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Relax, its fiction.

The belatad Spring 2000 Update in 3 pitiful parts: Febuary, March and April

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2 of 3 (March part)

Everyone in the audeince grew silent

Bob from Purchasing was really getting into the Drammatized Sexual Harasment portion of the Cyberblop Annual Sensitivity Day Presentation. He was flappin his arms and screamin at the moderator callin her a bitch and a hoe and such. It turns out later on that day they fired his ass.

I get beeped

The audeince was still stone silent from danm Bob and the big metol door at the back of the autodorium made a loud enbarassing slam as I left. I ran to my desk and dialed the Help Desk and a second lator you woud not beleive who I was talking to.

"YOU LITTLE SUMBITCH!" Granfather screamed. "AH CAIN'T GIT ON THE WEB CAUSE OF YOU!!

In the backround I coud hear howls and crying.

"IT'S SOME SORT OF POWDER, AIN'T IT? A LIZARD POWDER!
"I HAD TO GIT JUNIOR TO HEPP ME!"

I said, "Granfather, Junoir dont know nothing about the web, but the old basterd said, "WAAL, HE'S HEPPIN' ME."

"HE DON'T LIKE IT, BUT HE'S HEPPIN' ME," and I coud hear poor Junoir wailing and shouting in torturrous fear and pain like somthin terrible was hapenning to him. I was pretty sure that whatevor it was, Junior was being tortured. Also I was sure that Granfather woud not be able to get on the web. The Dermal Metabolizing Compound I slipped the old basterd earlier is quite an efective product. If you happan to be a reptile at least.

"Why did you beep me, Granfather?," I said.

"PICK ME UP SOME STUFF AT THE MINI MART," he gruffed.

"WHISKEY, SMOKES, TIC-TACS, OLD SPICE, HAIR CEMENT, LIGHTER FLUID--I GOT THAT DAGNAB FUNGUS BEHIND MUH EARS AGAIN,-- AND...OH YEAH: MAH LADY FREIND WANTS THE FEBUARY ISSUE OF 'COSMO'..."

Oh yuck. All of this meant that a rommantic evening was in the works. Granfather has been dating as you know a strange little woman who if you ask me is the virtuol female version of sour-faced television comic Al Franken. She is so much like danm Al Franken you cant beleive it.

"AN' GIT ME ONE O'THEM VALENTINE DAY CARDS: PLENNY O' SUGARY B.S. IN THE MIDDLE, AND NO MORE'N TWO BUCKS ON THE BACK.

"Y'UNNERSTAND, YUH DUMBASS? 'COURSE, YOU'LL BE ALONE THIS VALENTINE'S DAY. 'LEAST YOU GOT A CHANCE TO BUY A CARD FER ME ...HEH HEH HEH."

The old abbusive geezer kept blabboring on. Meantime, I was itching like crazy, really, really bad. You know, from my rash.

"Granfather, please I haveto get back to work," I said to him.

"I AIN'T FINISHED TALKIN'," he grunted, "JUNIOR! STOP SQUIRMING, YUH DUMBASS!"

As Junior whimpored and wept in the background, the old basterd then told me that the County Clerk left anothor threatening message on the answoring machine.

"AH HATES THAT COUNTY CLERK MORE THAN ANY HUMAN BEING ALIVE." he seethed. I said to him, "What about Spike? You just said you hated him more than aneything.

"OH YEAH. THET DANM BROTHER O'YORES. I FERGOT, I HATE HIM MORE'N ANYONE ALSO...

"AND THET DUMB GUY ON CHANNEL THREE, THE WEATHERMAN: AH DONE HATE HIS DANM GUTS TOO."

This is what it is like havin a conversation with the old basterd. It is like talking to a deranged man. The old demented coot actualy beeped me to tell me this crap.

All the while screamming at the top of his lungs with a cigarete clenched in his teeth, Granfather went on to tell me that the County Clerk is also suing him agian, and had a summons server deliver the papers today. Granfather was extra pissed becuase even though its a personal matter, the County Clerk is using the County as plaintiff, and also public funds to sue the old basterd.

"ALL'S I DID WUZ PLAY A LITTLE HARMLESS PRANK. AN' NOW HE'S DONE SUING ME," he crabbed.

I asked, "What was the prank?"

"NONE O'YOUR BEE-EYE BIDNESS.

