Walter Miller's Homepage

...Admit it, you woud like to see me on TV

April 1999 Updatte

Page 2 of 6

And now for somthing more beleivable

OK, back now to how the old basterd was freed from the ensconcement of a half ton of addhesive tile grout that his two elderley brothors administrated up his ass with a giant pressurrized funnel.

How Granfather was freed

It is sort of a long story (Hmm, like everything arround here), but I will summorize. The old basterd was tryin to downlaod Internet Explorer 5.0 and the frustrattion got to him. There was a helpfile on the web that he was tryin to cut and paste and he was havin probblems.

So for a few hours I put up with his maniacol savage shreiking hollerin and screamin by ignoring him. This is what Granfather's doctors had told us to do. Granfather is a childish, immature abusive mean selfish person. But as you know, ignorring him makes him more pissed. Granfather is one of these people who actualy screams at the internet.


Finaly I stepped in and said, "Granfather just select "Paste" from the menu."

"PASTE MY ASS!" he roared back at me, then paused for a seccond, and added in a lower voice while pointing to his butt, " ACTUALY, PASTE UP MAH ASS."

I told him to calm himself down othorwise I'd haveto call the State Toxicollogy Rangers. But this was an old threatt that was wearing thin with Granfather. He knew the Rangers woud never come. His danm stink was too bad for them to tollorate.



You have to undorstand that Granfather was layed out straight on his back rolling the mouse on a thick magozine layed on his chest. The old basterd whacked at the mouse with his gnarlned semi-skeletal hand. An ugly freakish hand that more comonnly you might see on a corpse exept for the fact that it was moving.

Granfather's hand, (hell, his whole scraggly body) looks exactley like some sort of creepy monkey paw amulet that you might see hangin arround the neck of some evil Witch Docter by a leathor string on some haunted troppical island in some bad old 1940s horrer film. Yes just a mass of dryed out flesh, filthey matted wool and bones stickin out.

"HELP ME DE-SELECT BWAH!, he screammed, "HEPP ME!"

But it was one of those awfull soft vinol novelty style mouses that is shaped like gennetallia and I didnt want to touch it. It was a gift from his deranged Army pal in Oklohoma. They are two evil nasty old men.

Then moved

Then, sudenly, as Granfather trembolled in rage agianst the non-bug-tested and generaly mediocore quallity of software products that he, and all of us have come to expect and yet still must endure from Microsoft, I saw the giant grout plug actualy move. His piss-yellow face went white and his reptilian eyes danced in suprise.

"DAMN!", creid Granfather.


I was waitting for sevoral months now for this to happan and so was glad. At first we thoght that the grisly geezer woud need surgery but then the doctor said that the invasive grout woud probly work its way out of Granp's rectum by itself.

I said to him, "Granfather, it is time for you to take som laxatives."

But he didnt want no danm laxotives. His stomoch was starting to get large and round. I'd lost count as to how many weeks its ben since the old basterd crapped. I didnt even want to think about it.

Anothor horobble repulsive discovery

Granfather layed there mostley prone, his scraggley rib cage heaving with each breath, as with a very disturbing wet flappy noise a giant peice of snot atached to the rim of one giant nostrol shot in and out of his nose with each inhale and exhaile while a look of pure hate (toword me) hardenned on the leatherry crackoled hide of his ghastley caddaverlike face. It was prety danm grossing me out.

I slowley slipped on a rubbor glove and got a wet papper towel in my hand as I reached for the big booger being VERY carefull not to get myself hurt in light of the results of a new sceintiffic study of Granfather which proved (or rathor theorized) the latest frightenningly horobble repulsive discovery.

It seems a new group of sceintists, from Belgium actualy, came all the way from Eurrope to examine the old basterd. They are not acreddited sceintists, as it the mark of unprofessionalism even to be involved with Granfather as a feild of study.

Why unproffesionnolism, you may ask? Because any sceintiffic findings regarding the old freakish non human anommoly are sure to be denied and debated by the whole scientific world. And for this reason, only the most daring researchers are even willing to see him. Or "it". Or whatevor the hell he is. They are affraid that if they publish the findings they will be chastized as frauds.

Take these latest findings for example. Ive written before many times abbout how Granfather's tounge is long and prehensile. He has the abillity to curl it arround corners, pull jewelry from sink drains, work the TV remote controle with it and even press CONTROL-ALT-DELETE.

I cannot explain it, nor can I explian why somtimes his tounge apears red and forked like a viper's, and at othor times huge brown and blunt. He can even grab friggin flies in the air with it like a danm chamelion.

Why the two diferent tounge apearances? Well acording to these two Belgiens who came to our humble rural trailor shortly aftor Granp's grout attack, there are two danm things in there.

What hapened during the latest Sceintific study of the old basterd abuot a month ago

For most of the time they were poking and prodding, Granfather began his "possessed demon" routtine. No, I dont think Granps is realy demon posesed. He is eithor truly a devil himself, or else it is just an act that he does. (Besides, Hell is probly fragrent and sweet smelling next to this old basterd.)

