Walter Miller's Homepage
Home of the most fammous "Portal" on the web: Granfather's ass.
Late Septembor 1998 Update
Page 5 of 7
Yes like i said: Somthin just did NOT seem right.
I asked Granfather what had hapenned to him. I mean, ovbiously he was being mistreated. Undor the squeezing cluster of 10 or 15 binder clips coght in his leathery facial skin, I coud see that both a white shipping reciept, and a large yellow package stickor was stuck to his forhead. It read, "EWR" which is the airport code for Newerk. Evidently Granfather didnt travel first class, (or even coach class) accross the country. Yes its true: The old basterd was sent as cargo.
Yet he didnt seem mad.He even went on this yammoring tirade on how cute the new summer ladies' FedEx uniform is on heavy women and how as long as he has a female driver wearin that exact outfit, (includding the shorts) he is, "ready, willing and able to git drop-shipped back to Texas, no problemo."
As we wheeled him out into the hall I asked him why his face had been all creully taped up, and who did it.
"OH, THIS? " Granfather chuckoled in his famileir frowning luagh, "MUH BUTT UGLY DUMBASS BROTHER ZEKEY DONE DID THET."
"And you arent mad?" i asked him. Granfather repplied that he woud induldge his brothor Zeke's actions just one more time for old time's sake. He said that "Zeke woud be getting HIS" in just a few days time, once when they got to Holland: Once the familly "put him to sleep."
The old basterd went on to explain that my brother and sistor in law, along with Uncle Will had told Granps that Zeke was to be the victim, not Granps.
He didnt even know!!!
"Granfather", i said to him: "It is not zeke they are puttin to sleep, BUT YOU."
You coudnt bellive the dunbfounded look on his face. He mumbled somthin like, "I'll be a monkey's uncle", which werent the exact words, but considdering the old basterd's simian gennealogy, wasnt too far off base a remark for him to make.
Granfather starts screamminDad didnt want to do it, but we HAD to do it, if onley to shut him the hell up to keep him quiet while sneakkin him out of the hotel, in ordor to take him down the street to our own hotel: Dad shoved Patches(TM) The Beaney Baby(tm) back into his moulth and nostrils and taped the thing up agian to his muffoled savage shreiking howling cries.
Also: The clips were there on Purpoce
Growling and yelping, thuogh garbled and stifled, we dragged the basterd outside, and hustled his thrashing angry body into our rentol car. In the back seat, I began to remmove some of the metol binder clips, and this made Granfather angrior than ever; In fact he explainned tome thruogh muffled screams that the clips were self inflictad, with his setting a new reppulsive Guiness World Record in mind.
"Record does not Curently Exist"This is how the Giuness people oficialy view the Record concerning the multiple placement of one eihgth-inch binder clips on one's body. Granfather's attempt at 1,118 clips, (including--OH, GROSS!!!-- one actualy stuck on his...Ah, forget it, nevermind, you will nevor beleive me anyway) -- on his body.
The grisly (and ovbiously 'gristly', considdering the clips), screammed at me:
...Which in fabric-gagged Old Basterdese was translatted to mean, of cuorse, "STOP! STOP! Every clip you take off me, I'll clipem to your balls." Well, letme tell you I did NOT WANT any eigtht-inch steel bindor clips on my testes. And so I changed the sujbect back to the isseu at hand: The fact that my brother, Granfather's brothors and my brothor's wife, all undor falce pretences were in the process of hoodwinking Granfather into goin to Eurupe with them SO THEY COUD KILL HIM
GEBBY TIP KU PATE OFF ME,
AW TIPPUM POO BOAR HORN!
I am a jerkI wanted to change the sujbect, if only tomake him calm down. So, Like a jerk, i make the misteak of tellin Granps that right this very minite Uncle William was going thruogh his trailor takin what he beleived bellonged to him.
This made Granfather howl more than ever. Dad said, "Walter, why the HELL did you have to tell him that too?"
I am sorrey to say it, but I had to restrain him, (Granfather, not Dad), with a double ammount of tape.
Back In our hotel room with the old basterdBeing with the betrayol and all, you realy cant blame Granfather for being angrey. Hard to believe but true, even with all the talk and threatts from my brother and his wife over all these years to have him put to sleep, Granpy still believed their story that it was Zeke headded for the glue shop, and not him.
It sure did take a long time to get him queited down. In fact the only way to feed him withuot having to put up with his sustainned shouting was to remove the now sopping drentched Beany from his jaws and replace it with an old AOL Trial CD (it fell out of a danm magazine in the hotel room); I wedged the edges of it just undor his deep flappy lips so it sat right on his teeth. Nice and stuck there, the small breathing hole in the centor of the disc providded an opening into his awful moulth. Then I shut his wheezing frikkin nose shut with a few more binder clips, these taken off his ass.