"BUT I'LL TELL YOU WHUT, BWAH: I'LL DONE GIVE YOU FIVE BUCKS IF YOU LEAVE A BROWN PAPER BAG ON FIRE WHUT'S FULL OF DOG DOO ON THE COUNTY CLERK'S FRONT PORCH."

"I will not do it," I said.

"ALLRIGHTY, THEN YOU'LL DO IT FER FREE ELSE I'LL KICK YO' ASS."

The old basterd and I contineud this meaningless type of frustrating conversation for about ten minutes all punctuated with the sounds of Junior sobbing, furniture thumping, and Granfather exploading in violint screaming outbursts of elaborate threats along the lines of, "JUNIOR, IF'N YOU DON'T QUIT SQUIRMING, I'LL WHUP YO' PANTS OFF AND SEND THE RONCO(R) KITCHEN MAGICIAN(TM) UP YER BIG FAT ASS WITH ALL FORTY-EIGHT ROTO-ATTACHMENT BLADES DEPLOYED!!, till I just hung up.

I ran out of my cubicle and headed for the mens room. Thank got my brother gave me that Monistat cream. I had to put more of it on. But first I had to piss.

I suffor from Bashfull Kidney Syndrome

I hear people coming down the hall toword the men's room. Bashful Kidney Sindrome is where you are afriad to urinate in front of other people. And so I had to hide in the toilat stall to finish up. Thank God I wasnt on the ground floor, they have a danm Unisex bathroom there. That is one that both men and womon use. On the trendy heels of the "Ally McBeal" show, Cyberblop management decidded to install a Unisex to "improve morale."

Morale my ass. Like dunkin a pot sticker with a womon right next to me is suposed to make me feel good about myself.

All of a sudden who walks in to the mens room but Mr. Bouvard and Mr. Peckushay. The two of them sidle up to the urinals and start piddling.

Like I said Mr. Peckishay is a young wiseass kind of guy. Mr. Bouvard is a puffy old watery eyed red faced fat guy of about sixty. I dont know if he drinks allot or what, but like I once said before, his face looks like one of those red things on a baboon's butt.

I watched them thruogh the door crack of the stall. While standing there peeing I saw Mr. Bouvard bite his saggy lip and make a giant fart. Mr. Peckushay said, "Whoa! Save it for the SEC meeting!"

"Harrumph!," said Mr. Bouvard, "One of those kids left his zit cream on the sink!"

Oh, crap. He was talkin about my Monistat Seven cream. I must of placed it on the counter when I walked in.

"Too bad about Bob," said Peckushay.

"Mpph!! Yes!" grumped Bouvard, "We can't have tolerate that type of behavior here. Not at Cyberblop!"

"Yeah, sexist language," muttored Peckushay, "Broads hate that. Heh-heh."

Mr. Bouvard didnt apear to get the joke. A long pause went by. Bouvard is an older man and so it takes him longer to pee. Peckushay meanwhile is what you call a social pisser. He can piss on demand if needed. He is only here because probly Mr. Bouvard told him that he had to go. Peckushay is the kind of guy you see at the football games who points his winky around the urinol to hit cigarrete butts while other, less skilled men standing next to him are compelled to break the taboo of sneakin a glance at the competition's eqiupment, and so they look, in jealous wondor. Only there are no cigarete butts here at Cyberblop. We are a Smoke Free Work Place.

Oh God this was so disgousting. Watching thru the crack in the stall I saw Mr. Bouvard pick up my tube of Monistat Seven and examine it with his unwashed fingers just seconds aftor he was standing at the urinol handling his wrinkly old clamdigger. There was NO WAY I was going to use that cream NOW. Well in any case I had to go to the Mini Mart to pick up all that stuff for Granfather. So I guess I coud get more Monistat on my way home.

"So," said Peckushay, "Did you get a look at that cookie sitting in front of me? The curvy looking blonde in the pedal pushers?"

"Why yes. I did!" chuckoled Bouvard, his florid hanging dewlapped jowls shaking in affirmation, "What a tomato!"

When I got back inside the audotorium, Stu says to me out of the blue, "Hey, Walt, how'd you like to hang on Friday night? All us Marketing guys are going out to toss back some brewskis."

I reminded Stu that I probly coudnt afford the places they go to.

