UP ABOVE FER THIS NEW CHANCE TO TORTURE THE SUMBITCH.

Granfather paused, and farted. "BEEN SAVIN' THAT PIECE ALL DAY FER ZEKEY...
"JUNIOR, GIT ME THAT PISSY OL' LOOKIN' CARPET BAG OUTTA THE CLOSET AGINN."

Turnabout: How Fortune changed in favor of Granfather

Junior sprang up like a frightenned weasol and got the bag, inside of which was the same fancy robe and headress of the Secret Collectors Society that earlier Zeke had stole from Granfather.

Without being ordered to, Junior quickley scramboled to put the clothes on Granfather.

"NOW ZEKE WILL BE DOUBLY MAD: MAD AT MAH BOLD, SACRILIGEOUS DEFIANCE OF MAH VERY PUBLIC EXCOMMUNICATION FROM THAT ESTEEMED SOCIETY THREE DECADES AGO.

"AND MAD CAUSE I DONE RE-STOLED THE GET-UP STRAIGHT OUT O'THE CLOTHES DRYER."

Just then Uncle Zeke's car drove up.