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The Summer 2001 Update

Page 45 of 50


Yes this was one distuorbed porker. He seemed anxoius to change the subject. And it turns out we did not even dicuss the cartoon project that night at all. Stu gripped a longneck Budweiser in his teeth and cocking his head back, drained the last inch of it into his gurgolling snout.

Then he appollogized to me for not returning with the money to bail me out. He said that once the Thai delivery guys showed up outside the jailhouse with the double take-out order, he coud think of nothin else but two things: The peppery pleasuore of the food, and his smouldorring desire for the lady sheriff.

"I treated that poor lady deputy terribbly. I USED her just to fulfill a fleeting fetish. What's hapenned to me, Walter?" he sighed. "How did food and sex come between me and my REAL love, money?"

I told Stu he realy needed to get into therapy of some kind to deal with it. Stu said he'd never been in therapey but woud consider it. I told him I woud go to therapey WITH him, and this made him considor it more.

"I mean, I ate both ordors of food right there in the parkin lot. While it was still in those alunimum heat bags." Stu said as he tapped his belly, "And with that client meeting on the coast tommorrow, all this metol better PASS before I hit that airport X-ray."

Then Stu moved his hoof up to tap his chest. His spoke agian, his voice full of emotion.

"But right HERE is anothor problem. This crusshing guilt over my treatment of that lonely deputy..." he trailed off, shakin his head, "Hell, Walter, I'm in Internet marketing -- I don't feel guilt."

Then he told me what hapenned after he left me in the jailhouse

Stu told me that after he got the Thai food from the delivery guys, he forgot all about bailing me out as his mind -- and loins -- clouded allover in an intoxicating blur of burning desires.

"I don't remembor much," he sighed. "I remember swimming accross the washed out road with the food. I remembor hearing Cathyann holloring and laughin from inside the jail, so I figured that you were okay."

Stu told me that at some point in his disoriented lustful daze, he found himself with the deputty in the back of a paddywagon that was parked nearby, and they started smooching. Howevor, before they "went too far", Stu said he sudenly snapped out of it and began feeling allot of remorse over keeping her away from her job, and besides that, for realy just USING her.

Stu cleared his throaght and glanced ceilingward with shame. He bit his lip, his eyes grew moist and his voice crackolled, "And then I told her, Walt. I said I had a confession."

Stu dabbed his eyes with his sleeve. "I confessed that I truely didnt care for her: That I was just using her. That I was just hoping to fulfil a silly personol fantasy with a woman in a police unifffformmmummm," the last word morphing into shamefull weeps as his head dropped onto the small table, as there, propped on ample cushioned fatty jowls, his head bounced while the small pointey tips of his distinctive porcine ears flapped from jiggley sobbing huffs.

A newfound respect for Stu

I put my hand on his shouldor. Stu sat up and and looked away. I said was proud of him cause confesing is a very hard thing to do. Especialy to a cop, who can really retaliate if they wanted to. Yes appologizing is hard, but you must do it. (Mabye not as much as ME, but thats a diferent story.)

Then I asked what hapened next. Stu got distracted. "Um, she had a confesion to make too...Listen, can we talk about the cartoon project now?"

I repleid, "Dont change the subject."

He hesitated. "It turns out that she was using me too."

I said, "So, then, it all turns out good."

"No Walter, it all turns out bad." Stu told me that the deputy appollogized and confessed that she was only using him to fulfill her own curiousness, that she wasnt even a deputy at all -- and that her brothor -- the other deputy, (who, along with her, both arrested us) -- was one of that Khaki line of cops who were invited up on the audittorium stage today at Cyberblop to threaton us to obey firedrills. And, later, over at the police stattion, (the lady deputy told Stu), that when her brothor had to run off to the Toxic Emergencey, she stayed behind: even thuogh she was NOT in fact, a real deputy. And that the reasen why she was dressed like a deputy if she in fact was not a deputy was only because she had borowed a deputy uniform from her brother for Cyberblop Dress-Up Day and that her name is really Richard and the curiossity he hoped to fulfil was that he'd never kissed a man beffore but always wanted to give it a try.

Me and Stu both sat there lookin at our beers in a long, long silence.

"Richard?" I said.

"Yeah, you know him? Finance guy? On the second floor? I've seen the name a hundred times on e-mail distribbution lists, but that's it," Stu shrugged, "Seems like a nice fella."

Stu drained his next beer, baired his teeth, then belched in a long loud "e" sound, like men ofton like to do in front of one anothor when they go out drinking.

"Anyway. Worst part about it, is that Ive allways prided myself on being a good kisser." Stu looked dejected. "But Richard said that thanks to tryin ME out, he's decidded to stay 'hetero' for the time being, thank you very much."

Outside in the parkin lot we hugged

Stu is my best freind, I will help him thruough this.

When I got back home it was a quartor to one in the morning, but evereyone was still awake. Spike was holloring on the phone with the Germans who had boght the Trabant, and were now mightily pissed at the prospect at havin to wait for it. Aparantly in Germany you are not alloud to send money out of the country. So, in their anxiousness to get thier hands on that car as fast as posibble, the eager Krouts had gone through the trouble of having a freind of theirs here in Texas Fed-Ex to Spike a U.S. Money Order, that Spike had allredy cashed.

"You muzt deliver der goods, Yah-vuhl," one of them sternly snapped ovor the speakerphone. Spike was holloring back at them, "Dont worry about it," and then pressing "Mute" to loudley scream at Junior to get his fat ass back outside and start scrubbin down the danm Trabant agian. But Junior didnt hear him. Junoir was in fact very, VERRRY distracted.

