...and aftor all these years, probly not apt to get much 'beta.'
Page 5 of 6
I spent three minuttes at two dollors a minute downloadin all this crap. There were the disgousting Clinton jokes (which I alwayes happan to read right when I am eating); The "Top Ten Ways You Know A Re-Org is coming", (Hmmm I alreaddy knew all of those), chain letter crap about suposed "free Disney vacations" and all those freakin "Virus Alerts" for virusses that dont exist and never did. And how many times do I have to get anothor copy of those danm dumb Dan Qualye quotes. OK, the guy said dumb things. But he is out of ofice now, what, ten years? I geuss this is what the internet was invented for. I tell you on some days i atcualy look foward to the Spam. (Oh, God please forgive me i didnt mean to say that).
In any case, out of the whole batch the few work-rellated notes from my pain in the ass boss which were of any use concerned the fact that a bunch of "outside expert consultants" woud be coming in at the behest of Corporate to "audit" Cyberblop and provide a "Get Well Plan."
The note was fuzzy and unclear but talked allot about "Teamwork" and "Communergy" and "Smart Co-Clients" (whatevor the hell that meant), but most of all, "Not Just Convergence but Quality Convergence."
I tell you that crazy boss of mine. For a womon who has to know every danm detail in my life, its amazzing how danm vague she gets when somthing truly inportant happens.
I looked over at Granfather who stared lazily out the plane window. It was getting time for the old geezor's second seddative. He started bucking and thrashing and I told him to HOLD ON. His arms and legs, bound with bunjee cords fluttored maniacally. I thoght at first that he wanted me to check his email for him while I was online but instead he gesticulatted with his head to someone, or somthing up toword the front of the plane. He cocked his head as to make a ray oflight glint off of the shiny CD that was jammed in his moulth, and it made a tiny, lazer-like spot of light which danced arround the inside of the fusilage. At last the dime sized light rested on the face of a womon, about Granfather's age, who was comin down the aisle toword us.
She was extremly weird looking, what with this tiny little chopped looking head, ennormous ears and flat beaknose. Yet she looked somwhat fammilor. Somwhat too familior, in a crazy way. (Not "weird" -crazy but "mentolly disturbed" -crazy, if you know what i mean.)
"Hey gorgeous," she cackled at Granps and winked as she passed.
"You canott go and meet her," I said to him.
Granfather thrashed and rocked even more violentley. Clearley This was too much for him. I dont know what it is about the old basterd's affect on weird women (and boy, in a minute or so you will reallize HOW wierd)
Instedd I fluffed out of the bag and stretched ovor the basterd's homely visage, (alreaddy half obscured by Granfather's Speciel(TM) Pattented Travel Mask), a brand new but eqaully disturbing rubber Paula Jones mask.
Granfather grunted and huffed. The tounge wrapped round and round the thin rouged rubber as the caricatture pout of the hapless sexuol harassment plaintiff comically stretched in shape to purport an even crueler simullation of her already unfortunnate facial features.
Finaly a loud ripping popping noise filled the coach cabin as the mask split into torn fleshy makeup colored ribbons and this was folowed by a slobbery wet flapping sound which the only othor time I heard it was once at the beach when I saw Granfather slurp up a mass of black slippery seaweed that was in his moulth when he came up out of the water once that he sucked down his throaght once just to gross me out. And in the same way the torn up mask now just as wet from his dribble flew thruogh the CD hole down with a sqeauky scrape and a hardcore gulp. Then silence.
By this time the woman passed us in the aisle agian, and made more eyes at the basterd, bedroom eyes, just as the rubbery lump slowly descended down his quivorring gullet, now pulsating horriffically from the wadded up mass of shredded mask passing thruogh it.
Or rathor than "bedroom eyes" I shoud really say herpetorium eyes, becuase thats where Granfather realy bellongs. A herpetorium in case you dont know and you probly dont, is like an aquaruium, but insted of it holding water and fish in it, it holds flat rocks and dangerrous reptiles. There is usualy a sign on it that says and rightfully so, DO NOT TAP ON GLASS.
Next, Granfather with his horroble curling tounge snatched a ballpoint pen from my hand. And as the tiny weird looking cackly voiced bat eared little odd womon walked past, the basterd began jabbing wildly at the keyboard of my notebook PC, and typed out these words, in maniacally fast speed like a pecking chickon on anphetamines in all caps:
PLEASE BOY TAKE OFF MY THIS HERE
SILENCE OF THE LAMBS MASK FOR SO
TO MEET THAT FINE LASS WHAT JUST
PASSED BY YOUR NASTY OLD GRANPAP
I have ben told that my heart is biggor than my brain. Which in the Internet industrey is not a good thing and for the caretakor of the old basterd even much more worser. I made him swear that he woud be good, or else i woud personaly join forces with his brothers to have him comitted to a legal euothonasia clinic as soon as the plane landed.
Slowley I unsnapped the Granfather's Speciel(TM) Pattented Travel Mask and lifted it off his crusty, awfull wirey black bristle covored head.
Then, gentley, and with a rubbor glove I removed the CD from his moulth and withdrew it in a disgousting string of drool. At the same moment the old basterd swalowwed the mass of nicotine patches that were jammed in his cheeks, and his face sadly colappsed into a morose lovelourn glaire of gloom. He gazed forlornley at me with whipped puppydoggish Precious Moments(R) figourinelike eyes.
"Dont make that heartbrokon Nicholas Cage face at me" I said to him.
One of the bristley black hairs inside a deep wrinkol under Granps' right eye sockat area began to move indeppendently. Hmm, I woud have to look closer at that.
In the meantime I shoved the ballpoint pen into the hole, crusching the interloping bug. The grumpy geezer's scowling sad countenence didnt change a bit.
He finaly spoke, in his low raspy scream, "BWAH, DO YOU KNOW WHO THET THAR SWEET BUT NASTY OL' THANG IS?"
Of cuorse I did. Because like Granfather, I too am a believor in: