They will never cancel us.
"The baby is in the car!!!" my brother screammed.
Granfather hollered back, "THEN YOU SHOULDN'T OF DUCKED, YOU DUMBASS!"
"You want some danm blood blood back? HERE!" and then my brothor took an old bottle that was layin in the yard and hourled it right at Granfather's head. The bottle smashed in a million smithereens right on Granfather's fourhead. Granfather DIDNT EVEN BLINK. Then the old basterd turned around and went in the house presumably to get the shotgun but you never know with him.
He immediatly seemed to forget he was in the middle of a big fight with my brothor. You can never tell with the old monster what is going to set him off. Or for that mattor, cool him down: not ten seconds later Granps was calmly seated in his sofa chair drinkin whisky and grunting out consonants at the TV screen. Splintery peices of glass were still stickin out of his forhead.
"LET YOUR DANM BROTHER SIT OUT THAR WITH HIS ASS IN A KNOT THINKIN' THAT THE FIGHT IS STILL GOING ON," he growled.
"Granfather," I said to him, and then he cut me off, "SHUT UP, BWAH, I'M WATCHIN 'WHEEL'."
The old basterd was completly detached from the fight.
I went in the bathroom and at long last finally got to pee. Did you ever have to piss so bad that it dosent come out? This is what was hapenning to me. The worst part of it was how the old basterd left the bathroom. Especialy the toilet.
"Granfather," I called out, "What the hell was goin on in here? It looks like Jackson Polleck was in here takin a crap."
"AH CALL IT, 'COMPOSITION NUMBER TWO IN BURNT SIENA'.
"HEH HEH HEH. GET IT? NUMBER TWO?"
I was also very itchy and uncomfortable from wearin those danm parashoot pants. It was unbearable. Did your skin ever itch so bad that you wanted to just scratch it till its raw? Thats what I felt like doing.
Sudenly I heard an odd beeping noise. While I was peeing, I noticed that Granfather's Compaq laptop was sittin there on the egde of the sink and plugged into the shaver outlet. A phone extention line was strung in from the kitchen.
"Granfather, why are you surfing the web in the bathroom?," I called to him. But there was no answer. Finaly the old basterd answered evasively, "OH, UM, WAAL, I DOWNLOADED AN OLD COMDEX SPEECH."
Granfather was hiding somthing. You can always tell when the old bastord is lying: his lips are moving. I called out to him, "Why?"
Anothor pause went by. Granfather stammored again, "UM, THE CONTRASTING PERSONALITIES OF THEM TWO ANNOYING FELLERS PROVIDE A STABLIZING YET STIMULATING YIN AND YANG EFFECT ON MAH TORTURED DIGESTION.
..."IN OTHER WORDS, THEY HEPP ME CRAP WHEN I CAIN'T."
Well I suspected somthing different was going on: a dishonest ruse. I zipped up, (very carefully since I had no undorwear on), and closed the program out. Then I noticed somthing that was minimized. I opened it up and it was PORNOHGRAPHY.
Seeing the laptop computor plugged in and properley working tipped me off on somthing: I reallized that while I was away on my trip to New York city I had neglected to give Granfather his dose of The Dermal Metabolizing Compound.
This is a speciel powder that we are secretly feeding the old reptile. There are capsules of powdor that we are supposed to put in his food each day.
The old basterd is too stupid to figure out what is going on. Instead, when the mousepad will not respond to his disgusting scaly fingertips, he gives up. If he is in an ornery mood, he will get on the phone to scream, holler and curse at AOL, Microsoft and Compaq. (And bellive me: I do not give a crap if he is screamin at AOL, Microsoft and Compaq.)
There is a locked box in my room where we keep the powdor capsules. While Granfather sat there continiung to watch "Wheel of Fortune" I snuck out of the bathroom and into my room and got one of those capsoules. Then I went back in the livingroom. My hand tremboled as I held the capsule in my hand behind me. Granfather turned his specatacularly ugly head toword me, and glowered at me with almost sad looking, watery eyes.
