Walter Miller's Hompage

Yes Virginia, there is a Walter.

The first of two Updates for July 1998

Page 5 of 6


An emergencey when I came home

Granfather was once agian howling in pain. Once agian it was due to somthin that was his own danm fault. Instead of bein in the air conditionned trailer he rolled arround outside on our rickety wood front porch, as his unhuman screams were acompanied by the clang of wrought iron fence bars slapping on the planks as he writhed.

The web as you know is full of allot of crazey things that can be harmfull to young children and old beasts. One of those dangerrous things is detailed directions on how to make a turnip cannon. I wont point you to no URLs only to say that it can be extremly danngerous. Nor will i say ecaxtly HOW to make a turnip cannon but i will say that it involves ammong othor things a cigarete lightor and a turnip, and you CAN use an empty Pringol's Potatoe Chip can if you dont happan to have any 3-inch-diametor PVC piping hangin arround. Which is what the bastord used.

If you feel that you do have to make a weappon like this just be sure not to point the back of it at your face when it goes off becuase if that friggin turnip is shootin 2,000 feet away at 400 miles per hour toword the roof of your neighbor's house who you are tryin to hit becuase you cant stand her, you sure as hell dont want that little metol disk at the bottom of the Pringol's can which says "You May Be A Prize Winner!" flyin off straihgt at you in a Newtonian exorcise of Equol and Opposite Reaction. In this case it did, (and we were a winner as a mattor of fact).

*POP!!*

"...DAMMIT! OWCH!"

This was the noise I heard just as I turned the car into our gravel driveway path, which is exactly a 5 minute ride to the front of our trailer. As the turnip sailed off into space to eventualy land in our neighber's pool a half mile away, the bottom of the can shot off backword and plastored itself, rathor dug itself quite painfulley deep into the spongy pulpy rancid squelchy flesh of Granfather's horroble hatchet-head shaped nose.

"HE'PP ME BOY, HE'PP ME!" he caterwaulled. "THIS HERE PURTY FACE O'MINE IS ALL I GOT!"

The old basterd's agonnizing bleats of unbearroble anguish were surely worse for my neihgbor to endure than Granfather's pain itself. Or for that mattor any fast moving vegetoble to come hourtling from abbove.

The smoking tin disk had seared his greazy skin and was still hot to the touch. The fact that the thermommoter on the porch read 109 degrees was not gonna help him cool off any eithor. I asked Granfather how come in the last 5 minutes he just didnt run inside and stick his danm head under the sink faucet. He pointed his desiccated fleshless finger at the lenhgth of iron fence around his neck.

"I'M MOVIN' A BIT LESS SPRIGHTLY CUZ O'THIS," he growled, lookin back up at me from his fetal possitioned sprawl with a naroww eyed gaze of pure hate.

Oh, YUCK!

I noticed Granfather wasnt wearin his diapor. He was buck ass nakad. He muttered out some cruel threat that "if his 'boys' got so much as mildly sunburnt in this here heat" he woud "food processor" me to death and they woud never find my body.

I ran into the trailer, filled a pan with cold wator, and puored it onto his awful body and face, and at the same time I dragged the evil coot's sqiurming twitching clawing cadaverlike remains across the doorway into the cool of the air conditionned living room.

BWAAAAAAHHHH!

This turned out to be a misteak becuase the imediate contraction of the hot metol of the wrought iron fence compressed the bars very tight arround his neck. Also bottom tin disk of the Potatoe chip can also shrank and it popped off into the air and that sure must of hurt too.

I knew that shaving cream is somtimes good to put on a burn and so I ran down the hall toword the bathroom as fast as I coud (dodging his diapor, which I saw on the coffe table, oh man, how gross), till sudenly my foot hit somthin hard with a thud and I went flyin head over heels.

Considor yourself warned: This is disgousting

There was somthin big brown and gigantic in the middol of the floor. It was the ecaxt size and dimensions of one of those flat-topped triangulor cement things that you see in the parkin lot of the mall where they place one at the head of each parking spot, with two holes drilled thru it and which are kept in place with peices of steel rebar which are stuck in the pavement, so when you park, you wont go rolling into the car that's parked ahead of you. They somtimes paint them yellow. This one was brown.

I WAS AIMING FOR THE PRISM SHAPE O'THE TOBLORONE CHOCOLATE," said Granfather, calmley, and with a slihgt ammount of detectable pride in his creation.

"BUT MAKIN' THEM TOP POINTY EDGES IS HARD."

So insteadd, the bastord explained, he settoled for one of those less expensive trapezoidally shaped white wrappored chocolate bars. The one I forget the brand name of but that i used to sell in 9th grade to raise money for the Langauge Club.

I began to scream at Granfather.

"How 'bout next time aiming for the TOILAT," I shouted. I told him I was TIRED of him bein such a danm pig. My voice was quavorring becuase I have a hard time standing up for myself in confronttations. Also I was shakking a little.

"We have a bathroom you know," I hollared at him.

"OH, REALLY? the old basterd retorted.

"WA'AL, IF I CAIN'T GIT OVER TO THE SINK, THEN HOW THE HELL DO YOU THANK I'M GONNA GIT OVER TO THE BOWL? YOU STUPID BOY.

Somtimes Granfather adds the words YOU STUPID BOY to the end of a mean statment and he egaxorrates his pronunciation of 'boy' with an extra twang so it sounds like "Bowie."

I am not stupid

Somthimes this hurts worst of all becuase he says it in a way that i can tell he realy means it.

The phone was ringin in my room and so i went to pick it up. It was my Dad, in California. It was dificult to hear everythin he was sayin because Granfather kept hollaring about his "artistic skill."

"YOU THINK THIS IS EASY?" screamed Granfather, as the wound on his horroble nose oozed and bubbled.

"YOU TAKE THEM INTERNET VIRGINS, WHO ARE GONNA CHARGE MONEY FOR FOLKS TO WATCH THEM DO-THE-NASTY ON A LIVE WEB CAM," he shreiked, refferencing those 2 young ordinery 18-year olds who are in the news, 'Mike and Diane' who suposedley plan to lose there virginity in unison togethor live on the Internet on Augost 4th in an 'act of love' (if only they can find somone to fund their porn site server for $100,000, yeah right).

Then he pointad to the enourmous beached loaf stretched out on the floor.

"I'D BET THET MORE FOLKS WOULD MUCH RUTHER PAY TO WATCH OL' GRAMPY MAKE THIS HERE ON THE LIVE WEB."

Granfather is a sick old basterd and you can never tell if he is joking or else speaking out of serious egoism. One thing is sure: Both his sence of pride and his evil sence of houmor greatly surpass his capacity for disgousting tricks and abilities.

What Dad had to say

I has glad that dad had calmed down a bit abbout being mad that i went on a business trip withuot consulting him first. I am suposed to tell Dad whenever i am going to be away a night. This is so Dad can make plans for overnight Bastord Care, and he realy dosent think Junior is up to the task because Granfather as you know allways gets himself into diffocult situations. Dad preffers that atleast one of the sceintists from the University stay over.

Anyway I knew there was a resen he was being so nice to me. He finaly said that him and my stepmom woud NOT be able to come visit for a week like he said initialy. He is very sorrey but mabye in Augost they will be able to come. This was extremly upseting to me becuase i feel like i am stuck here in the middol of nowhere with Granfather.

Me and the old basterd have a giant fight