Walter Miller's Homepage

If i nevor existed, somone probly woud of had to invent me.

March 1998 Update

Page 4 of 7


But first i went to check my mail foldor to see what the site nurse put in there. Inside was the familior U.S. Nationol Institutes of Health publication # 974156 which as you know from a prior update i wrote is titled "Why Do I Have Gas?".

I went back to my cube and started to pack up my things for the next move. The guy in the cube next to me who is the originol farter knew what the meeting was about, and so he leaned way back in his chair with a creul grin on his face and he had this Tupperwear containor he was balancing on his chest in a daintey way. The thing that got me the most pissed is that he also works flexoble days, and also that the only day that him and the girl are in the office at the same time is also the SAME day that i am at work.

He is one of these pasty looking out-of-shape men who has allmost real looking womon's breasts. Then he openned the Tuperware bowl and tipped it slightley to show me the contents of it which was this sappey looking three-bean-salad with raw onnions in it. He leaned so far back that his ugly head allmost touched the floor behind him, and he said to me in this soft, condessending, high-pitched evil singsong voice that he has just asked his wife to to use less of the red beans and more of these enuormously huge white flat cannoloni beans. He showed me one of the beans and they are the same size at least of the little bars of soap you get at the Comfort Inn. Each one is its own danm fart Power Pack.

He also told me that even thuogh I was moving my workstattion way to the othor side of the building, he woud be sure to let one of his vintage gas bombs out EVERY TIME i walked past the girl who complained's cubicol, which I HAD to walk past, because that is the way to the main exit, whereby i woud still get blammed for the fumes.

Then, in a purpously effemminate way, he held out to me this bag of deep-freid and salted garbanzo bean and soybean mix with paprika on it. I have seen this stuff a few years ago in Northorn California but thanks to demagraphic shifts in the hi-tech industry, now I geuss it has finaly made its way to Texas. He wagged the bag infront of my face with his pinky sticking out. Then he called me a POOOR little sensotive baby.

This guy does NOT like me.

It goes all the way back to when i first started working there. I acidentaly erased some of his files on the lan. I think I clicked the little Minus Sign insted of the little Plus Sign in the NT network tool, or mabye i double clicked when i shoud of single clicked.

Who the hell knows, but I am told that it was MY FAULLT.

In fact Nobody there likes me

I also have this othor problem: Whenevor I send somthing to the lazer printer, it never prints right, and insteadd all you get is hundrets of blank pages, and even if you reboot the printer, those pages just keep coming, and coming and comming...And each sheet isnt realy blank, becuase they all have this one little Satanic looking ASCII symbol at the top of the page.

I know i am not the onley person in the world to have this problem with network printers. A lady who works there once called me a "Paper Waster" and a "Tree Slaughterer" in front of a whole lot of people.

Then later in parkinglot i ran into the Ops guy, who will have to move my token ring cable yet again. Me and this guy do not like each othor either. He is an independent contractor and he acts and thinks like he is King Tut. Anyway he was makking fun of me. He was calling me The Farter.

I told him that I was NOT the one causing the problems, and if he didnt believe me, that the next time one of these canolloni bean bombs went off in the office, he coud sniff my butt to see i am not lying. Then he said to ME that "I am going to prettend you didnt say that" because now the Supreme Cuort has just said that same-sex-harrassment is indeed agianst the law -- and that sugesting that anothor man sniff your butt is probly sexaul harassment.

Oh puh-LEEZE.

This is the same guy who a few hours beffore told ME to kiss HIS ass. Let me tell you to kiss is more contact than a sniff. Then he said that he already knew all along that I was not The Farter, and that the bean-eater next to me really was. And that he woud never admit it, but in fact he was going to buy him some blackeye peas and lentils to feed him just so i can get blamed for MORE.

I creid the whole way home in the car. Like i said it is ovor a 150 mile ride.

When i came in the door Granfather was in a pissed mood. He was grunting and snorting and snarling and throwing fruit and magazines and cutlery at me as well as any othor things he coud reach nearby which is the type of behavior he does when he is frustratted. Yes, i do not have to do anything wrong for him to throew things at me when i walk in the door. It is just all part of his ritual abuse. I allways submit to it. I am used to it.

He got more angrier as i ignored him

The way to realy piss off Granfather when he is mistreating you for no reason is to simply ignoare him. Of course the mistreatment will intensiffy but atleast it helps him blow off steam. Deep down what the bastord was really doing was letting me know was that he had a problem that he wanted to talk to me about. Howevor, he had too much pride to put this into words.

Imagine if you will a group of gorillas in one of those controle groups where they are being tought to speak in sign langauge. There is the one mentally disturbed gorrilla with behaivoral disorders. That ape is Granfather. He also happens to be the only one who is too stupid to figoure out how the sign langauage works, and so he alone cannot tell Koko and the other apes that he wants to play, eat, or mate with them, and so his frustration is exibited by vicious hooting and throwing feces and orange peels arround the cage.

And in this case he threuw the TV remote at my head, and it hit me so hard the batterries fell out. If Granfather was born 40 years later he woud of probly gone into computer programming i swear it. He has the personality for it.

A shower of cutlery rained onto the cheap linolium floor and stringy patchy indoor-outdoor carpeting of our tacky rurol trailor. I walked past him and sudenley i felt a sharp pain and heard a soft Clang! Granfather had hit me on the thumb with the soup ladle that he had took out of the drawor. He lunged to hit me agian. I said: QUIT IT!

I went ovor to grab it out of his hand, and when i did his clawlike hand grabbed my wrist. His evil yellow eyes oozed evil. The vice like talons held me still as i struggoled. With his othor hand he had a teaspoon in it and he whacked me on my left wrist and as i treid to defflect the blows he swung around faster than me to hit me on the right. Somtimes he has a mean sence of humor and is cruel to me while he is happey and luaghing but other times he is crule to me while he is angry and mean. Peoplle think i am makking it up but i am NOT. Also he seems to allways use the same teaspoon. It is one from the 1964 HemisFair. Some peoplle fear disipline with a belt, or a tree switch. For me, my brothor and even my dad, it was that danm teaspoon. From childhood weve all ben hit with it.

An unusaul proposition