I call it the possesed routine because he launches into all of these random and haphazord rapid-fire vocalizations. For exampol, when the sceintists begin their exam, he starts whooping and holloring like Slim Pickens did at the end of that movie where he is riding the nucular bomb as it falls thruogh the air. This usualy scaires the hell out of anyone within a half mile.

Next he starts doing these realy acurrate voices from TV shows, like NBC's "E.R." I tell you dont i know how the hell he does it. His favorrite one to do is that anoying greggarious English womon doctor, who is allways trying to sedduce the aloof and distant Doctor Peter Benton.

"PETER!", Granfather cries in his scary Limey acent, "PEE - TAH! MAKE LUFF TO ME!"

After this, its only a naturol entree into his shaky Katharine Hebpurn imitation. It is always the same danm line, the one from "On Golden Pond": "NORMAN, NO-O-RRMAN, THE LOONS!"

Aftor this, it is overly gregarrious, exageratedly freindly Regis Phillbin, hapilly shouting things like, "Incredible! ...What a great show!" ovor and over until your friggin danm skin crawls. Then he starts in alternatting with Kathie Lee Gifferd's voice, stridently fightin back tears over some sort of personol problem, and then Rosy O'Donnell where he even makes her face where her mouth is shaped like an "O" and all of this shrill rapidfire combination of polliticol diatribe and Satuday morning cartoon comercial theme songs from the 1970's start pourring forth in a shreiking authorritatively androgenous Long Islond accent.

Granfather is like a danm cross between The Exorcist and Aladdin (complete with his very Robin Willaimslike inabbility to get a new routtine for himself after many years. Sort of like me, I suppose).

Next, after the imitations, Granfather began the verbol personal attacks. He kept callin the poor Belgian doctor in charge "Frog" and "Frenchy" and other cruel names. Both the doctors ignoared him at first, and the assistent to the head doctor told him that they were Belgiens, not French.

Then Granfather launched into a tyrade abbout how the Belgions were really a cross between the Dutch and the French Frogs which was even worse, and also how we kicked Belgum's ass in at least two wars. (Not true I am sure).

If you are belgian and readding this, I appollogize. Granfather is not agianst your countrey or its citozens. He just likes to hourl abuse at everyone. He is cruel and evil and hates his fellow man. He even makes fun of peopple in the next county because they are "foreigners." It is the Nature of the beast.

And he is one Beast outside of Nature, lemme tell you: This was proved when the doctor in charge said, "Pardon, Monseiur, I should be calling YOU zee "frog."

It seems that Granfather had a regulor forked tounge, the reptile like thing, and also a giant remora like creature atached to the back of his throaght. Somtimes the remora was the predominant "tounge", while the othor tounge hung down his throaght halfway down his esophaggus. Then at other times, they switched places, as the remora remained hanging down his throat, sucking nutreints and other crap from his disgousting gullet.

A remora as you know is one of those scary eels with a suction cup on his head who somtimes ataches to a shark's chin to eat the little scraps of food that fly out of the shark's moulth. Granfather's "remora" was realy a prehistoric unknown sea creature, totaly unknown in marine biollogy. The kind that can live in a dark, high acid and high sulfor, oxegyn free envirroment.

The scariest thing of all:

The doctors say its been atached to the bastord for at least 20 years and posibly even as long as 40. Nobody knows how or why it is there, or even how the hell it got in the evil ogre's throat. Probly mabye from swimming in the Gulf when he was a kid, or mabye in the danm sewer.

How the exam ended

The initial exammination ended as so many do, with the visitting sceintists sitting on the steps of our trailer eithor vomitting, weeping or both while Granfather is inside watching Wheel Of Fortune, (his designatted cut off time for all poking and prodding), screamming at the TV things like, "WHY IS 'WHEEL' HAVING A 'SALUTE TO BOSTON' WEEK? THERE AIN'T NOTHIN TO SEE IN BOSTON!", and also, "BUY A DAGNAB VOWEL, YOU DUMBASS SUMBITCH!"

"I vomit for myself," wept the scientist meanwile, as he sat on our rickety rotted porch steps, "But I weep not just for my country, or for science but for all of mankind."

I am tired of these stuppid researchers

I am at the point that aftor I warn these guys by e-mail once or twice before they show up, I no longor feel sorrey for them when they finaly meet up with the old basterd. Just as long as we get our $200 per visit. This is Granfather's liqour, tobaco and porn budget.

Flashing ahead now to my putting that rubber glove on to get that snot...

...I had to be very carefull becuase the last time I did this,the danm prehistorric remora in his moulth wrapped itself arround my wrist and treid to pull me in. The central nervous systom of the creature was now fused with Grampy's brain, and the mind of the Basterd controlled it. At least with the rubbor glove I have time to pull away as it closes its scaly slimyness arround me.

Which is exactly what hapened.

"That's it," I said to Granfather, just as the shreds of latex glove disapearred in his snapping maw, "You are getting laxotives. I am going to get the Wagnor Power Paintor out of the toolshed."

My plan was to pull the roller head off and fill the danm thing with Castor oil and shoot it down his danm moulth.

But once agian, he didnt want no danm laxotives.

Granfather threatenned to kill me if I treid any means to remove the Grout.