Walter Miller's Homepage

...Becuase Freedom Of The Press means you dont allwayes have to spell everything corectly.

April 1998 Update

Page 2 of 8


About a month ago at work i got an e-mail from Uncle Zeke. He is Granfather's half-brothor and is 10 years older than the old bastord. Also he is much taller and stronger. It was a shock to get an e-mail from him becuase he is one of these elderley gents who i never beleived woud ever use a computer.

Those of you whove been reading my homepage will remembor about a year ago I visited the East Coast with Granfather to visit with the old bastord's two brothers, Uncle William and Uncle Zeke. They are half brothers and about 10 and 12 years older than my ghastly forebear. We visited because Uncle Willaim was dying of cancer, and he wanted to see Granfather one more time beffore he died.

Mirraculously, now a year later, Uncle Will hasnt died yet. I woudnt say he inproved, but hes still on his deathbed. This is what the e-mail said:

To Walter:
This is your Uncle Ezekiel STOP
I write to tell you that your
Uncle W and myself will visit
Texas in April STOP

We do not wish IT to be advised
of our plans STOP

The purpose of our visit is to
settle outstanding affairs STOP

Uncle W has kept himself alive
out of pure hatred for IT and
this malice has breathed new
life into his frail bones STOP

Notice how the old bastord is referred to in third person as "IT." I later found out that in ordor to set up this e-mail, Uncle Zeke found a computor consultent in the yellow pages where he lives and then arranged to visit him. The consultent looked me up on the internet to send me the note. Zeke went thru all this truoble out of precaution that Granfather woudnt find out.

The whole thing cost my uncle $90. For one danm e-mail. Also he insisted on putting 'STOP' aftor the sentences like in the old fashionned telegrams. Plus he didnt use punctuattion because (just like in some old telegrams) he didnt think he was alowed. Uncle Zeke is not an extremley inteligent person. He is uneducated plus I think his I.Q. is only like, 89.

The next day I called Uncle Zeke long distence from my job so it woudnt show up on our phone bill. Zeke told me that Granfather had stolen colectibles and money from him and Uncle Williom many times going back to the 1950s and they were going to settle the debit so Uncle Will coud die in peace. It is shameful the type of ripping off and legal troubles and suing that go on betwean membors of my OWN FAMILLY.

Uncle Zeke told me that Uncle Wiliam is very sick and woud not be able to stay at our trailer because the stench of Granfather woud be too much for his frail weak lungs. (People think i am makking it up abuot how bad Granfather smells but I am NOT).

Uncle Z. asked if I woud make arangements for Uncle Will to stay in the motel in town. Poor uncle Zeke is too dumb to dial out of his areacode and so I had to make the calls. The only reasen he is able to call family members is because a few years ago when I visited him i set up his phone with speed dial.

Next I called Dad

I had to tell my Dad in Californa what was going on. I hate confrontattions. I am one of these people who will buckol under to abuse and strife pretending it is not hapenning. But meanwhile inside i am crying. I told dad what was going to happan and told him if he woud PLEASE call our uncles and straighton the whole thing out. Perhaps if Dad gave them the money that they think Granfather owes them, then they woudnt come to visit.

Dad said he woud do this, but ONLY if I agreed to do somthing: As you know i have been slacking off from atending my counselling sessions. Dad told me that if i PROMISED to scheddule a few more of my therapy sessiens that he woud take care of the problem.

Dad's othor reason

Severol updates back i wrote about how Granfather was suposed to be getting counseling of his own due to Compulsive Behavior and also Colecting Disorders. The beastly geezer only agreed to it if it was family counselling. Part of the deal with Dad was that i also had to start atending sessions with the old bastord. This, i didnt mind. I do not care atending couciling--as long as I am not the main "problem" in the room for a couciling session. Lord knows the old monster needs it. The reason why Granfather agrees to family counciling only is because he craives being the centor of attention. He tells awful jokes and usualy makes loud farts all thruogh the session. And with a crowd, he can always single out varrious people in the session to purposely houmiliate them in front of the group.

He is gratuitoisly mean and abusive. Yet i will endure it, just to see him atleast get SOME counseling.

An open plea to Doctor Kevorkien

Oh, Esteemed Physicion, dear precoius Doctor Jack, how i pray and long and yearn to hear the loud festive Eeep! Eeep! Eeep! sound of your Van of Death backing into our driveway, hopfully somtime soon. There is $120 in a cofee can under the old bastords dresser, and it is yours if you come and do the dirtey deed. Also, I promise to lay plentey of plastic on your gurney bed befforehand as not to have him stain or mess it up from rancid leakage from his ass. The onley thing I will not do is help you dispoase of the body: With all the problemns in my life I do not also need leagel troubles from the EPA.

A bad scene when I arived

That day after calling Uncle Zeke i returned home from work to a brawling ruckus. There were dishes being thrown, jelley glasses and whisky bottols being smashed, and loud bellowing screams comin from the trailer that coud be heard a good 100 yards down the gravol path as i drove up. Why you ask? WHY?!?

Not an armed intrudor. Not a bar room braul, or a herd of stampeding elephents, and certianly NOT a mattor of life and death as coud be deduced from the panicked, alarming bloodcourdling shreiking caterwaulls of agony. Oh no, Granfather, miseroble old bastord that he is, was screamin at the Internet. Specificaly, the ancient letch was tryin to look at one of those "free pournography" sites on the web. The kind that SAYS they are free but you constantley have to go to one slow loading page full of banner ads after anothor, each time opening up a new browsor, and closing all those pop-up ads, endlessly searching for, but never getting to the so-called "free poornagraphy."

