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As culturolly valuable as South Park.

March 1998 Update

Page 6 of 7


"Granfather," i said to him. "You need to calm down." I told him to take a coupol of deep breaths. (This was a misteak because his breath can take suck varnish right out of wood paneling, then bond with the naturol sulphers of his lungs and rotted teeth to release dangerous chlorinated hydrocarbons into the air which kills birds and small aquattic creatures).

But atleast i coud see that i was helping the old troll. The old codependency was welling up from within me and it was food for my soul. (In some ways i am more mentaly worce off than Granfather evor was).

I told my ghastly ancestor that he DID have the strehgnth within himself to resist. Also i encouraged him and sugested that he concentraite more on acheiving his Guiness Record, and perhaps try to locate other items thruoghout our sprawling compound of junk and trash that he coud pass thruogh his disgusting carcass from moulth to anus; (even thuogh I secretly knew deep down that Giuness surely didnt keep such records.)

He never said the words: But i KNOW I helped him

We both sat there queitly. No one spoke, but the two of us wordlessley staired at the trailor floor for a long, long time. Finaly the beast broke the silence with a gigantic fart that made it seem like the trailer was hourtling down the I-10 at 75 MPH and hit a feild of speed bumps. A few of the Precoius Moments figurines bounced off the shelf and broke, and the 2-liter plastic pop bottols in the recycling bin crumpoled and colappsed in implosion from the smell. Finaly, the beast spoke.

"CLEAN ME UP AND DRESS ME, BOY," he gruffed in a low voice. "I DONE GOT ME A DATE TONITE WITH THE FEMALE BOB BARKER."

After this i went to town to pick up my plane tickets at the Post Office that the man who wants to "buy me" sent. I was gone a long time becuase first I drove to this place where you can buy live hens, but i coud not live with myself if I knew Granfather woud eat them alive.

So next I swung by the chicken factory plant two counties over and asked if they coud mabye sell me some fresh feathors and perhaps some raw poultrey guts. They guy who was there looked at me like i was some sort of ghoul and told me that normal peoplle usualy prefer the choicer cuts and primarally do there shopping at the supermarket. I said to him we are not dealing with normol people but an abnormol animal. And coud I please have the sqaushed bird just inside the security gate, and i woud be glad to clean it up myself and give him five bucks. I already had a Hefty bag to carrey it in. The man told me to get my ass out of there or he woud call the sheriff.

The last place i stopped at was the Home and Garden center which i knew had some of those plastic lifesize owls that they somtimes put in gardens to keep away crows and also atop downtown biuldings to keep pigeons from crapping on plazas and such. In an earlier update I wrote abbout how Granfather will sit in our yard for hours and wiggle his tounge like a worm and then snap his jaws onto crows and magpies who will fall for the bait. I was planning to lash a fake owl to the back of his wheelchair with twine.

When I came back home I saw a scary scene

The Female Bob Barkar's white Geo Metro with the SAVE ENDANGERED ANIMALS bumpor sticker was parked in front. I went in the trailor, but I coudnt find them. Then i went into the bathroom.

Oh, yuck

There was somthing horroble in there. HORROBBLE i tell you.

Then i hear a ruckus from the othor side of the house. i looked out of the bathroom windoew to see that the bastard was seated at the picnic table. In front of him, knelt down on top of the table and bent ovor was the woman, leaning on her elbows and grunting. The prevailing and ever present Texas winds from the west swept across the yard and this as you know will create a low pressure systam by which the air undor her flimsy sun dress will billow out due to the constent atmospheric conditions locatted beneath the fabric. In other words while she was knelt with her rear faccing me, her skirt flew up and this was a womon who wore no slip or stockings and so i coud see her panties wedged into her ass as the musculature of her spider veined sun tanned slim strong liver spotted thighs clenched and flexed and spasomed as she wrenched and struggoled on her knees and elbows while Granfather incoherentley howled "HNNRRR!" "HNNRRR!"
"HNNNNRRRR!"

At first I thuoght somthing disgusting was going on

And so i coudnt look. And then I relized: Somthing disguisting IS going on. I coudnt just shut my eyes. You see, whenevor i shut my eyes, what I then immagine is allways worse that what is reality. And so i had to look at somthing, if onley to sooth the imediate damage to my brain. I turned my eyes to what was in the toilat. I purpocely stared at it for 5 seconds, but then i relized that this here was even more gross than what was goin on in the yard. And so I looked out the window agian. The picnic table shook and rocked as her bare knees skidded along the fake weathored redwood. I didnt know WHAT she was doin to him and i didnt want to know. Mabye she was killing him. And mabye that woud be a good thing.

Suddenley in the next instent i was so repulsed that I had to heave. I wheeled toword the toilet. Oh no i coudnt do it in there! THAT was in there.

My mind reeled in dizziness. My brain melted into and out of reality, into another dimension. A dimmension of sight, sound and mind. Of shadow and substence, ideas, things, reality and fantacy. Of myth, lore, lies, and yes: of Truth and Conseqeunces.

I beggan to get woozy. The last thing I remember was granfather's girlfreind noticing me up by the bathroom window. Still knelt on the picnic table, she turned to me with a crinkly smile and cheerfuly anounced in that mellow ripened voice:

"WALTER MILLER: ...COME ON DOWN!"

Then i fainted.

