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Slouching toword profitabillity

The Late March 1998 Update

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Granfathers been cranky

It is becuase of two reasons. One, he cannot go to the bathroom. You know the old saying--its eithor feast or fammine. Somtimes Granfather is a wellspring of "creativitty" as they say and othor times hes as barren as a dead tree. I think the metol cable he has threadded down his throat and into his stomoch in his atempt to make Ripleys Belive It Or Not might be affecting his bowels. But when I sugested this while propping his scraggly leathory carcass on the crapper the othor day for the tenth time with still no fruit to be borned, the old bastord's normal irrational blind and hateful rage against me spilled over into a rare, placid moment of spontanneous and surely unintended clarity and philosophicol reflection.

"BOY," he said to me in this scarce and quicckly fleeting window of wistful candor, ""I THINK I KNOW WHY I CAIN'T MAKE POO: YOU SEE, ON THE DAY OF BIRTH, EACH MAN IS APPOINTED A LIMITED AND FINITE NUMBER O'TIMES FROM THE HEAVENS ABOVE THAT HE IS PERMITTED TO GO TO THE BATHROOM: NO MORE. NO LESS.

'"COURSE, MOST FOLKS CRAP OUT THE MAJORITY O'THEIR ALLOTMENT BEFORE THEYRE 2 YEARS OLD."

Speaking of Granfather's twisted theologgicol beleifs: He makes one more try at lost love.

This is the second reason the old goat is crankey: As you know from my last update his new girlfreind left him. Granfathor has treid and treid to repair his rellationship with the female version of Bob Barkor but to no avail. Yes you read that right: Not the femaile version of Willard Scott or Senotor Jessy Helms or even Abe Vigoda for godsake; but the leggendery smooth and elegant female Bob Barkor.

Yet even with a great catch like that it is no secret that the evil raunchy coot geezer is incappable of love and only elicit physicol relationships. But alas this affair is now past.

The othor day "Bobbie" contacted Granfather by vidio-teleconferrincing on the web. The reason was to ask him to wrap up a few bellongings of hers that she left at our house and mail them to her. Those items include her large gleaming alabastor dentures, a tube of extra strenhgth industriel adhesive (which she sets her hair with), some heavy duty liver spot cream (and this big wooden paddle lookin thing that she uses to smear it on), and a 64 oz. containor of face bronzer which is not avialable in this country and i think comes from Argentina or somplace which has a brand name of "Hola, Negrita Bonita!"

I was in the room during the whole online tele-conference. Granfather was doing his best pathetically sad Nicholas Cage face in the camera which must of looked even more awful and pittiful on the othor end of the See-U-SEE-Me wrenching along at 14 jerky frames a minute. When this didnt melt his lady's heart, the old cruel geezer tried his fake weeping and crying: But to no avail. Finaly when he reallized that all of this was gettin him nowhere near repairring his relationship with the estrogen-enhanced version of the tanned slendor angular entortainment broadcast-great lookalike, Granfather started violentley screamin at her. Remember, she had brokon up with Granfather because of his mistreatment of small creatores. Yet the bastord maintains that eating them is not mistreatting them.

"LEMME ASK YOU THIS," he shouted at her.

"IF YOU AIN'T SUPOSED TO EAT ANIMALS, THEN WHY THE HELL ARE THEY MADE O' MEAT?

She was polite, but she woudnt hear none of it, and althuogh i was in no position to gage her reaction i was willing to bet that that plumber's snake router in Granfather's mouth wasnt makking him any more apealing to her, or for that matter to any othor womon.

The bastord slammed the phone down

And then he snapped at me "IF'N I CAINT HAVE MUH BEST WOMAN, THEN I MIGHT AS WELL HAVE MUH BEST SMOKE."

And in his angor i had to run all the way out to the third barn (when i thouhgt it was suposed to be in the second barn) to get him a nice Cuban cause the old bastord saves them only for when he is having a bad day. I dont know if the cigars dryed out or got too moist from El Nino or what, but the flame woud not catch on them. Aneyway he was lighting and relighting and sucking and drooling on one of them for an hour and the wrappor crumbled right off and he NEVOR got it lit.

If aneyone out there knows how to rescue La Flor De Cano cigars with the red and gold papper ring from Habana please write. Because Granfather said that he is taking it out on ME if the whole stash of them are ruined and then I will eithor get a beating as punnishment or else will have to drive to Joarez Mexico which is an extremmly long ride and buy him some more.

And, if I buy him Honduran Stumpies from the Mini Mart in our town and switch the paper ring on them (like I did once, to fool him, but the evil fool wasnt fooled), then he said what woud happan to me woud be worse than what President Clinton just paid the Presidentiol veterinarian to have done to Buddy the Executive Dog.

Selfish, Abbusive monster. (Granfather, not Clinton).

This hapenned the day before the scientists came over to study him. After Granfather calmed down i bruoght his tequila Metamucil out to him where he sat in the yard, and I told him that only an idiot woud use a large drafty barn as a cigar humidor and he retorted to me, "TALK TO THE HAND, BOY" and he held up his hand aftor it had been in his nose and also OTHOR AWFUL PLACES on his body and this was more awful than it sounds.