"I KNOWS I AIN'T THE FIRST PERSON IN THE WORLD TO HOLLAR AT THE INTERNET FER POOR PEFFORMENCE," he screamed while throwin a heavy glass ashtray at me, yes, ME, and i didnt even do nothin wrong. This is a man who last December actualy called up the local ISP help line to complain to the sysop that, now get this, "the nekkid ladies he was finding online didnt look happey enuogh."

Yes, he found porn allright, but they didnt look happy. I am not makin this up. The sysop of Granfather's ISP is a freind of my brother's and i ended up gettin a copy of the phone call transcritpt. Here is the last page of it below. 'Caller' as you may of guessed is Granfather:

Caller: The gals (sic) are plentiful. And they sure are nekkid (sic) and that's good, I guess...

Support: So what's the problem?

Caller: (loud) Let me finish my G****mn thought

Support: I'm sorry sir, please finish.

Caller: The problem is the women ain't (sic) looking friendly.

Support: Sir?

Caller: Are you deaf? Did you hear me? I said I can't find no nekkid (sic) women who look friendly.

Support: I..I don't know what to tell you...

Caller: A naughty pout, perhaps, well there ain't (sic) nothing wrong with that, I suppose. But all these here women in every dagnab (sic) porn site I'd found all look like they wanna (sic) bite my damn lips off.

Support: Sir, we are just an Internet access provider. We have no control over content you might see...

Caller: Aw shut the hell up. You pencil-necked, faggot-ass, telephone support-line call picker-upper with his hands up his nose and his head up his ass. No wonder y'all (sic) ain't made a damned profit yet.

(Call Terminated)

And only 10 minuts after i got Granfather to calm down about free dirty pictoure websites that werent there, we had anothor small "incodent", shall we call it. This, when the old basterd started screamin at Micrasoft Internet Explorer for loading slow and crappy--And how alls you get is a blank grey screen that just sits there when you 'refresh.'

"AT LEAST NETSCAPE TELLS YOU THAT THE GOLLDANG BROWSER DONE CLOSED FER AN UNKNOWN REASON," Granfather screammed at the top of his semi-vestigal amphibian lungs while a cigaret was clentched tight in his teeth.

"MICRASOFT DONE TRIES TO EXPLAIN THE REASON, WHEN LORD KNOWS THEY SURE AS CONSARN HELL DON'T DAGNAB KNOW NEITHER."

Also there was a teribble smell in the house

This too I smelt from way down the gravel path. In fact I smellt it before I heard it. It was the same horroble stench i was used to exept more scorched. This was because of somthing that hapenned sevoral hours before I arrived. Granfather like a fool, was wailing because hed burnt himself agian by ironing his shirt while it was still on. He is a misorbly stupid old fool who normaly dosent care for having pressed clothes exept he somtimes does this because, "ITS FASTER'N HOTTER'N THAN A HOT COMPRESS", and also he likes the "BURNT SMELL AND CRACKLY SOUND," of the steamming firebrand on his insect infested hairy thatched hide.

Yet back in March when this hapenned, you may recall that he had a girlfreind and so he truley was ironing his best Western shirt while wearing it. Now 6 weeks later to this very day there still remaines on his chest just under his third nipple a thin iron-shaiped scraggly melted 100% pollyestor synthettic plastic totally burnt black disc, (all that is left of the shirt), and it is all matted and interwoven with his gamey smelling malodorous monkey hair.

I woud take Uncle Zeke's considorably below average inteligence over Granfather's smartass evil genious I.Q. ANY TIME.

While i scrubbed him in the tub over the next hour Granfather coud tell that i was holding in a secret.

"WHUTCHU HIDING FROM ME, BOY?" he snarled as i scoured his thick hippo-like hide with a brass bristol brush and a lathery mass of Double-Lye liqiud airplane soap concentrate. It dosent hurt his skin.

"TELL ME YER SECRET!

"I SAID ANSWER ME, BOY, OR I'LL SPACKLE YER ASS CRACK SHUT WITH PORTLAND CEMENT, AND FEED YOU THIS HERE SOAP WITH A SHEEP FUNNEL!"

I do NOT want to tell you what part of the sheep the sheep funnol goes in. I also had swore secrecy to Uncle Zeke that i woudnt tell Granfather about his supprize visit. So i lied and said: "i'm hiding nothin Granfather."

As I bathed the abbusive monster I treid to ignore his hail of other violant threats including rippin my spleen out thru my ear, my bladdor out thru my nostrils, or else gorge me on black Italien coffee, tape my eyes open with duck tape and sit me in the front row of the Barney film for 4 showings while wearing his cardboard animol coller around MY neck as to amplify the movie theator sound system.

Freakish, insufferoble anoyingly unendurable prehistoric frightening beast. (Granfather, not Barney).

It took me anothor hour just to rinse him due to the torturrous pits and crannies of his reppulsive hideous body not to mention the knobs lumps and boils. Picture the surface of Mars, that you saw the Pathfinder robot take last year, exept made of hard knobbey rubber. Now pictoure black steel wire growin out of it in the pattern of primate hair. Some of the hairs are six inches long. Now pictore it slathored with waxy dried soap which is the consistency of egg yokes when you dont scraipe them off the pan overnight. Well THAT is the surface of Granfathers neck back chest legs and ass. Oh, and did I mention that it smells like your own head is up a gorrillas butt.

Granfather FINDS OUT abuot the visit.