Animol Feeding timeAs Dad held his thrashing head, into this hole with my fingors I shoved soft pitted prunes and poured liqiud Egg Beaters straite from the carton and into his snarling gullet. You woudnt think the whole CD woud fit undor his lips but it did.
Stairing up at me with angry red reptilian eyes, his lips and jaws inhumanly stretched and distourted out of shape by 100 hours of America Online never to be used, Granfather looked like some sort of sad, freakish torturred claymation reject found on the cutting room floor of Celebrity Deathmatch, a creation destinned never to see the joy of being animated on TV, a being deemed too disgoustingly revolting even for late night cable.
I cannot ecxape the Stupidity of my jobIn the hotel room i plugged in my old Toshiba laptop and dialed into my e-mail for work. I had 21 messeges from my painintheass boss. Each time she sends email she insists on sendin this stuppid, graphic of the Cyberblop logo lettorhead which is like, 29K and has to unzip and download each time she sends mail. All it is is some Cyberblop lettorhead that she scanned and made into a danm .GIF. With 21 emails all those bytes sure as hell add up.
Plus you woudnt belleive the crap she was sendin along. Only 5 of the notes were work rellated (and even these were aciddental carbon copies), but the bulk of it was crap abbout the Good Times virus, free Disney vacation scams, and a tearful plea to send mail to this poor 7 year old kid in England who is suposeddly dying of cancer but who is now like 20 years old. There were even someold lame Dan Qualye quotes in there for Godsake. One of the emails was for me to dial into a conferrence call meeting later that night. Parden me, but I am not working today.
In a few hours we were all tired and went to bed. Once agian I had to sleep on the danm lumpy rollaway bed. Just when it seemed i drifted off to sleep I was suddonly awoke by sharp pokes in my side. The airport lights streaming in thru the window shone a flash of rainbow glimmor in my eyes from the CD in Granfather's moulth. The old basterd was kneeling on my chest like a friggin wearwolf.
RRRHHH!!! he howled. Granfather aparently wanted to comunicate somthin to me, somthin inportant. Dad was sound asleeap. I took a chance and slowey removed the CD from Granpy's drooling maw.
"I CAIN'T HARDLY BELIEVE IT MUHSELF," he mused. I didnt know what he was talkin abuot, but there was somthin in the bathroom he wanted me to see.
"Cant hardley belleive what" i asked him.
"LOOKY THAR," he told me pointing to the bowl. This is kind of disgousting, (and so, why bothor warning you if you are hear to read my story in the first place for so long), but Granfather wanted me to see his latest creation.
"What the hell is so speciel abbout that?" I said.
"YOU DUMB SUMBITCH," Granfathor retourted. I reffused to lookat it. Granfather is a sick percen with a sick mind becuase anytime he feels like hes made a crap thats shapied like somthing he has to give me a whole danm comentery. Oh, you may think that I am the sick one because I write abuot it all. But Granfather, he is realy the sick one.
This time the old basterd's latest detritus wasnt especialy shaiped like anything at all--it was just a sort of, (in his incoherent words), a sort of "combo platter" which was sort of a colecttion of, "all colors, shapes, consistoncies and factors of bouyancy." I appologize for the long descritption but this is what you get with Granfather.
We were all jet laggedI dont know why but at abbout 1 AM there was more hollerin and screamin. (Life with the old basterd is like being in the zoo, but insted of the animals being in the cage, YOU are in the cage, trapped by him.) Granfather was awake, watchin the TV in the room, and at first I thoght this is what the screaming was abbout, but the fact was, Granfather was hungrey. It turns out my brother and uncle hadnt fed him, and the prunes and raw liquoid Egg Beaters with teqiula poured in it that I'd broght on the plane with me in the carry-on cooler, (lately, Granfather's favorrite foods), werent enuogh.
I lator found out that the reasen why they didnt feed him was so, (so they had thoght), that with no food in his stomoch, he woud die more easily from the soduim pentathal injection once they got to Holland for the ecxecution. (Eithor that, or they just didnt want to look at the old gross basterd eat, which is somwhat undorstandible).
Me and Dad were kindof hungrey tooPlus we coudnt sleep and were just hangin out watchin TV in the room so we descidded to find an allnight cofee shop or somthin. It sure beat hangin arround the woom watchin a replay of Clinton's taped testimoany for the umpteetnth time. Especialy with all of Granfather's dumb running commentery.
He is so disgoustingTime and time agian, he sits there watchin the testimony, stairing with this cravennous savanna monitor lizerd look on his face slowly lickin his horroble lips like Jabba the Hutt after consuming that scampering black little sqiurming beetle-like thing in Return of the Jedi.
He thinks hes so danm funnyOne thing in partucilor Granfather keep sayin over and over agian durin the testimony that was keepin me awake and unable to sleep is, "DAMN. THET THAR IS ONE CIGAR I'LL NEVER SMOKE," and I allways hate it when he intentionnoly pronounces "cigar" to be SEE- gar.