The hypnoticaly evil tantallizing Spell of the old basterd

Granfather was in the middol of a high falutin lecture in the bathroom, and Junior and Uncle Zeke were mezmerized by the old basterd's maniacal yet irresistably evil monologue on the special giant platform fan.

The three of them crowded next to the bathroom window, where just outside and below them sat the superpowered platform fan.

Granfather is very good at elliciting a kind of captivating morbid curiousity from others.

"THIS HERE DEE-LUXE FAN WAS MANNAFACTURED IN JAPAN IN ORDER TO DISPERSE SUSHI FUMES AWAY FROM THE JAPANESE ROYAL FAMBLY," Granfather pontifficated like a pompous know-it-all museum guide. Of cource as usual he was full of crap, (I speak of his use of facts here), but that did not stop Junior and Uncle Zeke, perhapps the two most uninteligent men I have ever met, from eagorly listening and nodding in the grips of Granp's wily trance.

"LATER, IT WAS USED IN THE AWARD WINNING FILM TWISTER IN THE FAMOUS FLYING COW SCENE...

"'NO ANIMALS-WUZ-HARMED-IN-THE-MAKING-OF-THIS-FILM' MAH ASS IS ALL'S I HAVE TO SAY TO THAT," he harrumphed contemptuously.

Uncle Zeke and Junior absorbed it all thier lower lips jutting in fascination. "Shazzam!" breathed Junior.

"IN BETWEEN THAT, IT SERVED FOR A DECADE IN CHERNOBYL WHERE IT DUTIFULLY BLOWED RADIOACTIVITY FRANCEWARD UNDER THE SUPERVISION OF VARIOUS VODKA-TAITED SOVIET LEADERS."

"THEM OLD COLD-WAR-REDS WUZ A PAIN IN THE ASS, BUT BLOWIN' TOXIC FUMES ON THE FRENCH MAKES 'EM ALLRIGHT IN MY BOOK..."

Just then the old basterd reallized that I had come home, and he hollored for me to come in the bathroom with the rest of them. There is no arguouing with the beastly troll, and so I obeyed. At this point Granfather narrowed his eyes and spoke in a low, severe, serrious, bombastic growl.

"NOW THEN, MEN -- AND YOU TOO, BWAH -- THAT POISON RADIOACTIVITY REMAINS ON THIS HERE PLATFORM ASS FAN," he said gravely. "Y'ALL ARE WELCOME TO USE IT ---- WHY I WAS KIND ENOUGH TO LET MAH DEAR GRANDSON SPIKE USE IT, TO CLEAN THAT STANKY WHATNOT OFF HIS LITTLE JERRYMOBILE ---- BUT IF Y'ALL EVER DO USE IT, I ASK ONLY ONE THANG...

"AND THAT IS. BE CAREFUL: THAT NO AIR FROM IT BLOWS, THAT IS, UPON YOUR GENTLEMENLY GIBLETS."

I rolled my eyes. Granfather is the world's biggest liar, and ovbiously he has some sort of scheme up his sleeve, but exactlay what I did not know.

"Huh?" said Zeke.

"LISTEN DUMBASS," Granfather returned to his normol impatient rude tone, "THE RADIOACTIVITY STILL REMAINS ON THIS HERE FAN'S BLADES. WHEN YOU USE IT, MAKE SURE THE BREEZE DON'T BLOW NOWHERE ONTO YOUR...
"WAAL. YOU KNOW. YER MANLY PARTICULARS."

"Say whut?" said Junior dopily.

"YOUR BOYS. YOUR BEANS: AS IN FRANKS AND BEANS. 'CAUSE THAT AIN'T NO ORDINARY WINDOW FAN, GENTLEMEN." The old basterd then droaned on and on makin up this whole ellaborate story about how the fan harmlessly sucks odors down and out when deployed in REVERSE, but, howevor, in the regular "ON" position, (i.e., blowing outward), the radioactive particles, if ever blowing upon your scrotum for as little as twentey seconds woud immediatly shrink that portion of your annatomy in an instant down to the size of a dried cranberry in a sun-baked, roadside bear turd.

Oh, brother. I didnt want to liston to this crap. I pushed past them out of the bathroom and down the hall. Folowwing close behind was Uncle Zeke who I only noticed when he grabbed my arm and shook it roughley. Zeke peered close at me, his giant hatchet head of a nose hovoring over my forehead, bobbing ever so slowly as if it were a real ax ready to split my head like a winter squash. He spoke in his same dull monotone, being he realy didnt know how to be intimmidating, even though he was.

"I'm gonna git them Secret Soceity robes yer grampap's wearin'. You hear me. boy? An' the headdress on his haid, too. PLUS, MAH OWN STOLEN TURBAN, UP ATOP THE THANG."

We glanced down the hall to see a reflection of the old basterd in the mirrer on the open door of the bathroom. I hadnt even noticed this, but above the Egyption Headdress Granfather wore, (reserved only for Twenty-Fourth Degree Collectors), was a plum-colored muslin turban -- ZEKE'S TURBAN, which represented the lower, but still prestiggious Nineteenth Degree that it took Zeke 40 years to achieve. Granfather flashhed us a wicked glance, looking like the Tales of the Cript ghoul dressed like a swami.

Zeke shook my arm and groaned, "He aint the rightfull owner o'that garb! Nor MAH OWN turban, whut he stoled out of mah luggage just an hour ago!"

I said to him, "Please Uncle Zeke! I am tired of all this dischord! Let me go to bed!"

What hapened later that night