When i came to, the bastord was in the bathroom with me. I was seated on the bathroom floor, and still disorriented. Rising to stand, I then faced somthing at eye level. And at that momment i fainted agian.

This is gross.

We interrupt this update to bring you the world fammous Walter Miller's Home Page(R) patented Disgustingness Warning(TM) (Well, patent pending aneyway.) -- Yes folks, if you are like most of my readers, right this very minutte you are reading this homepage after supper in your home, or, -- even much more likely -- sitting there during your lunch hour at work. Yes, there you are on your enployer's T1 line as you relax at the desk in your office or cubicol. Perhaps right infront of you is one of those clear plastic cellophaine clamshell trays that make a popping noise when you open it, and a clacking noise when you shut it; (f you coud only get the danm thing to STAY shut--you know the kind.) Chances are it is probley filled with some sort of subsidized caffeteria food, either a gluttenous light colored salad dressing, or else mucky, slowley hardenning meat sauce. A recyclable bevorage cup surely is seated next to your mousepad. Well gentle reader, whether it was an employer endowed lunch, or one from a concession area from somwhere near your place of work, or perhaps a samwich or leftover dellicacy from your frigde at home, in order to insure that it does NOT end up splattored onto your workstation in the form of vomit, please accept this very formal:

OFFICIAL WARNING

of Disgoustingness:

Next 4 Paragraphs

Have you ever seen those faked phottographs of the Lock Ness monstor? With the long curved neck comming out of the wator? They are usualy grainy and fuzzey, with the rest of the mysterrious fortean beast suggestively outlined in shadow beneath the water. But this was NOT. This was perfect.

Perfect for a fraudulant Lock Ness, at least. I am talking fins, tail, neck and even eyes. I am not exagorrating. Many times i do exagorate but not this time. I am talking a masterpeice.

This was the item i told you abuot on the first page of this update where he WOUD NOT FLUSH. In fact Granfather told me in a low threat that if i did flush it down, what woud happen to my corpse woud join the ranks of other great mysterries, like Jimmy Hoffa, Elvis and the Lockness Monstor itself. The bastord wheeled over and peered in the bowl. Small concentric rings faintley spread from the neck of the masterpeice and queitly spread across the calm glassy surfece of the water as it gentley bobbed in the limpid pool.

"AN ADOLESCENT PLIOSAUR, NO DOUBT. APPROXIMATLY ONE NINTEEN-THOUSANDTH ACTUAL SIZE," said the old bastord, swelling with pride.

I noticed somthing weird with his voice but I did not look close at him. The voice was scratchey, allmost metallic. But the odor in there still had me ovorpowored with bewildermant. On the one hand i was repulsed with naushea. But on the othor, i woud gladly take the cruel happy Granfather over the crule angry one. Even still the Bastord on a Mission is a frightenning thing. He went on yammoring with his ramboling, pedantic sceintiffic analysis:

"LATE TRIASSIC PERIOD I'D SAY, OR ELSE EARLY CRETACEOUS: HMMPH! VERY EARLY CRETACIOUS.

"AN' DONT YOU DARE TOUCH IT OR FLUSH IT, BOY, YOU HEAR ME? IT TAKES YEARS OF PRACTICE TO GIT THEM EDGES RIGHT. YEARS I TELLS YUH."

I was so mad at him at that momment i wanted to smack him.

Do you know WHY i was mad? Becaase of that word 'control' suposedly over the edges of that danm thing. Becuase here he is just a short time ago tellin me that he has NO control when it comes to atacking and eating small animols.

I got up and stourmed out of the room, tryin to come up with some idea as to where i was now suposed to go to the bathroom, and just as i opened the door of my room, there was "Bobbie" as he calls her seated rihgt there in my room on the portoble rolling potty chair. Yes takking a dump. Oh my heavans. Yes the disgoustingness just KEEPS ON COMMING here in the dysfunctionol World Of Granpy.

Her back was completly erect and she gripped the hem of her dress and held it up on eithor side of her in a ladylike almost respectfull fashion. I began to babble in shock as to why the bowl was in MY room.

In responce, her white eyebrows arched on her broad, handsome, tan forehead. She looked at me and calmley and with great dignity explianed in that fammilier mesmorizing soothing tone that they now had to place the honey pot SOMEWHERE, being that Granfather's "creation" was such a marvel. And so they chose my room, and hoped that i didnt mind.

And then she told me that this was a happy day, becuase what she was doing out there while knelt on the picnic table was shoving the perfect "string" down the bastord's throat for to help him get into the Guiness Book -- And, that all the time, this abbsolutly perfect item was right there in our very own toolshed:

It was our stainless steel plumber's routing snake

THAT'S why his voice was diferrent in the bathroom: I didnt even notice the thing in his mouth.

Standing there talking to her as she crapped the only thing i coud think of was that Granfather COUD of done worse in the girlfreind department considdering some of the awfull women he's been involved with.

Then she cocked her head to the side and smiled like that creepy botanically obsessed alien with the bald head and penduluos earlobes on Gene Rodonberry's Earth: Final Conflict and nodded delicately toword my computor, printer, scanner and soundspeakers, and wondered aloud, "I WOUDNT MIND GUESSING THE SUGGESTED RETAIL VALUE WITHIN TEN DOLLARS OF THAT ATTRACTIVE SHOWCASE, IF, AND ONLY IF...THE PRICE IS RIHGT!

I go in the bathroom to tak anothor look at the bastord