Walter Miller's Homepage

No MSG, but still has what it takes to leave you with that empty, disattisfied feeling.
Even thogh we all know its August this is

THE JUNE 1999 UPDATE

Page 5 of 7


We need Dad to mediate

Even before Dad picked up I was alredy cryin. We put him on conference call. You woud think that Dad woud take my side but he was instead saying, "Walter stop being histerical."

Then Granfather had to interuppt and pretend that he was NOT the one who started the fight. The old basterd quickley shifted gears and started speakin in this calm, patronizing, condessending voice, tellin Dad I was "out of controle" and also, "Yes, young Walter is quite histericol."

This is a man who NEVER refferrs to me by name -- instead I am always "BOY" or, "The little faggot".

The cruel evil old ass-crusted beast even went on this boring monolog on how the word 'histericol' comes from the word 'historectomy' which means that somhow I indeed exibit "feminine charactoristics." Then I interruppted and said, (still crying), "Oh yeah? Well you are somhow indeed an EXHIBIT."

Dad got pissed

It was 8am in Texas and 6am in California so he was pissed to begin with. Dad told me to calm down. He also told Granfathor not to taunt me. By now I was blubboring and hyperventilating, and yes, histerricol. I told dad that if Granfather realy refused to go to the doctor, then I woud lose a personal day at work on Thursday for no reason, becuase it was too late to change my work schedual, (which was not realy true, but what the hell, at this point I was lookin for simpathy.)

No one listens to me

I have to share these things on my webpage or no one will ever hear my side of the storey. I know. Its pittiful. But I suffor from a poorselfimage problem and must express my self in some way.

Finaly the way it ended up the old basterd agreed to go to the docter on Thursday AND spend part of Wendsday morning in the yard sunning his slimey back and ass. Eithor way I was going to be late to work that day.

Also the whole time we were on the phone, Granfather was makin Silent-But-Deadlies. In case you dont know what a Silent-But-Deadley is, it is a very strong fart that you cannot hear them coming out and they are usualy much more smellier than any of the, shall we call them, percussive variety.

"Dad, Granfather is makin silent-But-Deadlies," I said.

Remarkably, Dad told me to "quit lying and stick to the issues."

Dad told me that Granfather indeed is known for many type of intestinol trangressions but in his words, "I canot recall a silent-but-deadly in 21 years of living under his roof."

I coud not believe that I was even hearing these words. I know that Dad's upbringing was very traummatic and i cannot blame him for gettin upset somtimes.

"I AM NOT MAKIN' GAS!" Granfather exclaimed loudley to Dad over the phone with a cigarete cletched tight in is teeth in his high-falutin, somwhat Clintonian tone.

Suddenly my beeper went off

Right in the middol of the conference call with Dad, my beeper went off. I removed it from my belt and looked at it to see these words scrole across the display:

HANG ON BOY ANOTHER S.B.D. IS COMING

I looked up to see Granfather franticaly jabbin at his Palm Pilot with one hand to send me this message I now received on my beeper while the at that moment the clawlike knuckols of his other hand grew white as the WIRED magazine he held it with on his lap grew white as he gripped it harder as slowly he raised and lowered the brightley colored monthly up and down as to fluff the acrid fumes toword my face across the room, while he cried to Dad, in a quavery false weep, "AND NOW THE BOY IS EVEN HOLDIN HIS NOSE AT ME, SON! WHAT GRAVE DISRESPECT!"

In case you dont know "S.B.D." stands for Silent But Deadley.

After the phone got hung up the old basterd glowored at me for two full minuts beffore talking. I was too frightenned to move. He growled like the savage beast animol he truly is.

"ILL GIT YOU FER THIS BWAH," he growled. "HOW DARE YOU RAT ME OUT TO YER PAW."

Then he made me wheel him into the kitchon and take out a tray of ice cubes.

"I DONE THUNK THIS OVER. I'VE DECIDED I'M GONNA WHUP YOU WITH THIS HERE TRAY."

I said, "Granfather, Dad said no more hitting."

"YEH, BUT HE DIDNT SAY NO MORE HITTIN' TODAY."

Granfather then asked me to dump the icecubes out of the tray in the sink. I said, "I will not be your enabler. I will not particippate in this beating."

"FINE," said the old monster, "THEN I'LL GIVE YOU YER WHUPPIN' WITH THEM HARD HEAVY CUBES STILL IN."

Well i didnt want THAT. So then, still cryin, I dumped the cubes in the sink and slowley walked over to Granfather and handed him the tray. It was one of these flimsey cracked blue ice trays and i stood in front of him, then cowered and sheilded myself, half turned arround as he whacked at me with it as puffs of smelly old white frost flew in air and on the floor. It did not hurt but it was houmiliating.

