Walter Miller's Homepage

Disclaimer Reversing the Last disclamor: Um, I take back what i said in this spot on the prior page.
...Maybe i do....OK I dont....Whatevor.

Mid-Novembor 1997 Update

Page 6 of 7


After Uncol Zeke undorstood that i DID NOT steal his car, he calmed down. Then he pointed scornfully at his hated brothor, and said to me that we coud all leave to go out for supper just as soon as Granfather shook out the rest of the air bombs in his colon. Readers of my homepage will remembor that earliar this year one of Granfather's farts was so bad it set off the driver side airbag in Uncle Zeke's car in a Bennigan's parkinglot outside Baltimore.

The old beast was all excitedley showing us both this new trick he just came up with too.

"WATCH THIS FELLERS" he said while placing yet anothor two rubber gloves in his moulth. He then beggan moving them arround with his jaws, lips and toungue while silently staring at us serriousley with his ghastley snakelike vertical eye pupils focused on us. If you dont know Granfather personally, being on the recivving end of his evil stare for 20 seconds or so can make you crap right in your pants.

He bit his lip hard, gripped the wheelchiar armrests, and strainned himself so that he turned pourple and all these vains popped out on his neck and head until he sustained a low rappid trembol all over. A minute later, one of the entire ruber glovves apeared from his ear in a sprey of wax and the other whole glove popped out of his nostrill like some horroble scene from Flubber. Then Granfather made a horrific belch, swallowed hard, and both gloves imedialtly filled with air, expanding to just past full size.

I said "Granfather please stop it we alredy saw this danm trick"

But just at that momant he raised his hand up to my face and repplied, "TALK TO THE HAND, BOY. TALK TO THE HAND."

(The phraise 'Talk to the hand' is a teenage colloqiulism that means SHUT THE HELL UP. I think Granfather learned the term in a chatroom or else from watchin one of those new sitcoms on the WB Network.) Then he placed one hand each on each glove and squeeazed them hard. Instantannously, both of them defflated just as he made an enuormous giant fart.

We have outdoor lawn furnitture inside our house. (Yes we are low class peoplle); It is made of thin steel pipe with a vinyl PVC coating on it. Well the vinol cracked and peeled right there from the smell, and in the kitchon the formica countortops started gettin these blisters and bubbles and all encrousted with vaporrized industrial adheasive. They say that DuePont makes a surface that coud withstand the Force of The Beast but we cannot afford it.

"OK, I'M ALL DONE WITH MUH GAS AN' READY FER SUPPER: LETS LEAVE."

I sware, I am descended from a cross between the Creature from The Black Lagoon and "Mr. Bean."

Also there were probloms while i was dressing him. As i strouggled with him (as i do each day) to put on new diapors, and his shirts and pants, Granfathor always moves his left hand in a slow motion as to poke me in the side with an evil grimacing grin on his face. I admit that i am very tickollish.

Then, just as he pokes me with his wiggling fingor between my ribs i say: "Do Not tickle me!" and just as i say that, with my eyes focussed on his ugly left hand, he swings up to wallop me with the right hand right on the side of my head VERY HARD.

The grin disapears and Granfather says: "YOU SAID NO TICKLIN--AN' THET WEREN'T A TICKLE, IT WERE A SMACK."

Uncle Zeke said "Leave the boy be!" but of cuorse the only response Granfather makes is a high-piched trilling chorlting laugh.

By the time i had the old Sonoffobiche's shirt buttoned, his bolo tie tied and his discousting hair greased down, I was tickoled 4 times and smacked 5 times. Granfathor doesnt have normal sized hands eithor, they are giggantic. They look like those big foam things that you get at the Spurs game and stick on your arm and wave arround which are shaped like a giant hand with the index fingor stickin up which has printed on it:

WE'RE NUMBOR ONE!

No one in my family bellives me when i tell them what i put up with living with Granfather. Plus the people in town wont help eithor. They just say i am a fool for still staying here with the old monstor. But they dont undorstand i have dificulty standin up for myself. Also i am a Co-Deppendant.

A Torturrous Ride

The drive over to the restuarant shoud normoly take less than an hour if you drove a good solid 70 MPH the whole way. But the way my uncle drives, and also cause he cannot see good at night, it took two olmost hours to get there.

At one point about ten minuts into the ride, I felt the cold evil fingers of Granfather from the back seat very blatently and in a poorley disguised way, reach ovor to tickol the back of my neck as he placed what looked like a giant Cockroach on my collar. Oh, very funny. I recongized this prank imediatly as "LIFESIZE ROACHES, PAGE 56: WAS $2.98; NOW $2.47."

But the joke was ON ME

Yes it was a REAL roach. The old bastord hoodwinked me into bein desensotized to rubbor insects all week, and now he cashed in on my complacency with a big ass old REAL roach he was holdin onto all week in a small box in his room.

"YOURE IN TEXAS, NOW BOY: GIT USED TO THE BUGS," he barked.

By the way...

Yes, by the way: Not once since he arrived did eithor Uncle Zeke or Granfather remove their exottic headpeices. They both seemed to be very proud of their acheivments in the Secret Soceity even though they both declined to explain aneything abbout the club to me out of secrecy.

During the whole ride, Granfather kept saying, "ONE DAY WALTER IS GONNA INHERIT THIS HERE EGYPTION BONNET OF HIS GRANDPAP," and Uncle Zeke kept remarking in responce: "I daresay he ain't, cuz both his Granpap and that thar bonnet he wears IS A GIANT FAKE."

The whole ride i had to keep changin the sujbect because both men seemed like at any time they woud haul off and beat the crap out of eachother. The last time they were togethor, (and even the time beffore that), this is ecaxtly what happenned, too. Even thuogh Zeke is a decaide oldor he was atleast a foot taller than my scrawny progennitor and as strong as a horse. But the way Granpy fights, it is alwayes an even match.

For almosst the entire two hour drive, Granfather was also hourling rude insults at his poor brother.

Things like:
YOUR PROCTOLOGIST CALLED.

THEY FOUND YOUR HEAD.

And also cruel hurtfull things like:
W E L C O M E

T O

L O S E R V I L L E.

POPULATION: YOU

It is posible you may reckonize these zesty barbs as T-shirt slogons found on Page 60 of the latest Johnson Smith Cattollog. As Granfather shreiked with glee, Uncle Zeke turned to face me at one point with his wall-eyed wayword eyes and made a grim fishlike frown. He is not realy as sharp minded and quick witted as the old bastord and nevor is able to come up with snappy comeback lines, and i coud tell he wished he coud.

A Pit Stop