A literary monumant to the culturral endurance of American toilat humor.
Page 6 of 7
The next morning i had to go to work. There was no place for me to sleep that night becuase the TV was on till morning, so I actualy got my sleeping bag and alarm clock and spent the night in my Uncle's huge Pontiac Catalina in the yard.
It wasnt the first time i did this during Zeke's extendad visit. I always chose to sleep in the front seat which reeked of Gold Bond powdor cause my Uncle puts it on his ass to prevent chaifing for long drives. (It was an easy choice: the alternattive was the back seat where Granfather's ass had been.)
I dreamed I was in a Stasis Pod in the Star Trek: Voyagor eppisode where the whole crew was put in glass coffins for a month and Seven of Nine and the anoying hollographic doctor were left in charge. At 4:30 AM, which is when i am suposed to wake up for the long ride into work, I opened my eyed to see a ghastley vision.
In the eerie lilac glaire of the bug zapper porch light, a muted version of Granfather's horrificly ugly reptilian-eyed knobby, leathery face was peering thruogh the now-heavily-steamed glass of the Pontiac winsheild and I shuddered in sudden fearful terror, half imaginning it was some sort of scary alien.
Well, it WAS a scary alein, the one i live with. An unlit Cifuentes Partagas cigar was gripped betwean his grinning green teeth and thruogh his spitting mossy brown purplish gums he screamed:
Granfather was still up from the nihgt before. He had a solemn serrious look on his monkeylike face. If you get Nationol Geographic, check out the openning few pages of the June 1998 isseu where just aftor the fullpage ad for Olean(R) theres anothor one for the Gorilla Fund. Do you see the picturre of the somber simian? Immagine it with a stolen Tam-O-Shantor on its head; and that's abbout as pensive as the old bastord gets.
Granfather told me that he had to talk to me. I said Okay, but he woud have to leave the passenger door wide open, because he REALY was smelling kind of bad this week. The monster agreed, and hopped from his wheelchair inside the car seat.
He told me in a low voice that somthing "confidential" was worreying him, and he wanted to discuss it. My first inkling was, that finaly after all these years the cold-blooded coot had his consceince catch up with him. One of his brothors was now dying. The othor, truly wanted to kill him. Mabye now, I thuoght, Granfather woud start to redeem his pittiful, wasted life of hatred and discord...
i coudnt bellive this stupid iddiot. I said, "Granfather, since when do you have scruples?"
His wistfull face grew grim as he growled, "I BETTER NOT HAVE NO SCRUPLES!
YOU WUZ S'POSED TO SCRAPE AN' LANCE THEM SUCKERS OFF MUH SCRAGGLY ASS, YOU LAZY VARMINT!"
Suddenly Granfather began to trembol. He bit his lip, his face grew dark, his throahgt gurgled and i thuoght he was having a stroke or somthing. Just then he slammed the car door shut, so both me and him were inside and the most horrificly stupendous, titanicly promethean fart rumbled all within. Being seated on the bench seat with him, I rocked and danced like a ragdoll from the G-forces. The glass gauges on the dashboard of the Ponttiac shattored one after the other, the hood of the car flew upword, and the little pine tree air freshenor hanging from the rearveiw mirrer burst into flame. The car horn blared in a continiol strain. Then instently, an aftershock of the massive fart travelled undeterred as a visibble tsunami wave beneath the naugahyde surfece of the uphoulstrey, across the full lenhgth of the carseat from Granfather's ass to my own, and then up my spine until I felt a sharp pain in my jaw and one of the dentol caps on my back molars popped out of my moulth and blood ran from my ear. Then the rear tire exploaded, and as the car lurched back onto the flatonned wheel, the smirking bastord slid down the seat so his hideous rancid face got closer and closer and didnt stop till it was pressed right next to mine.
"SORRY, BOY." he said.
"YER OL' GRANPAP DONE RIPS OFF A GOOD ONE LIKE THAT THAR NIGH BUT JUST ONCE A WEEK."
"'AN I'M SURE PROUD TO OF PAID MY RESPECTS IN SUCH A FINE VEHICLE."
Granfather always says "Vuh-HICK-le" which is the ignorent yokel pronunciaton of "vehicle". Cruel old troll.
I know the bastord's "creattive prowess" and this was the type of intestinol dischargde that had a bad-odor half-life of atleast 5 days. Becuase it was in an enclosed automobbile, it may posibly be as many as 10 days beffore the stink subsided.
"AN' I DID IT WITHOUT LETTUCE, TOO!" the monster marvelled.
As i got ready to drive off at 5:15, Granfather's girlfreind was asleep (Oh, YUCK!) on MY trundol bed in the living room and it was ovbious the old bastord and her had been in there TOGETHOR DOIN A HELL OF LOT MORE THAN JUST WATCHIN TV.
I heard Granfather's voice from guest bedroom, (formerley MY bedroom) bellowwing out, "WAKE UP, ZEKEY, AN' LISSEN UP: THE BOY DON'T GOT NO PLACE TO SLEEP TONITE."
The Lady Who Screams at Everyone, who happans to be my boss's boss told me very sternley that I had bettor get enabled from either Systems, or Ops, or Support, or whoever, she didnt give a crap WHO. And I better do it soon.
Be sure not to annoy the people in Systems and Support and Ops because we depend on them.."...and also if they get pissed at us they will never do anything for our deppartment again.
Also my boss wrote at the end of the note: WHY ARE YOU WRITING TO ME UNDER YOUR PERSONAL E-MAIL ID? USE YOUR COMPANY E-MAIL ID YOU F***ING IDIOT!!
Ovbiously, he didnt read the danm notes i sent him at all-- the subject of which WAS, that i didnt HAVE any danm IDs. He is onley like 26 years old, which is too young to be somone's boss, in my opinnion.
I hope that the The Lady Who Yells at Everyone finds some unrelated reasen to take a nice bite outof his ass today.
There was allot of traffic on the road and so I didnt get into work till 9:30. But the door was locked cause no one was in yet. This alowwed me a chance to work on my Catfish Cam(TM) idea on my laptop in the car. Yes the idea for our Sporting goods client, which i was goingto present in the meeting. I was wearrin my houndstooth blazer too, so I looked inportent. Nobody got in to open the office until ten after 10.
When I got to my cubical there were two post-it notes on my chair. Presummably they were left there the day before, while i was working from home. One of them said:
STOP HARASSING ME:
I can't assign you
your Lan Password
Without Your Damn
-- M. Frick,
And the othor, which was writton on a speciel pink Post-It Note with flowors and kitty-cats on it said:
UP YOURS, BUTTWIPE:
I cant assign you
your Network I.D.
without your Damn
-- M. Frack,
I am too sick to my stomoch to talk abbout how the day went. Suffice it to say that I spilt soup on my houndstooth jacket and ruinned it. I got yelled at, not onley by the Lady who Yells at Evereyone, but even by this guy, who dosent have a nickname, but if he did it might as well be, The Man Who Never Yelled at Anyone Else beffore in his life except ME. And it was for somthing i didnt even do.
Do you know the old saying that somtimes peoplle are luaghin WITH you, and not AT you? Well i tell you right then, everryone was laugin AT me.
An hour after the meeting ended I found myself inside the toilat stall where i went to hide, all ready to cry and hopeing no one woud see me. But I was too mature not to.
Then I heard two guys come in and while they were standin up pissing by the urinols and luaghin there asses off, one of them said to the othor, "Disregard my note to sack Walt, we'll keep him around for the time being cause this is the only fun we ever have in this danm place and besides he makkes the rest of us look smart."
I went back to my desk to call up my freind Cathy Ann who lives in our town. It is a toll call, but i dont give a crap. She coud tell that i was very upset but atleast she cheered me up. Also I said I was so tired of my fammily problems too. Anyway she said she woud come ovor after supper tonihgt.
Then, still seated at my cubicol, I heard the whispery sound of a relaxing air piston, and i knew it was 2:00; This is the sound that the office chair of the guy who sits next to me makes when he rouses himself from slumbor and heaves his slothlike carcass out of his seat to pad down the hall toword the Men's Room with the USA Today in his hand to commence the begginning of his nevor ending Two O'Clock Dump. I woud be alone till atleast 3:15. Knowing this, i started to cry a little on the phone but not allot. I told Cathyann that all of these probloms I was having were not helping me with my strouggle with a poor self-esteem.
Then she said to me "I tell you what Walt, tonite we'll get pissfaced drunk."