"DON'T YOU NEVER CONTRY-DICT YER GRANPAP AGINN, YOU STUPID...(WHACK!)...STUPID!... (WHACK!)...STUPID UGLY DUMBASS SUMBITCH!...(WHACK!)

I actualy felt sorry for Granfather cause he wheezed and strained in pain to hit me. Both my stepmothor and my therrapist told me that one day Granfather will not be with us anymore and so we had to love and acept him now, before he was dead because after that time, we will never see him agian. At least the old basterd was paying atention to me. Boy i am even more needy than i thoght.

Later when it was over

The old basterd now decidded he was hungry and for his meal. Granfather made me microwave him some cheese in a fiestaware plate till it was black and reddish and smoking like hell and put salt and butter on it. And then relluctantly he had me wheel him out in the sun and light him up a Wheeling Stogie which is a cigar. It was real hot and sunney out and so I possitioned the cardboard cone to give his hiddeoeus friggin face some shade.

Our yard is dusty with very few trees for shade and filthey dispite the fact that Granfather hadnt got outside much in the past few weeks. It is stroon with his colectible junk and trash plus theres allways allot of dog, chickon and goat crap allover cause they run loose in the yard. In fact the dogs were sort of howling in a low whine because they knew there was strife going on between me and Granfather and they were upsett.

"YER PAW WAS RIGHT," he said sudenly.

"HE NEVER DONE SMELT MAH S.B.D.'s, AND I DOUBT HE KNOWS I EVEN GOT 'EM IN MAH REPETOIRE.

"YEP, AH NEVER COUD MASTER THE ART O'THE SILENT-BUT-DEADLY 'TILL, OH, I'D SAY, LATE IN THE REAGAN ADMINISTRATION."

Granfather went on to tell me in his haughtey diabollical croaking tone that althuogh they kind of burned severely his ass they did provide him with an oportunity to paint me as a liar in my own fathor's eyes thereby driving anothor divisive wedge into the fragile, tragic, shattored paltry network of filial and interspecies rellationships that we call a dysfunctionol family.

Horroble, savage non-human animal

The old grisly basterd ate the crispey burnt cheese with loud wet smackin drooly sounds at the same time he was smokin the cigar. It was so danm repulsive i canot bear to write about it. Granfather is a horroble gastly voracious slob. He is a symphoney of loud grunts snorts and belches.

At his direction, I put five types of cheese on the plate, and mabye there was two pounds of it in total and as he ate it I woud say half of it ended up gettin spattored on his face. As you know when you micrawave cheese it releases the oils. It was stuck like glue on his boarlike facial bristle.

Then the old basterd made me string an extention cord out of the window of the trailor and put the laptop on the patio chair and wheel him next to it.

"PULL UP ALTERVISTA AND DO A SEARCH FER STAR-DOT-UGLY-NEKKID-LADIES-DOT-STAR. OR SOME SUCH."

He is such a disgousting old letch. Plus he pronounces Altavista as "Altervista" and somtimes "Ultravista".

I stayed with him a few minuts as he chewed his cigar and frowned at the slowley loading fuzzy .jpegs and .gifs. I tell you there is somthing so repulsively pittiful about Granfather.

After a pause he said to me, "YOU TELL EITHER YER PAW, OR THET DUMBASS SHERIFF ABOUT THET ICE CUBE TRAY WHUPPIN AN' I'LL KICK YER ASS IN SO HARD, YOU'LL PEE OUT YER NOSE AT WILL."

I am so tired of his emotionol abuse and humilliation. My voice and legs were shaking and I told him that I was not makin any promises, and not only that, I woud break my previous prommise and post the enbarassing San Fransisco Incident that hapened to Granfather when he was 17. He shook with angor and glowered at me with the most diabollicol hatred I ever saw in my life. I shook even more and quickley backtracked on what I said and proffusely apologized.

I begged the old basterd to forget what I just said. Dr Blankenship had told me that Granfather might be a bit more ornery than usuol since his giant crap and also more prone to violense. I did promise not to tell Dad or the Sheriff -- Howevor, I never promised not to write about the icecube tray beating on my homepage. AND SO THATS WHY YOU JUST READ IT.

And my family wondors why I am upset and have a poorselfimage all the time. It is because I have to live with GRANFATHER. If anyone out there reading knows my Dad or the Sheriff personaly, please tell them what Granfather did.

Then he made me get him a drink