Enjoying our carefree, investor-funded Pre-I.P.O. salad days.
"Walt," Stu said to me kindof drunk, "Finish that swishy looking Swiss Army knife of an amazing technicolor drink of yours, and lets get outa here." But I coud not drink it. Not with somthin floatin in it.
Mr. Peckushay came ovor to me and he had this angry sortof dumbfounded look on his face. He was holding a printout of the bill. He crouched down, looked at my drink and squinted then looked at the bill agian and finaly once more at me.
"What the hell IS that?", he snapped.
I said "It is a Pusee Cafe."
"A WHAT? A Pussi WHAT??"
I coud neithor hear nor say the word again. Oh God.
"It cost fifty-one dollors, is what it is!" Mr. Peckushay snorted. I went to the men's room and when I came out a minute later Stu and Mr. P. and the casheir and the bartendor were lookin at the bill. Mr. Peckushay was kindof red and hollering. Stu was tryin to calm him down. I heard the casheir and bartendor say that its a very expensive drink to make cause instead of one or two fancy after-dinner liqeuors that may cost $3.50 or $4.00 there are 14 of them all togethor. Plus it takes the up the bartendor's valuable time, like 15 or 20 minutes to find all the right bottles and carefuly pour them in the right order. Not to mention havin to look for the friggin bartendor's instruction book under the bar. There's allot of three doller tap beers they coud pour for other customers in that 20 minutes.
By this time the lights were all on in the bar. It was as bright as WalMart on a Satorday morning in there. I stood there silentley and hoped we coud leave soon.
"SO DRINK IT, DAMMITT" Mr. Peckushay screamed at me in front of Stu, the bartendor, the cashier, the nakad dancing ladies (who were no longer nakad or dancing, or for that mattor, havin stuff fall off them in my danm drink), as well as the othor two drunk marketing guys, "For FIFTY-EFFIN'-ONE FREAKIN' BUCKS, are you even going to DRINK it?"
I said No, I wasnt feeling well. I kept waiting for Mr. Peckushay's refreshing charisma to kick in and for him to stop screamin at me but he never did.
On the way home I told Stu why I didnt drink it. He was nice to me considoring. Stu never gets pissed at you.
"Damn, Walt, that's sick. Say it fell right in there, huh? You've got some sick-ass bad luck, man."
I asked him if I realy screwed things up that badly.
He said you cannot abuse the expence account. Especialy you are not alloud to spend $51 on one drink.
"Stu," I asked him, "Do you think I am no longer one of the 'cool guys' at work?"
He said, "Oh, you betcha."
When I got home the sun was coming up. I coud not believe I allowed those guys to drive me home after all those drinks. I walked in the trailor and Granfather was wide awake and sittin there at the table smoking.
"SIT DOWN, BWAH!", the old basterd barked at me. He was pissed abuot something. My heart was beattin like crazy and I was sure I was gonna get my ass kicked. Surely the demon seed old troll had found out that I betrayed him to the rest of the family.
Yet almost imediately the old basterd changed what he said and spoke to me in a kindly tone. Howevor what he SAID got me very upset. First the old pile of dryed flesh and gristle cleared his throat. It sounded like he had a coupel of jellyfish cought there in his gullet. It was really disgousting. Then he slowly picked his nose, and scratched his bristly chin. He staired at me without a word. I am never completly not in awe of Granfather's spectaculor ugliness. It is because he is not human.
Finaly his purplish black lumpy, white pustule covered and allmost hairy bumpy tounge emerged from his crusted gummy mouth like a giant poisionous demon-possessed eel out of a sewer drain just aftor it had secretly swum up there from hell to make a crap in drinking wator supply. He is not a man: It is an animol. The tounge moved tediously as Granfather licked his grey slimy underside-of-a-slug lips and at last he began to speak.
"I KNOWS YOU GOT A PERSONALS AD OUT THAR ON THE WEB, DON'T DENY IT."
I was so angry i wanted to punch the wall. I screamed, "You hacked my e-mail!"
He barked back, "I MOST SUTTINLY DID NOT....MISTER 'STUDLY J. HUNK'."
I said, "Then how do you KNOW?"
Granfather held a crinkley roll of shiny white paper in his hands, pulling each end so it was taut.
"THIS DONE COME OVER THE FAX MACHINE."
I grabbed it from Granfather and looked at it. DAMN!!!! It was from Tilde, my annoying, compulsively codependent, nosy buttinsky boss. The fax was adressed to Granfather because him and her were coresponding by fax since her jaw was wired shut, and Granfather was placed under "mouse arrest" thanks to the reptilian dermal powder.
I didnt read the whole fax she sent but it was full of all sort of touchy-feely drivol like, "We have to support poor Walter, and help him emotionally..."...I was so, so very freakin pissed.
"NOW SIT THAR, BWAH, AND I WILL TELL YOU ABOUT LOVE AND ROMANCE AND SUCH."
I said "No thank you!" in a sarcaustic voice.
"SIT THAR, BOY, AND ALLOW ME TO BE GRANDFATHERLY JEST ONCE IN MY LIFE.
BEFORE I BEAT YOU SILLY WITH A HAY RAKE."
But I said I had nothin to say to him and ignored the old bastord. I went outside and fed the dogs and goats and chickons. We have 13 skinny misorable dogs. I must of realy, really had a pitiful look on my face cause one of the dogs who always tries to hump my leg just sat there lookin at me. Then I went inside and went to sleep.
I was awakened at 11:30 the next morning by an overpoworing gamy smell of decay. Opening my eyes I saw Granfather was in my room standing over me with his face close to mine.
"YOU GOT GIGANTIC PORES. ANYONE EVER TELL YOU THAT?" I said to him to PLEASE GO AWAY