"IT'S A FUNNY THING, BOY. MAH COMPUTER WASN'T WORKIN' YESTERDAY, BUT IT WORKS FINE TODAY."
He kept rambolling on, and while slowly pickin boogers out of his ears and nose with his long marmoset like fingers, examinning them, and tossing them aside, I queitly snuck up behind him, and opened the capsule.
"AH HATES YER DANM BROTHER'S GUTS," he hissed.
"Yes I know Granfather," I said. I was so scared I thoght I was gonna crap a pickle.
"AH DON'T NEED NO STOCK MONEY FROM HIM."
"AH'M GONNA MAKE SOMTHIN' OF MYSELF. I'M GONNA BE A SUCCESS."
The old beast waved a small but thick and very tattored paperback book in my face and my eyes inadvertantly folowed it. He moved the book slowly back and forth, side to side, and up and down. My face folowed it, almost like in a mesmorizing trance. Finaly he stopped and halted his hand still. At that instant he cruelly slapped the book hard on my nose.
"LOOKY HERE: THIS IS THE GUINNESS BOOK OF WORLD RECORDS. AH'M GONNA GIT IN THIS HEAR BOOK. Y'UNNERSTAND, BOY?"
Um, breaking what record?," I asked.
"AH DON'T CARE. I WANNA DO SOMTHIN WITH MAH LIFE. EVEN IF IT'S SOMTHIN' STUPID."
It is not easy to pull one over on Granfather, but thats exactly what my family is doing with that reptile powdor. I prayed that it was totaly melted into the drink before he noticed. The Dermal Metabolizing Compound was developed by a Canadian company and one form of it is already being used in Centrol America on endangered iguanas where they smear it onto road paint so the poor animals dont stumbol onto the freeway and get accidentally friggin squashed by a banana truck.
Just as I was leaving Granfathor called out: "BWAH! GIT YO' ASS BACK IN HEAH!"
Oh crap. I froze. He must of found i spiked his drink. I went back in and Granfather once agian pulled me close. Then he whacked me on the nose agian -- this time much more harder than before.
"THET THAR WAS JUST FOR YOU BEIN' RELATED TO THET THAR BROTHER O'YORES," he seethed. Alls I wanted to do was get the hell out of there beffore the old bastord discovored that his danm fingers woud not allow him to get back on the internet.
"YOU'RE LOOKIN' A BIT NERVOUS, BWAH," he said to me in chilling mock sweetness, "IS ANYTHIN' ON YOUR SMALL MIND?"
I said, "No, Granfather."
"GOOD! THEN GIT YO'ASS OUT O'MAH FACE WHILE I WATCH 'WHEEL'!"
"What is he doing now?" my brother asked me.
The reason why I lied was that if my brother had indeed stormed the house, he woud, of course, had found Granps distracted and watching TV and coud of whomped the old basterd before he turned around.
My brother shoud not of thrown a bottle at Granfather. But the old basterd shoudnt of throwed the stove cover at him especialy with the kid in the car.
Then sudenly my brother grabbed me by my shoulders and slammed me up agianst the porch railing. He was real pissed at me.
"You and your danm website!" he screamed.
He is bigger and much strongor than me. I am skinny and weak. He was pissed because before he left his job with all his stock money people were makin fun of him because he is related to me. Yes I am becomming more and more famous all the time and not in a good way.
We had a big argumant. He says I have houmiliatted the family by writing so much about Granfather -- a big, evil secret that the world shoud not know about. Meanwhile I said it is my First Ammendment right to write about him.
Me and my brothor started screamin at each other. We woud of started clobberin each other (with me gettin my ass kicked) if my sisterinlaw did not come out of the car to calm us both down. She had a good idea. It was now about six oclock so she said lets all of us including the baby go out to supper and then afterword we would all go to their new place in the next county. They had to buy furniture and stuff, and it woud be a nice few hours for all of us away from family fisticuffs.