Then I also told him that if he wanted to date the female Bob Barkor he shoudnt of let her catch him eating raw meat. The old gristly semi-non-human biological anomaly, who at this point was on all fours having sprung out of the wheelchiar and scampered across the yard, looked up at me with narowwed eyes, and wrinkoled up his nose, and snarled at me with a small rodent in his mouth who aparantly didnt see the fake owl or else wasnt fast enuogh to excape, and who was now sqeaking and kicking furriously to excape the monster's chomping jaws and chin which had mouse juice running down them, "LISSEN UP, YOU LITTLE DANM WUSSY.

"MY SPECIES DID NOT FIGHT ITS WAY UP TO THE TOP O' THE FOOD CHAIN TO BE A GALLDANG, CONSARN, DAGNAB VEGETARIAN, DAMMIT. YOU HEAR ME, BOY?"

Normally this woud be the type of thing that woud scare me but instead all it did was make me feel bad and embbarrassed that I am related to him. I canot explian the hurt and pain i feel daily from knowing that I am rellated to him by blood and also that I have to live with him. Did i mention he smells like an elephents ass? If so i didnt mention it enuogh.

And to top it all off:

Work bites.

Not all of my probloms are at home. My job stinks too. Last week, I got in a big fight with the Lan Lady. The Lan Lady is the one who comes to your cubicol to yell and hollar at you for having too many files on the lan. She is not to be confused with the Workstation Guy who works for annothor department: He is the guy who shouts and screams at you for having too many files on your hard drive. When your hard drive is full, he cannot install upgrades on it. (Like those new danm 100 meg browsers).

I fight with him becuase he tells me that my hard drive is full, and he demands that I "put my files on the lan." I fight with her, because she tells me that the lan is FULL, and she demands that I "put my files on my hard drive, or else on floppies."

The day usualy proceeds to my getting shreiked and roared at by the Supply Lady, who will not give me any more floppies and backup tapes. And, who screams at me to "put my files on the friggin lan."

You just cant win

Lan Lady to Workstation Man to Supply Lady: The Circle of Screw. And I am the one who is gettin screuwed.

Finaly by the end of the shift it allways ends up with me getting writton up by the Process Person (who I do not know is a man OR a lady), but who barks, caterwauls, and usualy writes me up for not "adhearing to process" when I end up using my own danm backup disks, because that is not part of the "establisched process and procedure."

The final injury to insult is when my site supervizor says to me (in front of the pretiest girl who works there, realy loud too), "WALTER CANT YOU GET ALONG WITH THESE PEOPLE?"

Meanwhile all i am trying to do is to do my danm job. There is no way to win arround here.

How things work at work, or rathor DONT work

There is this pain in the ass guy who is a manager. He is not MY managor, but he is a mannagor anyway, and so you still have to do what he says. The othor day, I am in the bathroom, (in the stall, hovering, because I will not put my bare ass cheeks on the toilat seat because they are out of those paper coverings, and the reasen why they are out of the papper seat covers is because the Supply Lady dosent know what the hell she is doing); and while I am in there trying to attend to my "system download" so to speak, this creepy managor pounds on the door of the stall saying "Emergency! Emergencey!"

When I come out, (having not crapped, due to the trauma of gettin hollared at while trying to hover), he tells me I have to do a stuppid project for him: I have to put in a sound card for him. I tell him I am not authorrised to put in a soundcard but he says if I dont do it, then I will get writton up. But in order to help him, I must stop doing what my regulor job is. This is a problem because we lost peoplle in the re-org, and now I must do thier jobs too.

Anyway, I put the soundcard in for him, and then I get hollared at for letting the deadline pass on my reggulor job, and then, in the end, I end up getting written up anyway -- this time by the Workstattion Guy because I am not authorrized to install sound cards.

"And wait till the Process Person who no one is sure is a man or a womon finds out abbout what you did," said the Workstattion Guy, as he was writing me up. "He or she will be pissed and will write you up too."

This place sucks

And then just as i get back to my seat there are two items on my chair: One is a folder, which inside is my One Year Anniversery Work Review which only one line counts, and that is the bottom line, which is marked:

"NEEDS INPROVEMENT--fails to meet targeted Job objectives"
...and the othor is a note from the Office Managor Lady reprimanding me becuase when I made the pot of cofee in the morning, (yes, as you know, every morning I am at work, I am on Cofee Pot Duty), I acidentaly didnt check the drip collar on the top of the pyrex coffee pot for clogs, and so a pool on the floor the size of Rhode Islond dripped down the side and wet coffee grounds were all over the kitchennete floor and the counter and the side of the cabinets, and you know how hard it is to clean cofee grounds.

And i do not even drink coffee. And when i tried to clean the sizzling bubbling heated area the pot sits on I burnt my hand.

It is days like this that I allmost cannot wait to get back home to the simple rewards of wiping Granfather's ass.

I allmost wreck the car on the way home