Please do not hate me if one day i sell out.
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There is somthing very calming about the sea. Just as long as I am not in it. I dont know how to swim and ive never been in the sea deepar than gettin my ankols wet. I dont live close to the ocean or the lake or in that respect aneything bigger than a cattle pond. And I am affraid of boats. No matter how big the boat, it coud be battleship, but even still, I am scaired that it will sink eithor because someone will acidently open the hatch below to let water in, or else some fat guy will try to pee over the side and tip the danm thing on its side. Yeah its a dumb fear. But who says it cant happan? Then theres always posibbility of turds in the water. How do you know one of them is not bobbling behind you? Or for us men, that the cold wator wont cause your winky will retract itself into your groin so far youll never see it agian? I dare any man to admit that he's nevor thouhgt that. Or, how can you be sure, (my biggest fear), that a remora isnt goingto swim up those baggy swimming trunks (that the onley reasen you wear them is so the tighter style racing trunks wont cut into your thigh) and is imminently ready to atach that big parrasitic sucker above his eyes to your balls? Becuase you dont. Plus, no mattor what kind of floating craft you are on, from a small ferry to the danm Love Boat, there's allways got to me some horse's ass on board with his kid, whose holding a barrol of cheese doodels to feed the danm seagulls the whole trip, and you know when one of them craps its gonna be ontop of MY friggin head.
Yes, yes, yes. I know. All of my worries are not based in reallity and are phobias. But even still, where I am right now, this verry minute as I write these words, it is somhow calming...Calming when you considor the conseqeunces..the consequenses of being in the murkey deep beneath me...
Before I get into this update, i woud like to begin, like I do so ofton,
Now that I too have probblems crapping I see clearley it is not nice to poke fun of othors. (Unless they ASK you poke them, by hollaring demands at you involving a willow switch with the bark peeled off which if you read my last update, you know ecaxtly what that means).
Also Ive been complaining allot about 'Cyberblop.' I realy shoudnt complain, becuase they ended up using an idea of mine, that only two weeks ago they were luaghin their asses off at me just for sugesting it. More about that in a bit.
My behhavior is very imature, I know.
But atleast I can admit it, and can say that I am working on my emotionol problems. In the future I will turn over a new leaf and exagorate less.
I guess I COULD of fixed the story and took out the extra exagorations, but that woud mean missing my Update Deadline and I know how much my readers dont like it when I am late pubblishing my Updatts.
Also, one more appollogy: Forgive me for appollogising so much. Thanks.
OK, ENUOGH OF THIS SANCTIMONIOUS, INTRO-SPECTIVE, SELF-ABSORBED HORSE-HOCKEY: LETS GET INTO THE UPDATE.
Anyway in many respects it was a poor dysfunctionol excuse for a party. The attendees included our pitifuly simpol-minded neighbor Junior, Granfather's two oldor brothers, (who hate Granfather's guts and didnt even realy know a party was going on), and three very, very traumattized cryptozoologists, who as you know are sceintists whose area of study is the discovory of new species of unexplainned animal monstrosities. For them, it just wasnt a party at all, but just another disgousting day of work poking and prodding the bastord, ecxept with a couple of extra drunken guests arround and some 1970s music loudley blairing on the 8-track.
YES, NO HEART.
Most medical discovories regarding Granfather concern reppulsive revellations about his digestive systom. But this one has to do with him having no heart OR blood. Instead, he has this thick jelley-like nutrative plasma which courses thruogh his non-human body throuhg a system of squidd-like valves in his torso, neck and limbs. What we once thoght were Granfather's vains and arterries have now been identifeid as chitenous chambers and cavities which hold and propell along deep within his gamy flesh the nutrative goo which sustaines the old bastord here on earth, which truth be told, is probly not the old brute's home planet.
Both me and my Dad who lives in Califonria had told these sceintists many times beffore: "So, you wanted to study monsters of nature? Well, you deserve what you get." The first few times they exammined Granfather the cryptozoologists thoght our words were said as a big joke or else in the bitterness of family disfunctionality. But now aftor 4 years of study and many hours of retching, weeping, and nasal reconstruction for 2 of them due to dammage from how danm bad his ass smells, no one is luaghin anymore.
Before we made it to the trailer, we met Granfather ambling in the dirt road alone, wearring a hat he stole from Uncle Will: One of those Tam-O-Shantor's with a pom-pom on top. Then, suddenley, from a quartor-of a mile away in the distence we heard a teribble explosion. That is where I left off in my last update.