"Nah, forget that," said Stu, "We've all got expense accounts. Think of it as my way of making it up to you. You know, for making fun of you crapping on the subway."

I said, "You rule, Stu."

"You know, Walt, you're not a bad looking guy."

I said YEAH RIGHT. And Stu said, "Well, next to me you're not anyway. Walt, you got to get hitched. You know, find a woman."

I said, "Yeah, I know. I really need a babe."

Stu sudenly looked hurt.

"Oops. Stu, I'm sorry for saying 'Babe'."

"It's okay. ...Man, I really hate that danm movie."

Stu then told me about this website where you can meet women. REAL women, not the type that Granfather looks at that download upon deduction of Bare Ass Babe Bucks(TM) from your online porn acount. These are actual (not vurtual) women, many of whom live only a few hours drive from here. Stu scribbled the URL down for me and told me what kind of things to say when I post my Personol Ad on the website.

I compose a number of Personol Ads

Let me tell you somthing. In the past i had a very bad expereince with personal ads. My freakin website is so big now, I cant even tell you what the link is to it. But anyway, I did not want anothor Valentine Day to go by where I was UNATACHED. I am begining to feel like freakin Charlie Brown in this regard. It is now time for me to get into a rellationship. It is the danm Year 2000 alredy for Godsake.

I am at the point where I will even acept a BAD relationship. Well not realy, I am already in one of those: Granfather.

After Sensitivitty Day was over I went back to my desk and started workin on a secret, personal project: My personol ads.

I am not going to reproduce the ad here but lets just say that I implied that I was a studly hunk who is good looking and also financialy secure with allot of stock options in a leading internet startup company. None of those things are true.

Yes, I signed it, "Studly J. Hunk"

When I wrote the ads I made absolute sure that I was workin off a floppy disk, and then I went and erased the Temp files off the hard drive. The last thing I needed was for these danm personal ads to appear on the friggin network server at work.

I coud not beleive how late it was when I finished. I reallized I had to pick up that stuff Granfather needed plus also I needed Monistat cream for myself. Rather than buy a well-known ladies cream in the Mini Mart in our tiny town, (where the whole danm county will find out the next day), I stopped in anothor small town about an hour from home, which is sort of in the middle between my job and home. By the time I got there, I was so itchy I thoght I was going to scratch my orbs off. I am never, EVER again sittin on a fake-leathor airplane seat for three hours wearin parachute pants and no undorwear, even if it is First Class.

It was sort of packed for such a little conveneince store. They had all the stuff Granfather wanted, (even his weird brand of hair cream which I beleive they stopped making in 1977) exept I coud not find the Monistat cream. Behind the countor was this big tall sad looking old guy.

"Is that all today?" he asked. I said, "Um, do you have any Monistat?"

The guy said he woud look and see. I am such an idiot. I did not want the guy to think I was buying it for myself and so I started blabbering nervuosly, "Heh, heh, yep, you know, the little lady needs this stuff, she has her monthly problem again."

"Monthly?" the guy said, "That's not good."

I said, "Um, you know, mabye its not monthly. But she does have to use it. Mabye she never...I dont know..."

I then kept chattoring on like a fool. They say when you lie that you shoud stop imediatly because you will keep digging yourself in deeper and deeper. Unless you happen to be writing on the Internet in which case you coud lie your ass off. Comes easy for me, anyway.

"Women," I said, "Heh Heh Heh. You can't live with them. And then they get all those danm RASHES. Down there, I mean."

"Yep," said the big tall sad looking old guy.

He returned to the cash registor with a small box and said, "Is this OK"? and I said "Yes," and I did not even look at the box aftor he put it on the counter although I did notice indeed that it cost less than the jock itch cream. Sudenly I just nervously ripped it open. Inside, there were three smaller things wrapped in plastic and I tore them open too.

Oh crap. It was a cardboard tube and there wasnt no part of it you coud squeeze. Plus it was the wrong number Monastat: It was Number 3. And it looked diferent from what my brother and sisterinlaw gave me. I panicked.

I shreiked, "What the hell am I suposed to do with this?"

The old sad guy now seemed kind of pissed and he raised his voice and said, "You stick the plastic wand in one end and push the cream out on your hands then you rub it on your balls. And no. You can't use our restroom."

I was houmiliated. I got in my car and drove home.