Admitt it. Youre addicted.
Page 4 of 7
If you asked me what went on for the rest of that day i woud not evon be able to tell you becuase I was so upset at gettin hollared at.
I do remmember that at one point after the meeting, I went over to the cubicol of this one guy from my department who was also on this so-called "project" with me, which I knew nothing abbout. I asked if he perhapps had a hard-copy of the notes, or else the original hand-out of this assignment that I was suposed to be working on. I atleast wanted to study it and work on it for the 4 PM meeting, and he told me, "Oh, no. We are an automated paperless office: Evereything is done on the Network."
Well that is no danm help when you cannot even get ON the frigin network. Also he said to me he had NO DANM TIME.
After begging him like crazey he printed out a copy of it for me. The info I needed were in a couple of his old e-mails from the pryor week. I was .cc'ed on the notes, but of cource, these were notes that I was seeing for the first time, becuase i do not have an e-mail password.
The whole time, he huffed and puffed and bitched and complained while he searched his "Delete Foldor" of his e-mail to find it for me.
I watched the clock and the sacrificiol penaltey of his precious time took him all of three minuttes to locate the file, bring it up, and click PRINT. But the way he danm complained, you woud of thuoght I asked him to hack one of his balls off and hand it to me on a bed of parsley.
Then as soon as I turned my back, I quickley looked over, and i saw him go back to Yahoo Chat which was running in a window behind alt.sex.stories which he was downloading in yet anothor window which was right behind Tomb Raiders which was runnin off the CD in a third window behind the frikkin e-mail client the whole danm time. Multi-slacking, lazy-ass bastord.
At least no one bothored me for the next few hours. Reading the materiol, I found out that the prodject was suposed to be to come up with interresting "Value Add" ideas for one of our cleint's websites. The client is a Sporting Goods company and so I imediatly went to work on an Idea that I knew was a great idea.
I arrived home from work just as Uncle Zeke was pulling into our driveway at the same time. It is kind of hard to locate our place in the dark. A lonely strip of dirt road connects Granfather's sprawling propperty to the narrow public route. You contineu on this dirt road for a half mile. There are piles of crap and junk everywhere, and the dirt trail forks off in diferrent dirrections as you get closer to the trailer. You can see the trailor, but you have to be sure you take the right fork or else you will find yorself in a gully or behind one of the sheds or outbuildings or else drive off the incline into the frikkin dry-wash which thanks to El Nino is very wet this year.
My uncle normolly drives only 10 miles an hour anyway, but he was going extremmly slow this time. He had just gotten his old Pontiac back from the uphoulstry repair place. (You will remembor that late last month Granfather destroyed the interier.) I got stuck behind him on our own property for like, ten minutts. I coud see Granfather sittin in the back seat and the glint of my headlights off the bald head of his new girlfreind, the Female counterpart version of Politicol Operative James Carvill.
When the car finaly stopped my giant tall uncle plodded out and slammed the door muttering to me about the appalling behhavior of the two ghastley lovers while he was trying to concontraite on driving and also sternly warned me to nevor follow him so close.
Granfather was wearring a knit cap with a pom-pom on top which is called a Tam-O-Shantar. It looked familier. I reallized it is the hat Uncle William wears in cold weathor ecxept now he wears it all the time becuase he is close to death. They were just in the hospitol visiting him. Granfather stole it off his poor older brother's head litoraly while he was right on his danm deathbed.
The two disgousting lovebirds went in the living room as I got supper ready. (Granfather was out of money from investing in his Beany treasures, so they woud all be eatting here--not at the steak house.)
The Female James Carvile, (not the REAL James Carville, but his Female Celestial Muffin Tray Countorpart, born of diferent parents and into a non-related family, acording to Granfather's uniqeuly twisted creation theory), is pretty danm scary like I said. Imagine if you will a malicious grinning ferret with all its hair shaved off smooth, or else a small balloon toy weasel folded by an evil clown at some sort of macabre child's birthday party, which was made outof flesh-colored tube baloons that somhow came to life and sprouted small, dark, deep-set, lash-less eyes which were the exact size, shape, color and slipporyness of Louisiana watormelon seeds. That's Granfathers new girlfreind.
"OH, YOU!" he kept squealing while scrunching up his eyes and puckerring his disggusting lips into a wrinkly "O" shape ecaxtly in the same sound and appearence of the poppulor Must-See-TV-Thurdsay actress for whom the 'Rachel' hairstyle is named, "OH YOU!"
The Female Jams Carville then whisperred somthing into Granfather's hairy thatched ear, and he barked back, "BITE YER TOUNGE, YOUNG LADY!" to which his rodentlike consort replied "I'd rather bite yours!"
Then they both started cackolling like the Tales of the Cript puppet ghoul. I thuoght I was gonna yakk on the linoleium floor.
"AIN'T THIS PURTY LIL' THANG A NASTY CRITTER?" Granfather howled at me.
I wanted to hear the TV better so I told Granfather to "Please turn the TV lower!" and of cuorse the old bastord complied with an evil snickor by turning the volume UP. (Its a rare case when I outwit the bastord but alwayes a hollow victory)
My job was to come up with "Value-Add Content Ideas" for that Sporting goods Companey's website. I called up our nieghbor Junior on the phone.
Junior had told me in the past abbout a legend of a certian Texas body of water where there are catfish the size of a Huyndai Elantra. There is a chicken dressing plant which dumps feathors and poultrey guts into a pond and all day the danm catfish sit there and eat them growin fatter and fatter and when Junior was a boy his dad took him fishing there and he fell ovorboard and sank.
There on the bottom of the pond, Junier saw one of the danm things up close. No one's ever coght one of these super hippapotomous-sized catfish but a few have tryed by hooking an entire dead calf to a power-line cable tied to a truck and a hook the size of a barrel hoop. Usualy what hapenns is the catfish pulls the danm truck in the pond. Also legend says a diver went down there once and they nevor found him exept a month later a huge ominous turd floated to the surfece with a rubber flipper stickin out the top like a sail. Junior started weeping on the phone. He is very emmotionol, even abbout unproved legends.
"Them beutiful, wild creatures of nature orta be protected," Junior sobbed, "Even if they done did eat thet poor Jock Cousteau feller."
OK I had had enuogh of Junior for one day and so i was anxoius to get off the phone. I glanced over to the TV and saw them showing some footege of President Reagan on the news. From inside the kitchon I heard the old bastord (Granfather, not Reagan) mention to his ladyfreind that he had actualy dated the Female Reagen years back.
Granps was a young man and she an older, more expereinced womon, and the two used to enjoy horsback riding. The one thing he said he remembered abbout her was that anytime they were outside and the wind was blowing, her hair allways stood rock still but her neck moved.
Just as I started to wondor where Uncle Zeke had run off to, the old gent storms into the kitchon bellowing and screamin from inside my room. Remembor, Zeke was staying in my room while I slept on the rollaway cot.