Walter Miller's Homepage
Mid-Setpember 1997 Penultimate-on-Progidy Update
Page 2 of 7
Granps is forced to Behaive himself
I ended the last update at the point where Granfather was entertaining a new pottential girlfriend who he met in IRC chat. He told me once that if you say your an "ex millitary man" then the women always love that. (He didnt tell this woman that he was dishonorobly discharged).
Speaking of ex-militerythe woman known as The Colonel had come into the house too to get some of the belongings of her sister, who was Granfather's previous girlfreind. Granfather was forced to behave himself because of the presence of his guest--his new pottential main sqeueeze, whom he didnt want to offend with a tempor tantrumm.
His new potential love interrest seemed to be a little impressed when Granfather mentioned that he'd been a movie star at one point. (Yeah, right. The old bastord was paid $150 to be the featured subject of a questionable, low-bugdet tabloid-horror documentary film prodduced by the Mexican News Service in the late 1960s entitled somthing like 'Si, Esta Viva' or, "It's Alive!").
A box of junk actualy leaves our sprawling trash strewn compound
The Colonel snuck out the back carrying a box of bellongings that suposedly were her sister's; Granfather saw it. but restrained himself. Then the 'date' left a few minutes early; He trundled on the castors to escort her to the door and get his goodbye kiss. I was in the other room and heard him grumbling to himself in a dissappointed muttor as soon as our rickety screen door thwapped shut, "HMMM. NO 'TOUNGE' ON THE FIRST DATE; NOT A GOOD SIGN, GRANPY, NOT A GOOD SIGN."
As soon the geust drove off howwevor the old bastord errupted in a horroble indignent spectocle of raw angry terror.
The begining eposode of what became A rough cuople of days
Granfather rarely has been so mad. He screamed and hollerred for almost a full hour till his croaky bellowing voice was almost hoarse. He blamed me for allowing the Cornol to take some of the sisters stuff out of the trailer. Some of the stuff belonged to granfather alone, like ALL of his computor games including his copy of Redneck Rampage. (He made me prommise to buy him a new copy, but there was no way i can restore him to the level he was on in his last saved game.). Also missing were his Esso station salt & peppor shakers, a zippo lighter with a nakad lady on it, and this cheap cerramic Buddha planter with the hole in the bellybutton and a vine growin out the hole.
You have to undorstand the level of how conpletely demented he realy is.
As you know Granfather has been trapped since late Augost inside that foldout sofa which was then crushed after it fell 3 stories. The ONLY part of him that he can move is one foot from the ankle down. Yet he is able to be stuck without being uncomfortoble, howwevor cannot bear that a few cheap worthless trinkets are missing from his trailer. The man is obbsessed with the objects, colectibles and mountains of worthless trash he owns. It is sick.
talk abbout Redneck Rampaige.
Granfathers thunderouos shreiking voice made all the dogs outside howl like crazy. He rolled after me on his casters in his frightenningly scary squealing
howl, propelling himself with that one toe, while pickin up items on the floor as he scooted by, and winging them at me bleating like a rabid animol "HOW DARE YOU ALLOW MY PROPERTY OUT O'THIS HOUSE." and called me insulting names i will not mention.
Then he makes a rude discovery: His secret $50 bill that only him and his smelly girlfreind knew where it was hidden WAS NOW MISSING..
Granfather of cuorse blamed me He rolled after me pitchin foward, trying to pin me agains the wall as to kill me. No matter what part of the trailer I tryed to hide in, the old bastord cought up with me, and busted through the cheap thin doors we have due to the heavy rolling bulk of the crusched couch contraption. I coudnt excape either, cause each time i got to the door, the beast was there, blocking it.
As he rolled, he picked up more things and wailed them at my face and head with expurt aim. Like a teacup which he scooped up, and then in the same instant flung, and it just missed my head. Then he lobbed a fork at me and it whistoled passed my ear and enbedded into the formica wall.
"Drama In Real Life(R)"
Then he threw the Readers Digest at me. Now this dosent sound dangerrous but imagine that familier little booklet of family freindly features and irresistobble anecdoatal tidbits flying throuugh the air, its pages flapping like a bird and speeding toword the bridge of your nose spine first.
By the way...WHERE exatcly does the old bastord keep his seccret $50 bill? Where else but the least used place in the house: Under the soap on HIS soapdish.
An acrid odor filled the airOne of our dogs, Drive By, is part bloodhound and you can always tell that when he starts yelping in pain from out in the yard, it is because of somthing affecting him--Call it the Dogma of Karma, but our veterination, who believes in reincarnation, once told my dad that it was a poor dog's lot in life to be reborn as a species with one third of his brain devvotted to the sence of smell, and then to have to spend his misorable life at OUR house.
Obviously what it was
No secret here either: Yes in all the commotion Granfather had must of pressed a log into his adult undergarment--without which he was totalley unclothed. As he whisked by me in rocket speed, I coud see the vinyl diapor shell swelling with a growing mass. The crushed steel cube contraption stopped hard, turned a screeching hairpin corner with 2 stumpy wheels in the air so it once agian faced me, and then again the caged animal charged as he snarled at the top of his lungs
He slammed into the wall across the room and stopped, facing me again, breathing and panting heavoly. A slick dripply ooze seeped out from the diaper leggings, trickled and purled down his gnarled bony shins and massed into a steaming puddle below.
He charged me againLike a great poworful Cape Buffallo, he once more plunged fowward, sliding into the wet mess he just made.
The smooth black plastic treadless surface of the caster wheels skidded and slid into the stinky muddle, dragging through the foul pools, making brown smoking ribbons of scourge on our cheap carpeting and linoleium floors, which, within minutes of being in contact with the corrosive dripped out waste, buckled and split into sizzling erupting cracked fissures, bubbling up into boiling strips of melted plastic and molten linnolium which now clung to the wheels in waxy pliant spears of taffylike stringy goo.
A frightenning threat Granfather made to me that i am still having bad dreams about
All the while on his stampede Granfather was hollering and blairing out all kind of murderous threats he was going to do to me. Including pulling all of my hair out in clumps until i was conpletely bald. And then greasing my bare scalp up with lard, pulling it back behind me, and then shovving my entire head up my own butt so far that i woud be pushed in beyond the shouldor level. And so that when i went into town to buy grocerries alls that woud be left of me woud be 2 skinny nakad legs walkin down the street with no more than a litlle pink anus on top and people woud say, "WHOSE THAT ASSOLE?" and the only way i coud communicate with othor people woud be through just one of my thumbs that would be poking outof the hole that i coud wiggle around to say in Morse Code: "ITS ME WALTER; PUT IT ALL ON GRANPY'S GROCERY TAB."
The threats ended only to be replaced by the old bastord screaming out '99 bottols of Beer on the Wall' in Germon at the top of his lungs.