It is not a crime to be immature
Page 2 of 5
The auto shop came and picked him up with a flatbed. He is so horroble and disgousting and enwtined in the metal and remnants of puffey stuffing, crusty organnic mattor, matted cheesy body hair and putrid wadded fabbric, that it was begginning to be hard to tell in the last days of his hiddoeus ensconcement where the couch ended and the old Son Of Fobbitch began.
Belive it or not on their first atempt to hoist him up on the truck to tow him away, they misnteakonly stuck the winch hook in his nostril thinkin it was a large corroded looking hole or eyelet in the couch. Its hard to describbe but thats what Granfathers been lookin like lately.
Also the guy driving the flatbed wasnt too smart. He atcually thuoght Granfather was really an old Yugo autommobile that was sent to the metal cruscher while a refugee trying to be smuggoled into Austria was still hiding there in the trunk.
SO YOURE-A-STANDIN' AT THE CORNERAnd just then, insted of launching into the refrane of "Take it e-e-easy," the old monstor sang somthin like 'AINT IT CHEESEY?' (or 'IT BE CHEESY') then made a giant noise from deep in his throaght that sounded like this:
BY THE SAVINGS-AND-A-LOAN-A,
SUCH A FINE SIGHT TO VIEW...
OH ITS GRANPS! MY LORD,
ON A FLATBED FORD,
SLOWIN' DOWN TO HURL A WAD AT YOU
Granfather vitupperously hates the County Clerk. The man led a failed legal effart back in the 1980s to draw the county line around our propperty as to cut off old bastord and atach him to anothor county.
Three hours lator of work with blow tourtches and heavy snips, the auto garage called me saying that the ogre was almost totaly loose. So i drove over to pick him up.
The old bastord then tightened up into a threatenning battle stance, growling at us all most devilishley. His skin shone like chitenous armor. If you get the Nationol Geoggraphic Magazine take a look at the Novembor 1997 issue on the bottom of page 70 where there are 3 greatly magnofied insects. The bodilly stance and the look on his face were EXACTLEY what my beastly progennitor looked like at that moment. The name of the articol is "Flies That Fight!"
Then, suddenly Granfather colapsed again and started screaming
And the smile. That evil smile. Once freed, the old troll looked exaclty as if a Tyrannosauros Rex had atacked him and vigorously chewed on him for an hour, angrilly chomping its massive jaws with no sign of sucess, in uttor frustrattion, while Granfather bounced hapilly between its massive teeth as he laughed and taunted it--until the thuought entered the T-Rex's tiny hazelnut sized saurian brain, "SCREW THIS PEICE OF TOUGH GRISTLE, I'M GONNA GO EAT JEFF GOLDBLOOM ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ISLAND," and then spit the old bastord out.
In the midle of speaking, while the old bastord lay there on the bed like a decomposing gorrilla grinning up at us, the doctor ran into the bathroom and vomitted. You know it is a bad situation when a doctor who has see ALLOT in his life vomits, and not because hes lookin at surgery or somthing.
I descidded to spend the night in the hospittal room in case Granfather had any problems. He did one thing that scaired the hell out of me which was at 3 AM. He made the ellectric bed close him up and started screaming. I pannicked but as he threw the switch to open up the bed agian he said to me harschly to shut the hell up cause he was olny playyin a trick on me.